Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) Page 5

  “I’m not going to do what you want me to do,” I say.

  “You should get comfortable. Lie back on that chaise.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Caspian shakes his beautiful head. “So angry. All I’m doing is talking. It’s you who’s inferred a threat. I haven’t even made a request. You’ve assumed one. This is about you, Bridget. Not me.

  Is that true? I’m sure he’s asked me to touch myself for him, but now I wonder.

  “Lie back. If for no other reason than to prove that I’ve not gotten to you.”

  “No.” I don’t even know why I’m saying it.

  “You just told me that you weren’t going to do what I want you to do. I want you to be uncomfortable. And you’ve already told me that you masturbate. That you’d let me watch.”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “So why not lie back? Why not be comfortable?”

  I won’t move. I won’t.

  Caspian sits forward in the chair. His voice softens, and suddenly it’s like he’s speaking only to me, like we’re the only two people in the room, in the whole wide world.

  “They tell me you have an uncanny ability to resist,” he practically whispers. “That your special ability is moderation. Restraint. Daniel told me all about how he turned on all his magical charms and still you wouldn’t even kneel down and take his cock in your mouth. The man you loved, and still you refused.”

  “I didn’t love him.”

  But I did. Past tense.

  “But to me,” Caspian continues, “that’s not restraint and moderation. That’s conditioning. Not the kind they try to do here, like when rats are kept in cages and taught fetishes. Did you know there was one lab that conditioned female rats to prefer male rats wearing tiny leather jackets? It’s not a joke. Even rats can be made to prefer bad boys, just like you preferred Daniel to your kinder, better-behaving host.” He laughs, but it lasts only a second, as if part of a script. “At first, anyway.”

  Daniel’s fists clench again. He looks right at me, as if I’m on trial rather than being the victim.

  “No, Bridget. I’m talking about the kind of conditioning that fathers and mothers do to daughters and sons. Or in your case, a sequence of detached caregivers. You, the girl that nobody wanted, taught to withhold sexuality as her final, desperate bargaining chip.”

  I won’t look away. I won’t let this sick fuck beat me.

  “I’m curious,” Caspian says, “what would happen if we put you in a cage.”

  For a second, I’m sure he means it literally. I heard this transformed room referred to as the dungeon, but so far it’s just a big black space. Is there more against the walls? Whips, chains, gags? Cages for girls who refuse to listen?

  “But that’s what happened, isn’t it?” Caspian says. “You were put in one cage after another. Foster home after foster home. They didn’t tie you down, but you were just as captive. Emotionally, if not physically. Of course you chose Daniel, once here. Because he was wrong for you. Because you knew he’d hurt you. Do you really think you didn’t recognize him? Of course you did. You knew what you’d done, and how he’s become who he is thanks to your cruelty. You sought the rat with the darkest leather jacket, to punish yourself for what you’ve done.”

  “Bullshit,” I say. But I feel so small. Beaten, here in this big white spotlight. Now lying back as he wanted me to, though I don’t remember doing it.

  “I know you better, Bridget Miller, than you know yourself.” He gestures over his shoulder, this time on the other side. Trevor appears, the two men now flanking Caspian like sentinels. “And I know that if you could do it without consequence, you would give in right now. Not to Daniel … but to Trevor.”

  I lick my lips. I wish I knew what this was all about. I wish I knew what he expected, so I could get this over with.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes you would. Because right now, Trevor is the wrong choice. Right now, letting Trevor touch you will cause your life the most damage.”

  I feel trapped in a paradox. Does he want me to fail in order to pass? Or pass by refusing what he says … in which case I’ll protect myself, but then he’ll deem that I’ve failed? I don’t know which impulse to trust. Jessica said to be me, but if I secretly want to harm myself, that’s exactly the wrong choice. So many double negatives. If I’m self-destructive by my very nature, being me in order to pass Caspian’s test is the single most reliable way to ensure that I fail.

  Caspian motions for Trevor to approach the chaise. He moves into the spotlight, and his eyes apologize to me. But dammit, between looking at Daniel and looking at Trevor, I’m sort of getting turned on. Because I hate me. Because I want what’s wrong for me.

  “Tell me, Bridget,” Caspian goes on, with Daniel still beside him. “When you first met your foster brother, Brandon — before you formed your bond, before you grew older and got used to him, when he was just the latest leather-jacketed loser tossed into your broken cage — did you ever touch yourself while thinking about him?”

  “No,” I say, but I finally break eye contact. I feel crushed. Dominated. Broken into a thousand pieces.

  “Poor little girl,” Caspian coos, his voice sinister. “You’re damaged goods, but an emotional virgin. You truly are innocent. You truly are pure. But it’s barely a good thing, if at all. You don’t have a gift of considered restraint. You’re simply more conditioned to feel shame about your sexuality than you are willing to act out. You won’t allow yourself to experience what you truly desire, and what would be better for you than some fucking rat.”

  I look at Trevor, just a few feet away. I look at Daniel, right beside the throne. Trevor, who’s been nothing but sweet and considerate. Or Daniel, who has hurt me, even when he’s loved me.

  Both men look at me. I look at Caspian.

  “You think you know me,” I say, summoning the little strength I can manage. “But you don’t.”

  “Then prove it,” Caspian says.

  And from the ceiling, heavy canvas walls fall to isolate me and Trevor from the room beyond.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Daniel

  Canvas falls from the ceiling, and I feel like I’ve swallowed something large — at least the size of a lemon, possibly a cantaloupe. There’s no machinery in place for something like that in the rec room, so Caspian’s somehow had modifications done without bothering to ask. Without construction noise or me noticing a thing. I suppose it’s possible there’s a crane off to the side in the dark, but it’s equally likely that the addition is elaborate, and that the board gave him approval without bothering to inform us.

  My alarm bells are screaming.

  That’s my woman in there with my friend. That’s my woman in there with the man who’s become my mortal enemy.

  I’ve seen all of the response cues on her, since we’ve been apart. Since this final (or, I guess, next-to-final) ruse began. I’ve reviewed the footage like a jealous detective. I’ve analyzed the room data, the body temperature monitors, the galvanic skin response sensors embedded into half the mansion’s chairs, bannisters, and doorknobs. I doubt Bridget intends to respond to Trevor just yet, but her body feels different. She’s a young woman, mid-month, when her evolutionary drive to reproduce is strongest. She’s been abandoned by her mate, and biologically driven to find a suitable replacement.

  Perhaps one with nice, juicy, blue-blooded genes like Trevor.

  But he wouldn’t do this to me. Not now. Not when so much is on the line.

  Or would he?

  I care about her, too, he once told me.

  Like a friend. Like a brother.

  Until someone traps them alone together and, surely, means to set off half a dozen conditioned triggers. I don’t monitor Trevor, but I still know what he must be thinking.

  I look at Bridget, and it’s like she’s the one who’s conditioned me. She’s the one who’s embedded triggers in my psyche. How can anyone else be trusted around her?

  I
t takes everything I have to stay at Caspian’s side. My feet twitch, wanting to rush me toward the draped walls so I can burst in. I feel my epinephrine and vasopressin response, brewing a cocktail of rash action within me.

  Caspian looks over and, with a crocodile smile, says, “What do you think they’re doing in there?”

  “Waiting for you to tell them what to do,” I say, as steady as I can.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at her.”

  I swallow. Watching the silent curtains for a sign. Any sign.

  “And I’ve seen the way she looks at him.”

  My jaw works. I want to stay perfectly calm, but I can’t. Not long ago, I told Bridget that jealousy was a turn-on. In a way, if you can control it, that’s true. If a man has sex with a woman after she’s been with a rival, he’ll come harder and in larger volumes. But right now, I just want whatever this is to end.

  “She’s not going to do something just because you’ve isolated them. She doesn’t like being manipulated.”

  “Perhaps,” Caspian says, watching the still, silent tent in the room’s center. “But perhaps this isn’t manipulation at all.”

  I get an avalanche of unwanted mental images.

  Trevor kissing Bridget’s lips.

  Trevor’s hand on the side of her face, his fingers soon traveling lazily down her neck, sliding under her dress, against her skin.

  The dress straps lowered. Her breasts out in the open air. Trevor’s hand cupping one, his thumb playing with the stiffening nipple. His mouth on her as she arches her back, closing her eyes.

  I wonder if, since the incident in the hallway, Bridget has found jealousy to be a less-than-ideal turn-on, too.

  I strain to hear sounds, but nothing comes.

  “Are you going to do anything at all?” I ask Caspian. It’s hard to speak.

  “I’m doing plenty.”

  “If this gets you off, don’t you want to raise the curtain so you can catch them … ”

  My mouth won’t finish the sentence. Caspian only smiles. My mind, however, obliges.

  Trevor standing, Bridget still on the chaise, his fly open, his cock in her mouth. Long, slow, steady strokes. Loving him. Kissing the head.

  Bridget with her dress hiked up, legs open, pussy bare.

  Trevor touching it.

  Licking it.

  Kneeling between her spread thighs, touching his dripping dick tip to her wet folds, rubbing it back and forth, playing with her. Then pushing in, filling her up.

  She looks up at him: those blue-green, beautiful eyes. She gives a little shiver and moan but keeps otherwise quiet. Because when they come out of there, they’ll both pretend like it didn’t happen.

  “End it,” I say.

  “This is my challenge,” he replies.

  “It’s pointless. You can’t see what’s happening. There’s no way to study the results, or draw any valid conclusions. You’re muddling our data.” I grasp at a pointless straw: “You’re jeopardizing the entire experiment.”

  “As you have?”

  That’s when I realize I can hear subtle music in the background — the kind I’ve played in countless conditioning trials. And very slightly, I can smell the distinctive scent of camphor, like mothballs. I’ve never used camphor at the mansion, but I used it all the time in another set of trials, studying sex and aggression.

  “What are you trying to learn, testing her like this?” My mind is spinning out of control. I’m starting to perspire, and my sweat has the scent of adrenaline. I barely feel like a human being. I’m an ape. A wolf. A beast of claws and teeth and fury.

  Caspian scoffs.

  “I’m not testing her, Daniel.”

  Fists clench. Teeth grate. I imagine the drapes as a window, and it’s as if I can see everything inside. Trevor is balls-deep inside Bridget. He’s in her mouth. He’s in her ass. He’s coming in great spurts all over her, soiling her beautiful hair.

  And Caspian says, “I’m testing you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bridget

  Trevor sits beside me on the chaise, our hands intertwined. I don’t know what to make of what he’s just told me. I like Trevor more each day, and think I trust him. He’s everything Daniel isn’t. He’s responsible and calm and sensible and good for me. He’d dote on me if we were together; he’d send me cards on all the right days; he’d make me breakfast and wash my hair in the tub. He’d always be there when needed. Trevor is right down the middle, never too hot or cold. The kind of guy you can count on. A smart, reasonable man.

  But this new thing? This fresh confession? It makes me rethink everything. Either I still trust Trevor’s judgment and accept that I might be wrong, or I reject him and hold fast to my beliefs. My sense of logic argues for the latter, but it’s so hard to doubt Trevor’s sincerity while he’s looking at me with those soft baby blues, my hand in his.

  “I told you what happened, Trevor. I told you what they did to me.”

  “It’s not how it is.”

  He says it so simply. It’s such a stubborn refusal, I’m not sure if I should laugh or swoon. He’s ridiculously sweet. Almost naive.

  “I’m hurt. You can’t believe how much I’m hurt.”

  Trevor squeezes my hand. “Like anyone could ever hurt you.”

  The last few minutes have been so quiet and spellbinding, it’s as if I’ve forgotten where we are and what’s happening outside. Lights descended with the canvas, and given the absence of sound from beyond — other than a light music track I don’t recognize and some subtle whispers — it’s been still. I’ve been lulled into feeling like we’re alone, in a tent in the middle of wilderness.

  The drape panels part, and Daniel is standing not ten feet away. His eyes are wild, like I’ve never seen them. They don’t seem to know where to settle until they finally find my face. He stays there a moment and then looks at Trevor. I can see his mind trying to recalibrate, as if he came in expecting to see something other than what’s in front of his eyes. I see him relax from some kind of high alert, the feeling of threat draining from bloodshed to an ambient throb.

  I look down, following his eyes, and see the intertwined fingers in my lap. The obedient part of me wants to take my hand from Trevor’s. But the disobedience has been in charge for a while, so I defiantly leave it.

  “Get out,” Daniel says to Trevor.

  “Daniel, what’s — ?”

  “I love you like a brother, Trevor. But if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to hurt you. It’s not something I have any control over. I’m not in my right mind.”

  I don’t think this is entirely hyperbolic. He’s breathing heavy. Tendons in his neck are standing taut. In between words to Trevor, he keeps staring at me like meat.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Trevor asks.

  Daniel’s eyes flick to me and then back.

  “She has.”

  Trevor looks like he might reply but then stands and gives me a look. With one final glance at Daniel and a knowing look at me, he exits the tent.

  With my buffer departed, I’m immediately on the defensive. Switches are flipping inside me like programming, yet still I’m furious. It doesn’t matter if Daniel’s mere glance hardens my nipples. It doesn’t matter if the low timbre of his voice rattles my bones. It doesn’t matter if Caspian’s manipulations have been working since the start of this, building sensations inside me before, during, and now after my isolation with Trevor. I’m smarter than base sensation, and this is the man who betrayed me with one of my best friends.

  “Now you get out,” I say, with words but not my body.

  “I’m not with Jessica. I never was.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Look at me, Bridget. Look at what you’ve done to me. There isn’t room for Jessica in my head. There isn’t room in me for anyone but you.”

  A retort rises to my lips, but I can’t force it out.

  “I’m sorry for what it looked like. And I’m sorry for what I did that I still c
an’t tell you. You have to understand that Kylie orchestrated it all. She set up the hallways before finding you, closing all the doors so the two of you would go one predictable way while Jessica and I went another. She hit all your buttons, just like always. I was looking for Kylie, yes. I was with Jessica, yes. But I never even kissed her.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say. But now they’re just words, and it takes effort to say them.

  “You have to. You have to believe it because I need to love you.”

  “Love me, or fuck me?”

  “First one, then the other.”

  “Prove it,” I say.

  In a second, he’s on top of me. His hands around the back of my head, under my hair. He’s kissing me like an assault. His mouth murders mine. Scent and sensation enter me like a violation. All sense departs, and for a second it’s like I’m something else, something primal. A stupid girl without a brain, here for a big brute to abuse. As it’s always been for me, forever.

  When he pulls back, I slap him. Hard.

  He kisses me again. Harder.

  This time, I use more force. Daniel is so much stronger than me, I think it’s more surprise than strength that knocks him back.

  “Tell me you don’t believe me,” he says.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Bridget. I know what you feel, and you’re lying to me. You’re trying to be tough, just like you used to be.”

  “I’m still tough,” I say.

  “Then tell me no. Tell me you don’t want this.”

  “This?”

  Daniel’s hands go to his pants. He unbuckles the belt and unfastens the latch. Jesus Christ, he wants to fuck me right here.

  And holy shit, I want him to.

  “You tricked me. You’ve been messing with my head the whole time.”

  “I can’t make you want something you don’t actually want. Nobody can do that. I’m sorry for the day in the garden. But it was what you wanted, Bridget, unfiltered. Just like you want me now.”