The Heir's Costly Possession

1

Clara Vane. Call it obsession. Fixation even.

It all derives from the fact she wants nothing to do with me.

Understandably so. I drugged her, fucked her the same way I fuck anything that moves.

Forcefully, with no remorse or empathy. Pussy is a delicacy, and women are meant to be used.

Why not indulge in that shit? I fuck them then move on to the next one.

These bitches are desperate to fuck an Elite.

Especially the Dean's son, and I'm happy to deliver.

They overlook my rough tendencies just to get a shot in my bed.

They tell me I'm chaotic and unpredictable.

Not my fault they think something could ever come from hanging on my cock.

I don't commit. Why bother? But Clara Vane is an anomaly.

A dangerous one. I've fucked her twice and both times I lost my ever-loving shit.

I'm drawn to the broken ones. Dismantling them and stomping on their fractured pieces until it satiates my inner rage and sexual desires.

It's a win-win that it pisses off my father, Mortensen.

The issue with Clara? She can't fucking stand me. Who could after what I did to her the night we met.

The fact she can resist my charm is wild enough. Problem is, she's buzzing around my brain like a bad habit and that's dangerous. She's the Offering, she just doesn't know it yet. What a predicament.

Normally, I don't give a fuck how my father chooses to run his underground pleasure house, Void, but the mere thought of Clara being thrown to the wolves irritates me. Not because I give a fuck or am self-righteous.

Nah. It's because I want to fuck her. Usually my motto is sharing is caring, but not with her.

The only ones I would consider sharing with, are Zain or Slade and maybe Grey.

I've tried using the old Grimshaw charm, but nah, she doesn't budge.

The bitch sleeps with half the school but refuses my cock. What kinda fucked up shit is that?

Why I'm drawn to her, I don't fucking know.

Probably stems from the fact she's broken and fucked up like me.

The weak ones always appeal to me. Easier to manipulate in the bedroom, too.

The only downside is they cling to me like I'm their fucking lifeline.

I pour another shot of Hennessy and slam the glass down on the bar top in Mortensen's basement.

Another fucked up evening drowning out the bullshit while indulging in another nameless bitch I won’t remember come morning.

With Vesper moving into Zain's house, I feel like a third wheel, so I have been spending more and more time at home.

If you can call this fucked up place home.

She's cleaned that shit hole up nice, I'll give her that. Never thought I'd see Zain settle down.

I really detest this place. It's a fucking prison; a constant reminder of how much I despise Mortensen.

He's a piss poor excuse of a father and I make sure to be a reminder of that for him daily.

As his legacy I should be his perfect son, not a wild card.

What can I say? I am who I am. I fuck off in class–if I go.

I'm covered head to toe in tattoos, including my face; that really pissed him off when he laid eyes on that.

I'm notorious for starting fights. I'm handed straight A's because my grades don't mean shit.

My entire life is mapped out for me. As his only son, my responsibility is to take over Grimshaw and the Void.

I have no desire for any of that shit and that pisses him off.

To say I have a bad relationship with my father would be a massive understatement; it's non-existent.

“Harder, Kieran,” The skinny bitch under me moans.

Her naked body is splayed out on the sofa.

My jeans hang off my hips while I pound into her relentlessly.

It does nothing for me. She's not her. She's pretty enough, but her fake moans make my cock soften in her cunt.

It would be better if she was out cold. Wish she'd shut the fuck up so I can try to finish.

I grit my teeth, and close my eyes, hoping the image of Clara will be enough to let me remain hard and cum.

“Fuck, Kieran, fuck me, baby!”

Nope. Instantly soft. God fucking damnit.

I pull my half-cocked dick from her cunt and grip her by the wrist, wrenching her forward. She hisses at my sudden mood change. Her pouty mascara drips down her face. She turns thunderous. “What is your problem?” She spits, her wild curls stick to her cheeks.

“You. Now fuck off,” I maneuver her around me and shove her forward toward the French patio doors—naked and used.

Her oversized fake tits jiggle. Her slim waist has half of the student body salivating.

Her naked body doesn't even make my cock react anymore.

She stumbles backward with her mouth hung open in disbelief.

Her clothes are littered haphazardly on the marbled, tiled floor.

“Get your shit, Kayla,” I say dismissively, pulling my jeans over my thighs, leaving them unbuttoned.

She scoffs and plucks her garments off the floor. “It's Karla! And you're a fucking asshole.”

I wave her off. ‘What the fuck ever. Get the fuck out of my house,” I enunciate each word so she gets the hint. I'm going to have to settle on another jerk off session and that isn't ideal. The real deal would be preferred. She slams the patio door behind her, rattling the black chandelier overhead.

Fucking bitch.

My head has been in a constant state of rolling emotions over the last few weeks.

Ever since I found out Clara is going to be this year's Offering, I about lost my shit.

I really shouldn't give a fuck. When have I ever?

Her deep blue ocean eyes and long blonde hair are etched into my mind.

She’s a fucking tragedy wrapped in a pretty God damn bow.

I see the same shit in her I see in myself.

The same pained eyes. My feet carry me to the half empty bottle of Hennessy still sitting on the bar top; two empty glasses lay beside it.

I opt to grab the whole damn bottle and slump onto the burgundy leather couch.

I slam my head back against the headrest.

The bottle meets my lips. The harsh burning liquid slides down into my esophagus.

My eyes drift shut. I dig into the memories of the first time I fucked her.

Her long blonde hair all fanned out on my pillow while I'm balls deep in her pussy.

She was half awake and heavily drugged, courtesy of me.

It's easier when they're quiet and comatose.

It gnaws at my insides that I need them sedated to cum. Thanks to my shitbag father.

With her though, I wish I hadn't. For the first time I wanted to fuck someone without drugs, just so I could have watched her body writhe in pleasure like the tempting seductress she is. Somehow, shockingly despite my treatment with her, I managed to get her in my bed again a few days later.

My free hand drifts up my shirt over my scarred, burned stomach, then into my still half undone jeans.

My cock stirs. I lower the band of my boxers.

The second time I fucked her I let my inhibitions carry me into bliss without the need for drugs or alcohol.

The first time ever for me to fuck someone coherent.

She enjoyed every Goddamn second, despite being high.

Shit, so did I. I let myself get lost in her.

That was where the mistake was made. I surrendered to her deep swirling ocean irises to find her drowning within.

It was like staring into my own reflection.

Now she's wormed into my memory like a parasite I can't get rid of.

My hand wraps around my base. I'm hard as stone.

I squeeze from root to tip. Precum leaks onto my hand and I groan.

I envision wrapping my thumb and forefinger around her delicate throat until she turns purple and goes limp, then I'll be the one to bring her back from that dangerous edge.

I'll show her what the edge of hell looks like.

I want to bury my cock so deep inside of her she won't remember anyone else.

My thighs tense. The veins in my arm bulge, and I'm so damn close.

I speed up, stroking harder. My abs contract.

The vision of Clara and her fuckable body sends me over the damn edge.

My orgasm slams into me and cum erupts from my cock onto my hand, jeans and stomach in an overflowing fountain.

“Christ,” I mumble under my breath. This shit is getting ridiculous. There has got to be an easier way to get her out of my system. Clearly fucking her twice wasn’t enough to satiate my carnal desires.

I bring the bottle to my lips and polish it off. It doesn't take long to fall into a drunken stupor. Seems to be the only time I can find relief if I'm not balls deep in pussy.

He remembered every word of their last conversation. She remembered what he never said.