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“Princess, eat the damn pancake. Your mom isn’t here, she doesn’t have any say over what you eat anymore. She doesn’t get to control you anymore.”
Her eyes go glassy, and for a moment, I think she might actually cry. Something about the way she’s struggling with this calls to something inside of me. Instead of getting frustrated with the way an eighteen-year-old woman is refusing to eat something because her mom told her she couldn’t, I lift the forkful of food up higher, narrow my eyes, then say, “Eat, I dare you.”
Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, and instead of the trauma, I see a hint of the fire she’d shown me at the mall. Eventually, her lips part, and she tentatively leans forward and takes the food into her mouth.
The moment her lips close, she starts to chew, and I watch, enthralled, as her eyes fall shut and the most seductive moan slips from her. Swallowing thickly, I ignore my swelling cock and instead stare at her, desperate to hear the sound again, but it doesn’t come.
“More,” I demand, cutting off more food and holding it up to her lips.
When she moans again, I swear I almost come in my pants.
I shouldn’t be this turned on, fully dressed, with a girl I hate, but I am, and I need more. Stabbing a strawberry onto the fork, I feed that to her next, watching as the juices make her lips shiny and wishing I could lick it off.
Over and over, I feed her bites of all of the different foods, loving how she reacts to them like she’s never experienced them before. I don’t understand it, but it’s one of the most erotic experiences of my life, and between each forkful I bring to her lips, I take one for myself, sharing a fork with her and wishing once again that I could taste her on my lips.
“No more,” she protests, her eyes euphoric as she lifts a hand and covers her mouth.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. As soon as I calculate how many calories I just ate, I’m going to freak out, but for now, I’m just enjoying the sugar rush,” she says, her eyes closed and a bright, almost unrecognizable smile across her full lips.
“Never regret enjoying food, Princess, it’s one of life’s greatest pleasures,” I purr, lifting my hand and swiping a shiny pebble of syrup from her lip with my thumb before sucking it into my mouth.
Her eyes snap open, and her tongue bobs out, sliding over her bottom lip to taste where I just touched her. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or not, but the action only thickens the air that seems to be swirling between us.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Penelope?” I ask, clearing my throat and physically leaning back, doing my best to ignore the lust that’s pulsing between us.
Her expression instantly sobers, and I wish I hadn’t said anything because a mask settles into place, ruining her blissful expression. In an instant, the sweet girl from only seconds ago is gone, leaving the all-too-familiar evil twin in her place.
Clearing her throat, her entire posture changes. Straightening her spine, she crosses her feet at the ankles and links her fingers together in her lap. “I want to break the will,” she says in a politely professional tone, that belies all of the intimacy we’ve just shared.
“Okay…did you think of a new idea to get around all the teachers being on your parents’ payroll?” I ask, unsure why she needed to have this conversation away from her sister and the others.
“No, I think it’s safe to agree that the school is very firmly under my parents’ control. But there’s another way to end all of this,” she says quietly, her gaze fixed on her hands, pointedly avoiding looking at my face.
“Princess, I’ve already warned you that I expect you to look at me when you’re talking to me.”
Her chin snaps up, and her eyes lock with mine.
“Thank you. Now I need you to explain. What do you think you can do that will break the will, and why does that involve me?”
“I want you to have sex with me.”
4
PENELOPE
“I want you to have sex with me.” Even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I can’t believe I’m actually saying them. Since the day my parents sat me down and read the contents of my great-grandfather’s letter to me, I’ve had it drilled into me over and over again that I was not to have sex until my wedding night. Touching a man like that and letting him touch me has been the source of almost every single one of my nightmares for the last three and a half years, and yet here I am asking a man I don’t really like and who openly hates me if he’d be willing to take my virginity.
Despite all of the rules I’ve been forced to live by for the last few years, a part of me still romanticized the idea of waiting to have sex until I was married. I think in my head it seemed like a nice idea that I’d saved myself for my husband, and not because it was demanded of me, but because I wanted the person I married to be my person. The one man I’d protected my innocence for.
I know it’s a stupid notion. I know that my parents had planned to arrange the most advantageous marriage for me, and that love wouldn’t ever have anything to do with it. But asking Hawthorn to fuck me like this seems like it’s shattered the very last slither of hope I’d kept that I might find some happiness at the end of this hardship.
“What?” he cries, actually jerking back like I hit him, the shock and disgust obvious in his voice.
“You know the rules. If I want to inherit, I have to remain pure. If you…have sex with me, then I’m used goods, and I’ll forfeit the inheritance. I know you don’t like me, but as long as you can put your penis inside of me long enough to break my hymen, then this can all be over and done within a matter of minutes.” I’m trying to sound blasé, like this is absolutely no big deal, but I know I’m not fooling him. Even though this is the first time we’ve spent any time alone together, he seems to be able to easily see through the front I normally use as a shield.
Using my virginity to break the will is my last resort, but I’ll take cold, meaningless sex with Hawthorn over ever allowing Geoffrey Bancroft to touch me. My skin actually crawls when I think about my parents promising me to that man. His bisexuality doesn’t bother me, it’s the fact that he is a truly reprehensible person that repulses me.
