WHIT
I’M in the city for the weekend, summoned by my very own lord and master to make an appearance at his apartment. I show up at my father’s late Friday night, delaying my visit as much as I could, grateful to see he’s already in bed by the time I arrive.
I make myself a drink and go to my room, tossing my duffel on the edge of the bed and pulling a few things out, settling them on the bedside table, along with my drink. I mechanically strip out of my clothes completely and pull back the bed covers, slipping in between them. I grab my glass from the table and sip the aged whiskey at first. Until it turns into me consuming it, draining every last drop and licking my lips, savoring the burn that coats my throat.
Like a fucking degenerate, I grab the crumpled panties from where I left them on the table and bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply. I can still smell her scent. Musky sweet. Like sex. The memory of her taste floods my mouth and I close my eyes, sliding her panties down my chest and wrapping them around my already hard cock.
I’m fucking obsessed with her and the way she talks to me, like she wants to piss me off. The defiant look on her face earlier in the library filled me with the need to tame her. Make her mine. The night before, when she used my body to get off, shamelessly rubbing her wetness all over the front of my sweats—fuck me. It took every bit of willpower inside of me not to reach for her. Touch her.
Fuck her thoroughly.
Last night, I didn’t know what I wanted, and it showed. I lost control of the situation mentally, and I was all over the place. That frustrated me. Made me angry at myself.
At her too, though I know it wasn’t fair. When is life ever fair though?
My head fills with images of her last night. The pleasure on her face when I jerked off above her, how she pursed those lush lips, her tongue darting out for a lick. She winced when the first splatter of semen hit her face and then she just laid there and took it. Like the perfect little submissive she must be.
Fuck.
The first time we were together, when she blew me, my cock hitting the back of her throat, making her gag. Coming all over her perfect tits.
Jesus.
The orgasm slams into me unexpectedly and I come in her panties, a quiet groan leaving me. I lie there afterward, pissed that it’s already over. Hating how quickly I’m losing control now, but only when it comes to Summer.
She’s becoming a weakness. One I don’t want or need. Maybe this weekend in the city with my father will reset me. Distance is the key. Disgust is a close second.
If I keep away from Summer, I won’t want her as much. If I remember how needy she makes me, it’ll disgust me.
Taking a deep breath, I clean myself up, then let the panties drop onto the bedside table. I grab her journal and crack it open, finding the spot where I last left off.
MY MOTHER REFUSES to listen to me, turning me away or changing the subject every time I try to talk to her. I think she knows what’s going on, yet she won’t do anything to stop it. Heaven forbid she upset Jonas. All she
does is flutter around him, trying to keep the peace, but she’s hiding secrets too.
Just like I am.
That’s okay. I don’t want anyone to know about Daniel. I skipped school again today, and we went on an adventure. Just before he took me back to his apartment and went down on me. It was good. I liked it, but I didn’t come. He tried and tried to make it happen, but it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. I finally made him stop, and I gave him a hand job. He came in less than five minutes.
Boys have it a lot easier than girls, I guess.
I SLAP THE BOOK SHUT, annoyed to read about her experiences with someone else. A jackass who can’t manage to get her off. The dumb fucker. I feel like I could breathe on her and she’d come, she’s that responsive.
Only when it comes to me, I think, pleased. Only me.
There’s a knock on my door and without waiting for my response, my father bursts into my room. I sit up, shoving the journal under the sheets, scowling at him as he paces my room.
“Already in bed?” He pauses, watching me with his brows raised. “I’m tired.” I shrug.
“Not out finding an heiress to fuck?” He sips from the glass he’s clutching. Scotch, I’m sure. “That’s your usual plan when you come into the city.”
It never even crossed my mind to reach out to any of the heiresses I know and see if they wanted to go out. “None of them interest me.”
“Your mother would beg to differ.” He drains the glass completely, setting it on my nearby dresser, his back to me. His shoulders are a straight line, and full of tension. “She’s exerting pressure.”
“On who? You?”
He turns to face me once more. “Your birthday is coming up. You’ll be eighteen. Coming into your own.”
As in, coming into my trust fund.
“So?” I’ve known this was the first step in the many layered inheritances I have since I was a child. I was eight years old, maybe? First is the trust fund left by my mother’s side of the family. Then when I’m twenty-one, I come into money from my paternal grandfather. At twenty-five, the rest of my rightful fortune floods my bank account.
My parents won’t be able to control me financially ever again. The freedom is so close, I can practically taste it.
“Your mother has—expectations for you. They were brought upon her. They’ll be brought upon your sisters as well,” Father says, his expression blank.
I know what he’s referring to. Mother was paired with Father when they were in college, though everyone knew they were getting married even before that. The Lancasters are American royalty. We can’t marry any commoner off the street. My future wife has to come from a certain family, be of a certain age and pedigree, and go to a certain school. She must be questioned, vetted and trained. Mother will be in charge of all of it. She’s already chosen the perfect girl for me.
This girl does nothing for me whatsoever.
“Leticia.” I say her name. My body, my mind, nothing responds. She is a zero in my equation.
“She’s a lovely girl, Whit. Smart. Beautiful. Her lineage is impeccable.”
“She’s boring.” I sulk like a little boy, pissed that my entire future has been planned out for me. “I don’t want her.”
“She’s not a doll that you return to the store when you’re done playing with her,” Father says drolly.
“She’s a doll I have no interest in touching at all,” I retort, crossing my arms.
He settles on the edge of the mattress, contemplating me. “I know this isn’t how you want things to be. I’m just telling you what your mother says to me. This is what she wants. What she expects. She’s determined to preserve the Lancaster name.”
“Right. Because you two did such a bang-up job keeping it untarnished,” I toss at him.
He winces. “That statement is fair. And it’s my fault we divorced. I’m the one who cheated on her.”
God, the man is infuriating. He speaks out of both sides of his mouth. He takes full responsibility for the affair, as he should, but I see it now. How my mother drove him away from her. Shoved him into another woman’s arms. I didn’t see it then, when it happened, but I’m starting to get it now.
“You’re encouraging me to do the same thing, don’t you see? I have no interest in Leticia. She’s nice, but I’m not attracted to her. I can’t imagine being married to her, fucking her on occasion while I have affairs on the side.” I thrust a finger at him. “I don’t want your life. Stop trying to force it on me.”
We contemplate each other silently and Father glances over his shoulder, staring at the empty glass on the dresser. I’m sure he’d love nothing more than to gulp more liquor down his throat so he wouldn’t have to feel anything. “Sometimes we have no choice, son.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I spit out. “You and Mother are pushing your agendas on me, and you both ended up miserable and divorced. I’m never getting married.”
“Son—”
“I’m not.” I feel like I’m having a tantrum, but fuck it. “Marriage is a trap. A façade. Something society came up with that rarely stands a chance of surviving. Do you know I don’t have a single memory of the two of you happy together? Not one. Most of my memories are of the two of you fighting. Arguing.”
Seething at each other through clenched teeth. Whisper-shouting so other people wouldn’t hear them, but we always heard them. Their arguments scared my sisters. Servants were fired for eavesdropping. Other women’s names were always brought up by my mother, and my father would always deny he was having an affair.
But he was. He did. He stuck with Janine Weatherstone for years. Like he was addicted to her.
If she’s even remotely like her daughter, I understand the feeling.
My father’s gaze, so much like mine, narrows on me. “Fine. You want some fantasy advice? What I would tell you if money and family weren’t involved and we were just regular people?”
I nod. “Tell me.”
“Fuck the proper lineage and important family names. Find someone who sets you on fire every time you so much as look at her. Someone you can talk to, fight with, and fuck just as fiercely. And once you find that woman, don’t let her go,” he says vehemently.
He grabs his glass, rattling the ice before he drinks the last dregs of alcohol. “You can either do what you’re supposed to and please your family, or do what you want and fuck the whole world. It’s your choice, Whit.”
Before I can say anything else, or ask him any questions, he exits my room, slamming the door behind him.
