7
Cade
"Don’t make a fuss." I yank my arm from her grasp, and her face falls.
I shake out my arm, then shoulder my way past her, past the couples watching me with wary gazes. I scowl at the closest man, and he glances away.
No doubt, this event will be in the tabloids tomorrow. It’s exactly what the media expects of me, and it’s what I gave them. I’m the kind of newsmaker who keeps the gossip bloggers flush with scandal and drives hits to celebrity websites.
I stalk toward the far end of the ballroom, twist open the handle of a door, and step out onto a patio. The door snicks shut behind me, and the noise from the ballroom fades. The cold evening air enfolds me, and I walk down the steps, then up the garden path. With each step I take, the tension fades from my shoulders. I didn’t realize how keyed I was until now. I might have more money than most in the room—definitely more fame and media influence—but my disdain for so-called high society has stayed with me since the incident that caused me to almost lose my future before I even had the chance to frame it.
If it hadn’t been for Knight, I wouldn’t be standing here today. I owe him, and perhaps, that’s the only reason I’ve managed to rein back the worst of my vitriol against his sister. It’s too bad I find her attractive. Only good thing is that she reciprocates that attraction. And it’s something I’m going to use against her.
Bringing her to the ball was an impulsive move. One way of keeping her close so I can find ways to make her pay for what she did to me.
I ball my fingers into fists. My muscles bunch, and I blow out a breath. I need to find a way to get my focus back. Something I seem to have lost since meeting her again. Something I cannot afford to let happen. I’ve bided my time so far, and my goal is so close. All I have to do is stay centered on my ultimate objective—making her pay. I blow out a breath and force myself to relax. In that sense, the scrap with Hunter Whittington helped take the edge off the tension I’ve been feeling.
Yes, I recognized the Prime Ministerial candidate, and no, that didn’t stop me from swinging back at him. And going by how Zara stepped between us… Clearly, there's something between her and Whittington. I rub the back of my neck. Maybe I need to go and check on her, make sure she isn’t too pissed at me? I wince. My sister will not be happy with what I did. To be fair, it was Whittington who threw that first punch. Not that the argument will count for much with my sister.
Zara will ask me why I had to reciprocate and insist she can take care of herself. Which she can. But she's my sister. And it's my duty to watch out for her. And when Whittington punched me, I reacted out of instinct. The skin over my knuckles twinges.
And then Abby was concerned about me, and I shook her off. I rub the back of my neck. My goal was to upset her, and the downward slope of her lips told me I succeeded.
Best to give her time to cool off, I guess. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the last vestiges of tension, when the hair on the nape of my neck rises. An electric current runs down my spine, and I know she’s walking toward me even before I hear the click of her heels against the pavement. Heels I bought her. Heels I knew would look incredible on her. Heels that add a few inches to her height and enhance the curve of that delectable butt of hers while turning the rest of her curves into that of an alluring temptress. I bought them, hoping to make her feel like the slut I know her to be. Instead, I'm the one suffering with how much the sight of them turns me on. She comes to a pause behind me. That sweet scent of cherries reaches me. The scent that is so quintessentially Abby. So innocent… Not. It’s all a subterfuge to trap me.
I pivot, and she gasps, hand outstretched.
"What do you want?" I snap.
"I…" She swallows. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
"I was doing just fine, until I saw you."
It’s dark, but the moonlight highlights her skin, lending a shimmering, effervescent glow to her features. Her green eyes widen, and there’s enough light for me to pick up the hurt in them.
My heart seizes up. It’s as if I’ve slammed a syringe full of poison into my own chest, enough to give me a cardiac arrest. Why does it matter to me that she’s hurting? Why do I care that her eyes gleam like there are unshed tears in them? It’s all an act. She may come across as guileless, but it's all a lie. When she had to choose, it wasn’t my side she took. She discarded me and walked away without a second thought. She wasn’t there when I needed her the most. And for that, I’ll never forgive her.
"Either leave, or if you’re staying, be of service."
"Excuse me?" She frowns. "I don’t understand."
"If you’re going to cry, the tears may as well be because your jaw is stretched wide enough to accommodate my cock."
"Wh-what?" She gapes.
"Very good. I like to see my women with their mouths wide open." I grip her shoulder and press down. She sinks to her knees, willingly. And fuck me, seeing her on the ground, with her head tilted up and jaw agape… It’s enough to send a jolt of lust shooting up my spine. I release her long enough to unhook my belt. The jangle of the buckle makes her gaze widen further. She begins to scoot away as I lower my zipper. I pull myself out, pump my dick once, twice. Her gaze follows my movements. Her eyes grow even bigger, until they take up most of her face. She watches as I swipe myself a third time from base to tip. I don’t need to look at myself to know pre-cum oozes from the slit on the crown.
Mouth still open, her chest rises and falls. The scent of her arousal leaches from her skin. "Does this turn you on, Princess? Does the thought of having my dick down your throat make your pussy clench with anticipation?"
Her shoulders tremble, she begins to lean back on her haunches, and I click my tongue. Instantly, she halts. She continues to stare at my crotch, and I feel myself grow longer, harder. The blood pumps through my veins, engorging my shaft further.
"Do you want my cock?"
She hesitates.
"Do you? This is your chance. Leave now, and we’ll both know how much of a coward you are. Stay, take your punishment, and it’ll be a sign that you’re serious at repenting."
Another shiver seizes her. She hunches her shoulders, her gaze still on where I’m stroking myself up, down, up. Her mouth is still open in an 'O' that tempts me, entices me, coaxes me to shove my throbbing length down that warm tight hole. That dark part of me that zings to the surface when she’s around, swirls through my veins.
"What’s it going to be, Sparrow? Are you going to leave, or are you going to stay?"
Abby
Stay. Stay. Stay. I’m going to stay. I’m going to stay right here, on my knees, which ache from where I’ve planted them on the hard pavement. I’m going to stay and let him stuff that long, thick, monster cock of his down my throat. I’m going to stay and allow him to use me.
And it’s not only because I deserve it. It’s not only because it’s right that I become his personal fuck toy… It’s also because I want to be his fuck toy. I want to take his dick. I want to lick the drops of pre-cum that ooze from the head of his cock. I want to swirl my tongue about his length and suck on him like he’s my favorite, exceptionally large lollipop. I want to feel his need, his anger, the remnants of the pain I inflicted on him which he still carries in his heart. I want to taste the lust I recognize in those stunning mis-matched eyes of his. I want to, just want him to… Want me. Does that make sense? And he’ll never want me the way I want him to want me. So, if this is the only way I’m going to have him, so be it.