Her just being here, in my room, wearing barely any clothes is already messing with my head, then she throws up a challenge any man as depraved as me would love to win. I love a good challenge, that’s why I was so cocky when I proved she was a virgin. But this, knowing my thumb has been the only one to stroke her clit, this will break me. I was teetering on the brink of sanity after my mother’s confession two weeks, so Zariah’s admission not only pushes me over the edge, it flips on a switch I turned off many years ago.
It’s just more perverse now.
When I was younger, I wanted to be all of Zariah’s firsts, so you can imagine how badly I wanted to kill Feodor when I heard he had kissed her. If Nestihadn’t taken care of him, you can be assured I would have. When rumors circled I was gunning for Feo’s blood, I downplayed my anger as if it was because I considered Zariah a sister, and that meant she deserved more than a pond-dweller with nothing to his name.
Most people bought my excuse, except my mother. She knew the real reason for my fury—just like she knew bringing Zariah here was the right thing to do. I was angry Feo’s lips touched ones that belonged to me long before I realized why I was so protective of Zariah.
The tape my mother played last month proves without doubt how much I shielded Zariah when we were children, but everything changed when her mother died. I want to blame teenage hormones and being forced into adulthood before I was ready, but it wasn’t that. Zariah wasn’t the only one whose eyes darkened after her mother’s death. The light inside me was snuffed out as well.
I went down a destructive path, one that saw me acting more like my father instead of my mother. I recorded my first death not long after Zariah’s mother was killed and snorted my first line of coke shortly after that. I got caught up in the life, the thrill of acting like I was a god. Although I was barely a teen, I was feared by men twice my age.
When our families went to war, my protectiveness of Zariah switched to pandemonium. I became an arrogant, conceited man who looked after one man and one man only: me. I didn’t need anyone—everything was temporary. Life. Money. Drugs. It was all temporary. I was adamant there would never be another permanent fixture in my life.
I thought that would have changed when Dominique entered my life. It didn’t. Nothing changed. I still lived my life as if I were single, and Dominique was merely there when I needed her.
I can’t say the same for Zariah. Even being doped up on shit that would put most men in their final resting place hasn’t led to me living the life I had before she reentered it. I should be pissed at how weak she makes me. I swore I’d never let anyone become attached. It did me no good in the past, so I refused to make the same mistake twice. But for some reason, I’m refusing to live by the rules I created. I guess that’s understandable when the person I created them for is the one I’m breaking them for.
Having Zariah here is a mistake, but no matter how hard I fight to change it, I can’t. Just like I couldn’t kill her, I can’t force her back out of my life, even when it’s the best thing for us both. I tried. I kept my distance no matter how great my desires became. I only watched her from afar and treated her as I would any member of my staff.
Nothing worked.
The more I told myself I have no feelings for her, the more I found myself making excuses to be closer to her. I’ve barely eaten at my dining table the past six years, but I’ve been there breakfast, lunch, and dinner the last six weeks.
I could blame the memories her tape elicited, or the way she’s peering down at me with needy, lust-filled eyes for my derailing thoughts, but it isn’t that. I once wanted to be Zariah’s firsts—I still do—and I’m a stubborn fuck who won’t conform for anything or anyone.
Some may say I am too late; Feo already kissed her. I’m not as inclined to agree. His kiss doesn’t count. Why? Because I’m the judge, jury, and the executioner, so nothing but my verdict matters.
Locking my eyes with Zariah, I nudge my head to her pillow. “Lie back.”
There’s not a drop of alcohol or drugs in my system, so they’re not to blame for anything I am about to do. This drug is much more potent that any you’ll find on the market. It doesn’t relinquish its hold even after over a decade of turmoil.
A man on his knees could be seen as weak, but not when he’s facing what I am now. Zariah did as I asked without hesitation firing through her dark, temptress eyes. She did the same when we were kids. I led, she followed. This time is a little different, though. She’s lying before me with bare thighs, and the heavy rise and fall of her chest is awarding me the slightest peek of her modest panties. They’re cotton and plain, nothing like the ones I destroyed in a moment of rage when I imagined any man but me seeing her wear them. I obliterated anything remotely appealing, hoping it would stop not just myself from being tempted by the forbidden, but any men surrounding me as well.
I was a fool. Whether in rags or the finest silks, Zariah stands out. It is why Ilya had an issue with her two weeks ago. She didn’t like the attention Zariah was getting. It took her hours to prepare herself for a night out on the town, yet not an eye in the room was on her when Zariah entered it.
The dark locks that frame Zariah’s pale cheeks and her big oval eyes give her a foreign, unique look that’s deserving of more than one glance. She would have gotten that and so much more if I hadn’t warned my men to keep their hands and eyes off her. Wyatt has yet to get the hint, but I plan on getting across my point—even more so now.
“Still, Zariah. I’m not going to hurt you.”I’m just going to have a taste, a little nibble of the scent that entrenched me in darkness many years ago.“This will be as good for you as it is for me if you lie back, relax, and trust me to take care of you.”
You have no clue how hard it is for me not to whip out my cock and plunge into Zariah’s delicious-smelling cunt when her legs immediately still upon hearing my command. They stop scissoring in response to the heat of my needy breaths on her damp panties and sweep apart. Not enough for me to get my head between her thighs, but enough any worry I’m taking something unwillingly leaves me in an instant.
I doubt her refusal would stop me though. I’m not a good man. My heart is as hard as my cock now sits against my zipper. I am undeserving of this, but I want it enough, I’m willing to take it without permission.
Zariah’s eyes rocket to her open door when I run the back of my hand down her panties, which are soaked through. “Do you really think I’d let anyone see you?”
Licking her lips, she returns her eyes to mine. “No, but your door no longer has a lock.” Her words quiver at the end. Her pussy is so fucking hungry, it’s sucking at my fingers through her panties, begging to be touched—to be consumed—but it’s not the cause for the vibrations in her tone. She likes me seeing her like this; she just doesn’t want anyone else having the privilege.
I like that—very much so.
“Excluding you, no one comes in this room but me.”
Zariah stares at me with heavy-lidded, dilated eyes. “But my box. . . How did it get in here. . .?” She takes in a sharp breath when the truth smacks into her. “You gave it to me?”
I run my hand over her cunt for the second time, stilling her movements even more. I refuse to be seen as weak, and the soft, indulgent look she’s giving me is exactly that. I also don’t want her thinking I dug up buried memories with the hope of getting into her panties. It’s been six weeks since a woman’s warmth has surrounded my cock, but that has nothing to do with my decisions tonight. I wanted to test a theory. To see if what my mother told me weeks ago was true. Although I had no reason to distrust her, I’ve been burned in the past, so I’m always cautious. Not as cautious as I should be acting now, but vigilant all the same.
I’m so unhinged, I’m about to do something I swore I never would.
I’m going to make Zariah mine.
