I writhed and wiggled as he picked me up and dropped me over and over onto his rigid dick, spearing me, impaling me, sending me into rapturous torment. I slapped and clawed him, my inner muscles pumping around him, begging for that seed he’d given me before so carelessly. We didn’t stop to think about the consequences. I wanted his cum the way he’d taken mine from me. And I was going to have it, too. He wouldn’t deny me. Not now, when I needed him so badly.
“I want you!” I gasped. “Oh, please, Tristan. I want you!”
And sure as the sunrise, Tristan let go inside me, snarling into my shoulder and holding me tight as rope after rope of his sticky jizz pooled in my womb. I bit his lower lip and kissed him, wiped the sweat from his brow with my hands, and pulled his hair back from his face so I could look into his eyes, the brilliant eyes of my Tristan, my stepbrother, my lover.
His whole body was shaking. His jaw was clenched. His pale skin was flushed. And there was an undeniable smirk upon his lips, especially when he said:
“We can make this work, Gwendolyn. Do you trust me?”
I nodded lazily. It was the only thing I could do.
How could I say no to Tristan ever again?
As it turned out, that question was answered for the moment my stepbrother opened his stupid mouth.
“Well, I suppose there comes a time in every young, royal man’s life where he must take his first mistress…”
Then he laughed. The arsehole actually laughed. And he kept laughing as I stared at him, jaw sagging, in utter disbelief of what he’d just said.
“Your mistress,” I said. It wasn’t even a question, just a hollow repetition of the words that had just dropped out of the mouth that had kissed me. “You… you think I’d ever agree to that?” I said, my brow furrowing so hard it made my face hurt. “You think that I’d ever stoop that low—that I have no respect for myself?”
“Oh, come on, Gwennie,” Tristan said, that petulant smirk still on his face. “All the royals have them. Why not me?” When I didn’t share in his good humor, he tried to pull me close. “Come now, don’t get yourself all in a tizzy…”
“Shut up, Tristan,” I hissed, pushing him away. “For once in your life, shut up. Your mistress?! For Christ’s sakes, your dick is still inside me!”
“I was joking!” Tristan said, his grin fading as I forced him out of my cunt and halfway across the bed. My bed. Christ, the audacity! “Gwennie, come on…”
“Stop calling me that!” I shouted. “How dare you, Tristan? How dare you insinuate that I would ever do something like that—be the other woman, the homewrecker, the…” My voice broke and hot, angry tears welled in my eyes. “How could you think I’d ever become my mother?”
Tristan’s face softened immediately, but that only made me angrier. “You dolt,” I whispered. “You blithering dolt. You didn’t even think about that, did you? You didn’t even consider…”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Gwendolyn, I was making a joke. It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
“But it did,” I snapped. “It did, Tristan. Whether you meant it to or not. And that makes you an ass—an inconsiderate ass who doesn’t get to decide if you hurt me or not. That’s for me to decide—the one who’s feeling the pain.” I shook my head at him. “You didn’t think… but you should have. I’m not one of your girls you don’t know anything about. You know everything about me, my life story. You’re the only one I ever told about what my mother did to me, how she conned your father, and how she used me to…” I trailed off, lost for any more words on the subject. “Maybe you didn’t think about that because you didn’t want to. Because you didn’t care to.”
“No, Gwendolyn, that’s not… I didn’t…” But he couldn’t come up with any defense. His mouth worked, but his usual Tristan charm and diplomacy was gone. Not even a master manipulator like him could weasel his way out of this one.
“You’re right, you know,” I said at length, covering myself with the sheets. “That’s all I’d ever be to you, isn’t it? I could never be anything else. Nothing official. Nothing that came first.” I snorted. “Not when your money and title occupy that space, anyway.”
“Please, Gwendolyn,” Tristan began, “I can make this right. I was a fool, but what I said doesn’t mean…”
“Get out,” I told him. When he didn’t move, I said it louder: “Get out!”
Tristan’s face crumpled. His eyes were pleading. “It was… just a joke…”
“It wasn’t funny. It was cruel. You are cruel. Now get out!”
Tristan gathered his clothes and put them on outside of the bedroom without a word. I waited until I heard the door close to start sobbing in earnest. I’d risked everything for a few moments of pleasure. My business. My reputation. All of it was on the line. And for what reward? Memories that would haunt me the rest of my life? Pleasure I would never feel again?
This isn’t a Disney movie, Tristan had told me once, when I was young. I’m not your Prince Charming, or your knight in shining armor. I’d thought that was just bad boy rhetoric, that if I could make him see the light, he’d somehow change. But he hadn’t, and he never would. Not until he got married, and some other woman bore his children and made him into the man I’d always wished he would be.
I covered my face with my pillow to muffle the insufferable sounds of my grief. Tristan wasn’t the fool here. I was.
ROYAL PRICK
Chapter 10
I had royally fucked myself over twice in a single span of twenty-four hours—a new personal record, to be sure. I couldn’t believe what an ass I’d been, and to Gwendolyn of all people. I couldn’t remember a single time that that girl hadn’t treated me well, and I had joked about how I would make her my mistress. Idiot.
After I’d been so forcefully ejected from my stepsister’s bed, I called myself a taxi to take me home. I hated the look on Gwendolyn’s face, that look of embarrassment and shame. I knew that I’d messed everything up in a way that I’d be hard pressed to fix if this plan was going to work.
I was almost shocked when I felt my cellphone buzz in my pocket, hardly expecting anyone to be calling me, at least not this early in the morning. I pulled the phone out of my pocket, surprised to see my father’s number glaring at me from the bright screen. I almost didn’t answer, uninterested in the idea of hearing that old bastard’s voice to disrupt what was already a perfectly terrible morning. Despite myself I swiped my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear.
“Father, what a delightful surprise,” I said, making sure my tone was almost too chipper. “You hardly ever phone me anymore. How are you?”
There was silence across the line and I knew that I’d thrown him. He’d expected anger or annoyance right out of the gate. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction; and besides, I so enjoyed toying with him.
“I’m more than fine, Tristan,” he said, his tone suspicious. “In fact I just came back from the sonogram with your mother—”
“Stepmother,” I reminded him in a song-song voice.
“Evenlyn’s child is growing quite nicely,” he said, his own voice becoming almost… kind. It had to be a trick. “I thought you ought to know, since you’ll be a brother soon.”
“What is it you really want, father?” I asked, “We both know you don’t ever call me unless you have something to gloat about.”
“The fact that I’ve won isn’t enough?” he laughed, that same crowing laughter that put a chill in my gut every single time. “My son will grow up to be a duke, and you’ll be left in squalor… that is unless you’ve begun looking for a wife.”
My stomach clenched as those words curled through the labyrinthine maze of my mind. He had found out—somehow, someway he had figured out my plan to take the title from his “legitimate” heir. But how? How had he figured it out? Surely Gwen didn’t tell him, or her assistant, Tina. But then who else could have known?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, trying to play the fool and see if he was
merely fishing, or if he’d truly been able to figure out what I had thought was such a brilliant plan before it had time to come to fruition.
“Don’t play dumb with me, boy,” he snapped, his familiar anger returning in force. “I’ve seen the pictures of you and that woman. Who is she?”
“I was on a date, Father. Is that so unusual?” I asked.
“It is when your only hope of taking what rightfully belongs to my true son is marrying whatever harlot will have you,” he snarled. “I won’t have you ruining this, Tristan. We both know that you don’t go on dates with women unless you want something from them. Dating and courtship imply commitment, something you sorely lack.”
“I’m hurt, Father,” I said, hoping to anger him to the point that he would slip up and reveal just how he figured out where I had been the night before. “How could you say such a thing about your own son?”
“You are no son of mine!” he shouted over the receiver. “My son is growing in the womb of my wife! You are an abomination!”
“Oh, Father,” I said wistfully, “I so love it when you bring out the old names from when I was young.”