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“Keep your nose to yourself, Less.”
“It’s your fault for smelling so good. It’s unique. Flowers and spice, and sea, and you.”
“I’m not going to fall for this,” I snap.
I don’t even know whatthisis. Why is he pretending to be a sweet, lovesick puppy when we both know it couldn’t be further from the truth?
“I’m not trying to make you fall, poison. I’m just getting my fix. I’ve had to wait for a very, very long time for it. You took what belongs to me away.”
His tone sounds almost teasing at the start, but it does nothing to conceal the cold steel underneath. The icy anger he’s covered in pleasantries until now. Who does he think he’s trying to fool? I know the worst of him. No amount of flirting will make me forget who he is.
He’s intent on making me pay for leaving four years ago, and the moment I decided we were better off going with him than risking it in our parents’ cottage without much food or any way to cook it, I accepted I’d have to face his wrath.
I can take it. It’s only for a day or two. Then the storm will clear, I’ll head back to the cottage, then my parents will come. We’ll have a lovely winter vacation, with eggnog, Christmas presents, off-key songs around the tree, and I’ll return to my apartment in London, to forget he exists.
Unlike when I was younger, I can take anything he dishes out now. I know it’s temporary. I have an out.
“You’re insane,” I inform him archly.
“Only with you, darling.” He gets to his feet, leaving a quick kiss on my check before asking around, “Anyone wants a drink? I’m feeling like popping open a bottle of Dom.”
“What’s wrong with that horse piss you’ve been serving us all day?” Caden asks, tipping back his head to finish the dregs of his five-hundred-buck whiskey. “But my glass’s empty, so you’re twisting my arm.”
Less leaves the hall through one of its many entrances. I’d like to say I’m just watching him walk away because I’m glad to have the distance, but while that’s true, I also have to admit my gaze dips down. It’s only to myself, and I don’t judge too harshly for it. He has onehellof an ass. Rounded, firm, muscular. He’s proof God doesn’t exist, because there’s no way He would have let someone as terrible as Less look quite so good. Or maybe it’s the opposite; God’s responsible for floodings, hail, locusts, and the rest of the plagues of Egypt. Of course He’d come up with Alessandro. Unless he let Satan build him.
“So, Ivy. You planning on breaking our boy’s heart again?” Basil Osborn asks pleasantly once Less is gone.
I actually laugh, though it bubbles up on its own, nervously. “What heart?”
That makes everyone chuckle. Basil isn’t done, though. “It did a number on him when you left.”
I’m sure Less was displeased. He lost his toy. He wouldn’t have liked that.
After my birthday fiasco, Less told my parents some bullshit about trying his best to change my mind, and while they were clear that they wouldn’t renew the betrothal without my permission, they wholeheartedly welcomed him.
“Don’t be stubborn, Ivy. Let the boy try.”
“Yes, darling. You said you thought he didn’t like you, and that you’d like to date. Now, he’s doing his best to show you it can work.”
“You were so happy when you first got engaged—and until now, I was sure you were quite keen on him. It would be a shame to shut yourself off from the possibility.”
“Not to mention, the duke has been ever so kind to us.”
They’d bombarded me with reasons why I couldn’t possibly refuse to see him all while I still had his cum inside me.
With my parents’ blessing, and unfettered access to my house and to me, he visited me almost daily, with flowers, my favorite drink, candies, little souvenirs whenever he was away. He picked me up in his classic cabriolet every morning, dropping me off when our schedules coincided. As far as my parents were concerned, we were dating.
Meanwhile, he cornered me in empty classrooms, in cleaning cupboards, lockers, and in my old bedroom, shoving me on the closest flat surface and driving his cock inside me, whether I wanted him to or not, his hand always around my throat, against my mouth, pulling my hair. Controlling me.
After he graduated, the lifts to school stopped, along with the midday sucking session, half dressed in my uniform, but he still made his way to my bedroom at night. I’m pretty certain my parents knew what was going on, though he always took care to mute my cries, but what were they going to say? I was seventeen, two years older than the age of consent, with my “boyfriend,” who was only a couple of years older than me. That’s legal in most countries. They’re cool parents, so they shut up about it. And so did I.
It took me years on a shrink’s couch to admit why I didn’t make it stop. I could have. As fond as my parents were of the idea of Less, they would have caused a scandal if I’d breathed a word of discontent.
But I liked it.
Even now, thinking back on it, my thighs rub together, awareness growing between them.
I’ve had sex since him. A lot of sex in the first year. And it bored me to tears. I asked my partners to go harder, to choke me, make it hurt, but those who didn’t think I was a freak simply didn’t knowhowto please me.
