24
The Hope
Jenna
Age twelve
I glance back as I head for the stage, finding Killian in the crowd. I nearly stumble on the first step up to the stage, but I look back again as I start walking up the stairs. He watches me with that same cruel expression he always wears, but I smile anyway. He needs smiles. He never looks happy. Neither does his dad. He always seems just as cold. But at least he’s here.
A stab of sadness makes me draw a heavy sigh as I take the silver trophy from the man who just announced my name. I wish Mom were here to see this—my first competition, my first trophy. I begged her to come when she followed me to the bus, but she didn’t even answer. She just gave me strict instructions on how to cross the street and which bus to take back, then walked away. She didn’t even stay to wave goodbye.
I glance down at Killian and his dad again. Killian sticks out his tongue, and it makes me smile. I miss when he stood up for me and it was Callum he stuck his tongue out at. Either way, I’m happy about whatever attention I get from him. I know he doesn’t hate me. Not truly. He’s just sad.
I stand beside the girl who won the bronze trophy and wait for the announcer to read the last name on the card.
“And the winner is Killian Ashcroft.”
I make a happy little bounce, beaming at Killian. His dad ruffles his hair and says something with a smile I rarely see on him. But Killian doesn’t smile. He just gets up, adjusts his tie as if he were a grown man, and walks toward the stage with his chin high.
I can’t stop watching him, following him all the way as he goes, and when he passes me on the stage, I draw a deep inhale through my nose to catch a whiff of his scent. He casts me a cruel glare just before he takes the golden trophy, but I don’t care. I’m so happy for him, and I hope the trophy will make him happy as well. He needs it. Maybe, just maybe, it will finally make him smile again.
When he moves to stand beside me as the crowd starts clapping and the announcer signals for us all to bow, I want to reach out and take his hand. I miss the feeling. So much. But I can only take so much rejection from him, so I just lean in when we straighten and say, “You won, congratulations.”
He casts me a sidelong look, cold and indifferent as always, but deep down, he must be bouncing with joy. He has to be. I know the happy boy is still in there somewhere. I’m just waiting for him to come out.
25
The Hoax
Jenna
“Get up and go sit on your chair,” Killian demands in a cruel tone that breaks me out of the weird, fluffy trance I was in.
My body is slow and weak as I press my palms against the table to push up, and the room spins around me when I straighten. Hands grab me from behind, supporting me. I’m irrationally disappointed when I see Killian through my blurry vision, still standing at the side. But then I feel the familiarity of those hands.Ian.I lean into him and let him help me across the floor to sit at the table.
Killian takes the chair beside me, and I almost want to lean into him, instinctively craving his touch. Even after everything he’s done—after all these years—I still keep gravitating toward him, hoping. It’s a stupid hope because when he speaks, his voice is harsh and cold, even more so than when he made me admit that I had masturbated to the idea of him using my ass.
“You’re so fucking filthy you need a towel.”
It’s only then that I realize the chair is covered in terrycloth. Humiliation spreads through me, scorching my insides with ugly burns even as it sets fire to my core.
I can’t come up with a reply. My mind has switched off—a reactor that has stopped spinning. I just sit here, watching through blurry eyes as Ian takes my plate and ladles Spaghetti Bolognese and two different kinds of salad onto it.
“Eat,” he says softly, setting it back down in front of me.
I pick up my fork, but it takes a moment of staring at the food before I remember what I was doing. Neither of the men says more as we all start eating, but I feel their eyes on me all the time.
Gradually, as I get some nourishment into my system and the food awakens my senses, I come out of the haze. My vision clears, and my brain picks up pace, but it’s like cranking a heavy lever to set the motions going again. It takes me a while to realize how close I am to Killian and remember how unsafe he is. I’m more than a little stunned that I forgot, and I glance at him repeatedly with a strange mix of apprehension and desire, all wrapped in a neat little bow of shame.
Whenever I shift on the chair, the butt plug stirs inside me, bringing more heat to that special place deep in my belly that should not be pulsing and pleading for more. But I can’t help it. Not even being this close to Killian will put a damper on the desire. If anything, his presence only seems to heighten it. His fresh scent with hints of eucalyptus keeps drifting my way whenever he moves, and his wild, arrogant energy is as alluring as it is oppressive. I can’t deny it. As much as I hate him, I crave his attention. His touch, his eyes, and even his humiliation. My pussy doesn’t care about my dignity or safety.
Whenever I glance at Ian, he’s watching me with this knowing look that draws heat to my cheeks and makes me shrink in the chair. It’s like he sees it all. Every shameful twinge of desire. I want to hide, yet I bask in the exposure, unable to keep my gaze down.
I have no idea what’s happening to me. I haven’t had a clue all week as I’ve succumbed to Ian’s uncompromising control and let him spank me, fuck my mouth, and make me come at least once a day. I used to hate him—even more than I did Killian. He just stood there, watching me with that cold, detached expression, when I came running down those stairs, escaping the worst night of my life. He was the grown-up, the one who was supposed to be responsible. But somehow, I knew he had a hand in the whole ordeal. I didn’t know how or to what degree, but I knew he wanted to get rid of the competition as much as Killian did. It always did seem like Killian was his sole focus in the world and nothing else mattered. I always envied that fierce, unconditional devotion. Maybe that’s why it has been easy to accept it now that he seems to have aimed it at me as well.
I’m pondering just how big a hole I’m digging for myself by trusting him when Killian breaks the post-dinner silence. Grabbing the back of my neck, he leans in close. “Are you wet, princess?”
I want to say no, but Ian’s warning look reminds me of his first rule. So I nod. Because the slightest shift of my thighs makes me feel the shameful enormity of my desire.