Chapter 32 - Blanche
Chapter thirty-two
The calm I feel as I approach the gates to the Sinclair Estate is unnatural, and although I’m happy with the steadiness of my heart rate, it’s somewhat concerning that I’m not more affected by what I’m about to do.
I wasn’t thrilled when Henry’s father called, summoning me for tea and demanding that I tell nobody where I was going.
The old man is despicable. I’ve known that for a while, but seeing my husband on the brink of death last week shifted something inside me forever.
Rage I’ve never known boiled over, hot and heady, and it’s been simmering since.
I had planned to ignore the message and deal with the fallout of ignoring Henry Sinclair Sr. whenever it came.
But now I have the perfect outlet for my rage.
Parking my car at the front of the drive, I wait for the front door to open, but no butler appears.
Fear sweeps through me as I consider for the first time that I may have been brought here to be disposed of.
If he’s sent the staff away, and no one is aware that I’m here…
It’s too late to back out now, Blanche. Steeling myself, I make my way down the familiar route that Henry taught me.
“This should be the grand hall to the office,” he’d said, promising that we would renovate everything to its classic glory, banishing this gaudy white mess to nothing but a distant memory.
My prompt arrival pays off, and I have a moment alone in the office to plant my surprise and wait for my victim.
If I’m lucky, plan A will be successful, and I won’t have to resort to less savory methods.
“Hello, Miss Bedford. Please, have a seat.”
“It’s Mrs. Sinclair, as I know that you know.
I was surprised to receive your invitation for today.
Surely, there’s nothing you’d like to discuss with me without my husband present.
Speaking of Henry, I haven’t seen him today.
You don’t happen to know anything about why, do you?
” I adjust my gloves and keep my back rigidly straight, every inch of the society woman I’m expected to be.
Even if I’m not good enough for Henry Sinclair’s son, I’ll not cower in the face of such an abuser.
“I don’t waste much time on my weakling of a son, so I’m not sure why you think I would have had any contact with him today.
And I won’t be wasting any time on you, either.
You’re getting an abortion, signing an affidavit that your marriage to Henry was based on fraudulent grounds, and leaving the country.
” He reaches for a cigar from the humidor on his desk and lights it, puffing slowly and savoring the fine tobacco.
“You know, if the two of you had left well enough alone, you could have had what you wanted. My spineless son could have had you in the countryside, barefoot and pregnant with another of a litter of bastards. He could have come to see you between work trips, paid for your little mistakes’ educations, and enjoyed whatever golden nectar you apparently leak from that cunt of yours. ”
His face reddens as he coughs.
“As it stands, now the two of you have forced my hand. It’s only—”
Cough.
“Out of the goodness—”
This time, he can’t stop coughing. As he grabs for his throat, I take a moment to enjoy his bulging eyes, desperately searching for a way out of his impending fate. He can feel his throat closing, though, and I revel in his panic. I know I only have a few moments to say my piece.
“Ah, yes. Few people know about your peanut allergy. But I do. I know many things. I know you’re about to die.
I know what you’ve been doing to Henry his entire life, beating and torturing him.
I also know I’m going to have a litter of his babies, as you say, and you won’t be around to stop us from being happy.
We’re going to erase every bit of your legacy from this company, this house, and this family. Fuck you. Enjoy burning in hell.”
The rage in his eyes, even as he struggles for last breaths that will never come, is savory.
The next time I’m sad, I’ll think about removing this fucker from the planet so that he can never hurt my Henry again.
Finally, the light fades from his eyes, and he slumps forward onto his desk, silent.
No more threatening my husband…my child. Good riddance.
The urge to chop off his pinky finger and deliver it back to my Henry, signet ring and all, is overwhelming.
I want to destroy him, chop him into a million pieces, and string his intestines around his neck to represent what an absolute shithead he’s been for every moment that I’ve known him.
I want to make him bleed, even as dead as he already is, and watch his lifeblood drip beneath him onto the floor.
Alas, after Mrs. McDaniel made an offhand comment about how excited she was to be able to serve her favorite caramelized peanuts since Mr. Sinclair Sr. hadn’t attended our meeting, I knew I had the perfect, bloodless murder weapon at my disposal.
Henry Sr. didn’t like people knowing about his allergy, believing it to be a sign of weakness, but told anyone who would listen how much he hated peanuts.
If he had been a little less secretive about his deadly allergy, it would have been harder for me to hide powdered peanuts in a cigar.
As it is, there’s no way I could have known… nor did anyone else.
Nothing but a tragic accident, nothing for a coroner to investigate, no trail.
My urge to bathe in his blood will have to go unfulfilled.
It would be far too messy and complicate things.
I can’t help myself from wrenching the signet ring off his finger, though.
I have to have something to give my husband as proof of my gift.
By the time I reach the penthouse, the sunset streams through the blinds, painting the bedroom in purple hues and dappling beautifully across the muscled, bare back of my love.
He’s healing well, and the doctor cleared him for sex a few days ago, provided he doesn't strain himself too much. I’ve been rocking his world on top as a result, and it’s been a delightful change of pace from the dominant caveman he’s been since our wedding and my subsequent impregnation.
He may have forgotten the spitfire he picked up in the bar that fateful night, but not for long.
Tonight’s the perfect night to remind him.
“Mmm, yes, there’s my good boy. Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”
Gorgeous smoky gray eyes slowly open, blinking up at me as his cock comes alive in my hand.
Straddling Henry’s thighs, I enjoy the warm touch of his rough hands as they trail over my hips and waist, stopping to weigh my heavy breasts.
I spit again into my hand, working him over rougher now, his hips bucking, trying to control my pace and get the upper hand.
As he wakes, he finally sees that his cock isn’t the only one between us. My strap-on is thick and veiny, lying heavily on his thigh. If only I could transfer my wetness to the strap, it would be just as hard as Henry is.
“Blanche? What are you—”
I interrupt him with my hands in his hair and my mouth on his, owning him with my tongue and pulling back to bite his lips roughly.
I need to show him that I own him. That I can take care of him and his problems just like he takes care of mine.
We’re partners in every way, and the power I felt watching his father’s life end at my hand floods back into my bloodstream all at once.
My clit throbs with the feeling, and I cock my head at Henry’s bewildered glance.
“Hi, baby,” I coo. “How are you feeling?”
“Um, I’m okay, I think.” He tries to sit up, but I push him back down and leave my palm pressing into the center of his chest.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere. Tonight’s very special, my love.”
I lube up both hands, noting how even trapped underneath me, seeing the large strap-on that he knows is destined to be in his ass, he’s hard as a rock and leaking pre-cum.
We both know he’s strong enough to buck me off if he wanted to, even injured, but instead, he whimpers as I run a sharp fingernail under the head of his cock in warning.
My husband is just as much of a slut as I am.
“Are you going to be a good boy for me? I know you like a little pain, darling, but if you act like a brat, I’ll give you more than you want.”
“I don’t know what—what’s that?”
He’s finally noticed the new jewelry on my left hand. It’s a little large, so I’m wearing it on my thumb for now. Playing with his tight hole, I slowly work one finger inside while I rub the cool metal of my prize over the slit of his cock.
“You know what this is, baby. You’re a smart boy. It’s your father’s signet ring. It’s probably split your lip or cut your cheek countless times as he punched you, hasn’t it? Now it’s just for your pleasure, though. I promise. Unless you’re a brat.”
I continue to circle his cockhead with the ring as I insert another finger into his ass, pausing only to add more lube in preparation for a third.
“Why do you have it?” He whispers the question that deep down, I know he already knows the answer to.
I can see the gravity in his eyes as he realizes there’s only one way I could have this symbol.
Soon, when the phone starts ringing off the hook, and the company and family are all thrown into a panic, Henry will need to be very strong.
Everyone will want something from him, and it will be a stressful time.
We’ll get through it. Together. But for right now, he’s mine, and fuck the rest of the world.
I kiss him sweetly as I lube myself up, notching the head of my strap-on at the well-prepped ring of his ass.
Pushing one of his knees up and back with my hand, I use the other to continue working his cock.
With one strong push, I slowly ease my way into his tightness, greedily taking in every minute detail of his expression.
The pinch of pain, the blown pupils, the twitch of his cock, the shake of his thighs…
it’s all so delicious. I can see why he gets off on my pleasure and my pain.
I think of taking him in a million ways, wishing I could fill him up with my essence the same way he does me.
Once I’m fully seated, I pause, the feeling of my hips flush with his erotic and overwhelming.
“I killed your father today.”
Hearing me say it so explicitly must make it more real, and his eyes widen as I begin to thrust, feeling giddy with joy at the gift I’ve given my husband.
“He went too far last week. You could have died, Henry. I’m pregnant, and he could have killed you and left me alone. Alone with our baby! Do you understand what that did to me? To see you like that?”
I squeeze his cock harder, and he moans, torn between paying attention to me and losing himself in the pleasure. It’s a decent-sized dick in his ass, so I’m not surprised that he’s struggling. I loosen my grip on his cock to give him a fighting chance.
“Today, he wanted to see me. Nobody else was there, and I thought for a moment that he’d kill me before I had the chance to get the upper hand. Instead, do you know what he did, baby?”
There’s no chance for him to answer as I work him harder and fuck him faster, the base of the strap rubbing my clit just right, keeping me on the edge.
His eyes are all mine, though, looking at me as I’m meant to be looked at—fear, lust, disbelief, love, adoration.
Like I’m a vengeful goddess, and he’s horny but afraid. As he should be.
“He threatened me. Me! And our baby. He wanted me to get an abortion and leave. So really, dear, he had to go. It was clean and easy, and now our life is ours. My gift to us, baby. Our little family is safe.”
We’re both on edge now, and I lean down again to try to draw blood from his bottom lip. I need to taste it. His DNA grows inside me, and his cum is about to coat us both, but I need everything. Every fiber of this man needs to be in me and on me at all times. He’s mine.
“Come for me, Henry. Thank me for killing your father and for fucking your ass, and come for me. I know you can. You’re my best boy.”
That does it. He roars his release, coating his chest and my hand.
His gaze never leaves mine, and I follow him into ecstasy as he bands his arms around me, pulling me tightly against his chest. Finally, I slowly pull myself out of him, enjoying the whimper he can’t help when the wide head falls free of his ass.
I unclip myself and curl into his side, laughing as he rubs his cum into my skin as if it’s lotion.
Once the passion of the moment fades, the gravity of what I’ve done seems to hit him all at once. He plays with the ring on my thumb before regarding me again with love, fear, and confusion.
“I know you told me why, and I understand. If the shoe were on the other foot…But how, Blanche? Without any evidence?”
“Your father was deathly allergic to peanuts.”
“What?”
“Mm-hmm. Very few people knew. He played it off as hating them so he wouldn’t seem weak. But it was a fatal allergy. I laced a cigar with peanut powder, and by smoking it, he accelerated the reaction since he helpfully delivered my toxin straight to his lungs.”
He’s quiet, staring at me and alternating between playing with the signet ring on my thumb and my wedding ring.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and I see tears in his eyes. “I do think he would have killed me sooner or later. I don’t know why I was never strong enough to stand up to him. If I had heard him threaten your life, or…or the baby’s, I think I would have been able to. I’m sorry you had to do this.”
“I would do any number of things for you, Mr. Sinclair.” My voice is so soft that I wonder at first if he heard me, but the gentle kiss he places on my forehead assures me that he did.
“I love you, Mrs. Sinclair. We have a hectic season ahead of us. Taking over the company under these circumstances, welcoming this child—”
“Renovating the estate, taking what I’m sure will be a much-needed honeymoon.” I interrupt, nuzzling further into his side. “It’ll be a lot, darling, but we’ll do it. Together.”
“Together,” he agrees, and we drift off into sleep.