I don’t consider my degree much of a feat, having been bred for ruthless business from the time I swiped my first toy from another child, but after a moment of hesitation, I pitch back my own.
“A week from now, you’ll embark on a new journey at Blackthorne Enterprises, but tonight, we celebrate.”
As I understand, he’s invited half of New England to my graduation party. While I should be thrilled to see my father beaming with so much pride, all I can think about is how much I want to tell him to shove his pride up his ass and smoke it.
Waving his finger in the air, he pushes up from his chair. “I’ve got a gift for you.”
“Father, it’s not nec--”
“I’ll not have you telling me what is, or isn’t, necessary.” He hobbles over to a closet, where he rifles around, before returning with something enclosed in his palm. Flicking his hand for mine, he waits until I offer a stretched palm, and drops an object into the center of it.
I stare down at the ring, the same one he wears on his own finger, where a wedding band should be. “Father, I--”
“Not a word. It was Friedrich’s idea. With this ring, you now have access to the secret chambers at the institute, where all our meetings are held, as well as the catacombs here at the Manor.”
I don’t want this. I never asked for it. By accepting this gift, I’m allowing myself to become indoctrinated into their ways. For the last few years, I’ve played along, in an effort to avoid my father’s wrath, but I have neither the desire, nor inclination, to become an active participant in their little club. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. You are now an official member of Schadenfreude. Whatever you want is at your fingertips, my boy. As I said before, the world is yours.”
Only an hour into the party, and I’m bored, sipping my third glass of wine, while I watch all of my father’s friends and acquaintances mingle in honor of me.
Sebastian strides toward me, one of only a handful of my friends that my father bothered to invite, and only because of his father. “I say we ditch this lame party, and head to the cliff for a late-night dive.”
Snorting a chuckle, I lift my drink. “You lead, I shall follow,” I say, before tipping back the last of my drink. “At this rate, I’ll be wasted before the bastard even bothers to toast.”
“And I’ll be in the corner, flogging my cock until then.”
As both of us laugh, I signal the hired wait staff for another drink.
“Lucian Blackthorne. Well, you haven’t changed a bit.” The sweet feminine voice has me twisting in my chair.
Amelia Boyd stands off to the side behind me. In a pastel pink dress, her hair coifed in a perfect twist of curls that spill over her ears, she’s the vision of a political princess. Same girl I kissed all those years ago, just with bigger tits and a wiser edge to her stare.
“Amelia Boyd.”
“Sebastian Thoms.” My friend reaches out a hand that she doesn’t bother to acknowledge while keeping her gaze locked on mine. “I’ll just … head for the corner.”
With a smile, I break my ogling to watch him retreat. “His father owns the largest pharmaceutical company on the east coast. You might be the reason he OD’s on antidepressants tonight.”
“Serves him right for the way he was looking at my breasts.”
My gaze dips to the deep-set cleavage peeking out the top of her demi-cut dress. A far cry from the innocent little doll I first met. “Perhaps he couldn’t help himself.”
“And what’s your excuse?”
“I don’t bother with excuses. I find your tits to be very appealing.”
The corner of her lips twitch. “Would you like to find a quiet place to talk?”
“Very much.”
“Show me the way, then.”
Pushing up from my chair, I take her hand, leading her toward the doorway that exits to the main hallway.
“Lucian! Lucian, my boy, where are you?” my father calls for me over the cacophony of wealthy men boasting and bragging.
Amelia comes to a stop, tugging at my arm. “Is it time for the toast?”
Shaking my head, I yank her forward. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before he sees me.”
“Lucian! Lucian, where are you?” my father calls again from the center of the room, where he’s drowning in black tuxedos.
With a giggle, she scampers behind me, as we battle our way through the crowd and out the door.
“Lucian!” Halfway down the hallway, I hear a familiar voice calling out to me. “Wait! Your father is looking for you!”
Rand.
Chuckling over our escape, I drag Amelia down the endless corridor and around the corner. Her giggles echo from behind, as we hustle to get away.
“Lucian!” Rand calls, still chasing after us.
“In here.” I bang a left and plow through the first door, tugging her inside with me, and the door clicks as I close it shut. In the darkness of the closet, I feel her fingers curl into mine, while we wait.
“Lucian!” Rand’s voice is closer than before. “Lucian Blackthorne!”
Pitch blackness blankets the room, and her hand slides across my abdomen, clenching my stomach muscles on contact. Soft fingertips linger there, toying along the top of my belt. With her other hand still captured in mine, I loosen my buckle one-handedly, unzip my pants, and guide her hand down inside, curling her fingers around my shaft.
“Oh, my,” she whispers, stroking my cock without much direction.
“Lucian!” Rand seems to be right outside the door, and I bite my bottom lip, stomach muscles tight, as she runs her small and delicate hands up and down my dick. “Dear God, I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” he says, his voice growing weary and distant.
At the sound of his retreating footsteps, I twist around, slamming Amelia into a shelf that rattles whatever is stored there. Blindly hiking up her skirt, my fingertips are greeted by smooth skin up to her damp cotton panties.
She lets out a quiet moan.
Our movements are quick and frantic, punctuated by harsh breaths and clawing fingers. I slide her panties down her thighs, and feel a tight grip of my arm.
“Wait. Do you have a condom?”
Of course I do. If there’s one thing six years at an Ivy League college taught me, it’s never attend a party without one. I slide the condom from my back pocket, tear it open, and roll it down my shaft in the dark. Once in place, I gather up her dress and run my finger over her clit for a quick check.
Soaking wet.
I line my dick at her entrance and push forward, feeling her fingers dig into my nape on a whimper.
“Oh, God, Lucian. It’s … you’re going to split me half.”
“Relax,” I whisper, and reach through the darkness for her jaw.
Holding tight, I press my lips to hers, silencing her, and thrust again. This time harder than before, and the vibration of her outcry rumbles against my lips. Her warm, wet walls greet me each time I drive my hips forward, and it isn’t long before she’s panting for breath.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Don’t stop. Please.” The soft, breathy voice tickles my ear.
I hammer into her, and something crashes to the floor beside us. My whole body is hard, begging for release. Her pussy contracts around me as she cries out, but I can’t pull the trigger. Twenty minutes pass.