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I’m not dumb. I didn’t say yes believing that she was going to be a completely different person once it was over. But touching her and feeling the way her tight pussy clung to my dick was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. Watching the video of us together, like a voyeur as she cried out my name, her body writhing beneath me, completely under my control, is quite possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I know I shouldn’t have, but I downloaded a copy of the video and sent it to my cell while she was in the shower. Keeping the evidence of our time together is fucked up, but I just couldn’t help myself, because the thought of her deleting it after she breaks the will and it not existing anymore is unthinkable to me. I’ll never tell a soul I have it, but I’ll know, and even though I shouldn’t, I know I won’t be able to resist watching it again.
Finally forcing my gaze away from the empty parking lot, I sigh, turning and heading back inside. This boat is my happy place—I sleep onboard more often than I stay at my house—but instead of the usual solace I feel from being here, now the place just feels hollow.
Sighing, I head into the bedroom, but the moment I step through the door, the scent of sex and Penelope envelopes me. My eyes land on the stripped bed, and something about the finality of it bothers me because, even though I know exactly what we shared in this room less than an hour ago, it already feels like the memory is fading. With my Princess and the sheets both gone, it feels like soon it’ll be like this morning never happened.
For the first time ever, I don’t want to be here. This boat is literally my escape, but now it’s tainted with her and the circling memories that refuse to be quieted. My feet are bare, and I’m only wearing the sweats I pulled on before I went into the living room to watch the video. I know I should shower, but for a reason I’m unwilling to explore right now, I don’t want to wash the smell of sex and her off my body. Instead, I pull on a shirt and slide my feet into my sneakers before cleaning up the food bags and leaving, locking the boat up behind me.
Once I’m on the dock, I lift up the gangplank and secure it, then head for my car. Opening the door, I slide into the driver’s seat, close my eyes, and try to push all thoughts of Penelope out of my mind. But no matter how much I try, all I can think about is her, as images of her naked and completely under my control run like a slideshow through my thoughts.
I need to remind myself that this was just sex. Simply a one-off bodily function with the sole purpose of breaking the will and freeing both Izzy and Penelope from their parents’ control. Only, no matter how much I rationalize what happened, I can’t stop feeling like my Princess should be here with me, that she shouldn’t be alone. Pulling out my cell phone, I open up the text app, intent on sending her a message, then remember I don’t even have her cell number.
A wry laugh falls from my lips, and I slam my palms against the steering wheel in frustration. Hitting the wheel a second, then a third time, I close my eyes and shake my head. Leaving would be the sensible thing to do. I should go to my friends and tell them what happened, but I can’t seem to do it. Penelope might not be here, but the space we shared is, and even though it’s stupid and probably pointless, I’m not ready to walk away from what happened this morning, even if she is.
Climbing back out of my car, I pull up a number and dial Matthew, the head of my regular staff who crews the boat when I want to go out sailing without my friends.
“Mr. Benedict,” Matthew answers after the second ring.
“Matthew, I know it’s short notice, but I want to go out. How quickly can you get here?”
“You pay us to be on call, Mr. Benedict,” Matthew says with a laugh. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you,” I say on a relieved breath, ending the call and making my way back over to my beautiful boat. Securing the gangplank in place again, I climb aboard and unlock the galley door. The smell of sex and my Princess hits me the moment I step inside, and my dick instantly hardens.
I was an idiot to think I’d be able to walk away once I’d had a taste of her. I might hate Penelope, and she might hate me, but after this morning, I know she’s who I’ll compare every other woman to for the rest of my life. I thought I was content with easy sex with willing girls, but now that I’ve experienced a true sexual power exchange, I know there’s no way I could ever go back to shallow encounters.
Penelope was so perfectly, willingly submissive for me. I told her I needed to be in control, and she acquiesced so beautifully. She trusted me completely, and that feeling of being in complete control of her was euphoric.
I might have told her that this was a one-time thing, but I was wrong, because one taste wasn’t anywhere near enough. I warned her I was going to own her, and although my Princess might not know it, I’m nowhere near done with her yet.
8
PENELOPE
Leaving Hawthorn behind was harder than I expected it to be, but the further away the car got from him and the marina, the easier it got to breathe. Despite knowing that the only reason he had sex with me was to help break the will, I can’t quite distance myself from the way it felt to be in his arms.
My body is sore, but oddly, it’s my heart that feels the most bruised. I never expected to feel this way, but then I never expected I’d share my first time with someone like him either, and now that it’s over, I’m finding it difficult to put all of my emotions back inside the padded cell in my mind I store them in.
I learned very quickly after my great-grandfather died that I needed to harden myself in order to become who my parents expected me to be. I imagine most people would think having a list of eligible bachelors all clambering to marry you would be exciting. And for the first few months, it was. Overnight, I went from being the new girl in a school full of people who all knew each other to an heiress who could change the future of whoever she married.
Almost every boy on my list wanted me. Every girl wanted to be friends with me. Every family wanted to court me. And my parents were so incredibly proud of me.
But it didn’t take long to realize that none of them were actually interested in me. Now, nearly four years later, it’s easy to look back and see when things got out of control, but at the time, I didn’t realize how toxic everything had gotten. It’s not an excuse for what we did to Izabella, but at the time, I truly thought she was just doing what was expected of her, just like I was.
Honestly, for the longest time, I resented her for how easy her life was. All she had to think about was school. She didn’t have to spend night after night being talked about like she was an object, not a person. She didn’t have to flirt with boys, or sometimes grown men old enough to be my parent. She didn’t have to always be perfect.
After a while, I got so used to it that I became exactly who I needed to be. I became the heiress. It wasn’t until I watched my parents hurt my twin that the haze lifted, and I saw what a monster I’d become.
Nothing I do now can ever make up for all the awful things I’ve done in the last few years, but I can stop this. I can stop our parents, break this will, and maybe atone for some of my sins.
A quick Google search and three phone calls is all it takes to find a gynecologist willing to see me on short notice. As my Uber driver pulls to a stop outside of the modern skyscraper where the doctor’s office is located, I inhale slowly, trying to calm my erratically beating heart. I don’t want to be here, but I need to do this today, while my resolve is still firm and before my parents have a chance to figure out what I’m doing.
Handing the driver a tip, I climb out and head for the lobby doors. Glancing down at my outfit, I inhale sharply, wishing that I was wearing my normal clothes and not jeans and a sweater. My hair is still a little damp, drying into the natural waves that I usually straighten into oblivion before I leave the house each morning, and my skin is bare of makeup. Earlier, these clothes had made me feel excited and rebellious, but now I feel infantile and exposed without the armor of my usually flawless hair and makeup, designer dresses, and sky-high heels.
I’m no stranger to invasive procedures at doctor’s offices, but right now I feel emotionally raw and woefully unprepared for this meeting. The urge to run is pushing at my chest, but ignoring it, I push open the door and stride into the building, because if I don’t do this now, I’m not sure I’ll ever find the courage to do this again.
A security guard directs me to a bank of elevators, and I ride one to the twentieth floor before pushing open the heavy, gold-framed glass door that leads into the doctor’s reception.
