Debt Inheritance

Dessert.

I knew what would happen.

I can’t do this.

You will do this.

In my rage, I made a reckless decision. I was at war with my body—why not step over the battle line and join them? Why not embrace it? It was yet another tool—another lesson. If I embraced the new feelings inside, I would be better equipped at chipping away at Jethro’s cold exoskeleton of ice and burrowing my way into his warmth.

I would make him care.

I would pleasure him.

Then I would kill him.

My legs scissored together. Everything inside curled deeper into hiding. The moment I went near the table, I would lose all control. I didn’t trust my body. It overpowered me every time. And it sucked to be in this mess with a traitor.

Get it over and done with.

Taking a deep breath, I collected my last course.

Passing Jethro with a gilded tray of mini éclairs, bon bons, and trifles, I kept my eyes down. He’d torment me, no doubt.

Sure enough, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His breathing was slightly uneven; his voice lost a tiny shred of chilliness. “Get through this, and I’ll reward you. I’ll be kind, because you deserve it.” Pressing a possessive kiss on my cheek, he whispered, “I’ll wipe it all away.”

I was struck dumb by the rare and scarily beautiful glimpse at a man I didn’t know existed. But then I blinked as Jethro's ice slid back into place, a grim smirk on his lips. “My offer only stands as long as you don’t speak, act out, or disappoint me.”

Unwinding his arm, he shoved me toward his father.

Almost drunkenly, I moved toward Mr. Hawk. My stomach quivered with trepidation; my heart was prey running frantically for its life.

Mr. Hawk smiled, holding up another piece of paper. “Here. Your last one until you’ve completed this final service. I think you deserve it, don’t you?” His eyes raked down the front of my ridiculous maid’s uniform. The cap had stayed in place—how, I didn’t know.

Patting my arse, he added, “I must admit you refrained beautifully, even your mother who was my favourite, didn’t do so elegantly at her first dinner party.”

I ignored that, latching onto the parchment.

Mr. Hawk motioned me to put the tray on the table, before handing over the small piece.

Percy Weaver and family hereby acknowledge his agreeance to the one and only term set forth by Bennett Hawk. In accordance with the law, both parties have agreed that the paperwork is binding, unbreakable, and incontestable from now and forever. Details and parties of both signatures are displayed on the enclosed verified document, henceforth known as the Debt Inheritance.

My eyes met his.

If only I had the rest. I would scream and give up the charade of obedience. I was done. I would take pain to avoid what was about to happen. I would take pain rather than pleasure because then I would still know myself. The longer this went on, the less in-tune I was with the girl I’d been.

Too many feelings. Too many sensors. Too many rabbit-holes with too many right and wrongs.

You’re giving up so soon? They killed your mother! They’ve broken your father’s heart. Could I not stomach some unpleasantness and confusion in order to find a way to repay them?

Disappointment weighed my heart. I thought I’d have more endurance.

No. I won’t give in.

This is nothing. Be that kite. Cut your strings again.

Bracing my shoulders, I moved closer to Mr. Hawk without being asked.

His eyes widened, then a grin spread his lips. “Good girl, indeed.” Bowing his head, his arm wrapped around my waist, tilting me back a little. “You’re proving to be a testament to my son’s training.”

My waist height was almost perfect for a lowered mouth to latch onto the front part of my sex.

And that was when I felt the strangest, wettest, alluring, disgusting thing of my life.

His tongue slid along my clit, wriggling softly, drenching me in saliva.

My stomach clenched, my hands balled, and I wobbled in his arms.

The disgusting element didn’t leave. I waited for my body to betray me, to like it, but all I felt was grotesque impatience for it to be over.

And then…it was.

My first experience with a tongue down below, and it’d been done by a man older than my father. If I didn’t have an empty stomach, I would’ve thrown up all over again. There was nothing sexy or erotic about that.

Tapping my behind, he murmured, “Proceed.”

Swallowing hard, I collected the dessert tray and crossed the small distance to Orange Tattoo. He crooked his finger, beckoning me closer. Locking my jaw, I held the desserts high and did as he requested. His orange hair tickled my thighs as he leaned down, running his tongue over the private bundle of nerves.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t sensitive, nor did I enjoy it.

Once he’d taken his trifle and tasted his fill, I left to serve the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Some men forced my legs to spread, angling their faces deep. Some men barely touched me, their hot breath wafting between my thighs.

I would like to say I managed to turn my brain off—to do what I promised and fly free, but every tongue kept me locked in the world I lived in. Every lick made my body turn to stone while my tummy twisted and ached from clenching.

I delivered dessert, but I was the ultimate sweet. The men took their time, firm fingers holding my hips, dragging their foul tongues from my clit to my entrance. And after every violation, they’d wipe their glistening mouths and say, “Thank you, Ms. Weaver.”

Thank you.

As if their appreciation was enough to stop me from feeling like dirt. Their treatment never changed. They remained courteous and gentle. Obeying boundaries and not doing anything but licking me in a place they had no right.

Their pleasantness made all of this seem so normal. So terribly normal. And my hatred slowly switched back to acceptance. The small flutter I’d felt from my nipples being sucked returned—frightful, tentative, but softening my hate tongue by tongue.

They weren’t hurting me. They weren’t making me do anything that had the potential to shatter my mind.

They just tasted.

A little taste.

That’s all.

And I didn’t fight.

Not at all.

I’m wet.

By the time I came to Daniel, my legs were drenched and the trimmed hair I meticulously maintained was mattered with droplets of Diamond brotherhood.