Page 6 of Until I Own You

I know she won’t be his scene partner, but she’s the closest thing I have for my imagination to punish me with a play by play of her on her hands and knees before him, accepting “funishments” like a good girl.

I step away from Seth, touching the spot on my arm he grabbed only moments ago. “Oh, will you be at family dinner tonight?” I smile, feigning innocence, blinking my eyelashes.

Seth sighs. “Yeah. I will. I’m always at family dinner.”

“Just checking.” I shrug and then leave, all too pleased with myself that I’ve reminded him of his mother and stepfather before his scene.

And maybe I’m a little pleased to remind him of me too.

When I step out of the Underground, I’m back in the members club.

And though the door to the Underground is not too obvious, it’s still obvious where you’ve come from.

And though no one is looking at me, I feel watched.

I’m not ashamed for liking what I like. I’m not.

I’m ashamed I can’t have the real thing.

I get out of there as fast as possible and head right home.

I still live in the townhouse I grew up in with Dad and Amelia, my stepmother.

Over the years, though, Dad has had construction done to give me a private wing with my own entrance. I want nothing more than to go out on my own and take the world by storm, but I love home too much. It’s safe and warm. A place that knows me as well as I know it.

I go in through my private entrance to avoid talking with Dad or Amelia and head straight to my bedroom.

The feeling between my legs was building during the scene and somehow, for some god-awful reason, got even more desperate feeling from talking with Seth.

I splay out on my bed, grab my little box of toys from my nightstand, and pick out my favorite vibrator. Without wasting a moment, I shove it under my dress and into my panties, letting it ride on the highest setting.

I attempt to imagine everyone. Anyone. The sexy, dark, and handsome Dom I watched today, my high school crush, Ryan fucking Reynolds, but no one does the trick like my stepbrother does.

Touching myself always results in thoughts of Seth. Of him taking all of his coldness to me, his brand of domination, and translating it into his own form of primal worship.

When I climax, I can only find one word to moan.

“Seth.”

2

SETH

Family dinners are one of the most grueling tasks on my to-do list, having to endure sitting at the dinner table across from Bridget while my mother and Solomon, my stepfather, do everything they can to get us to talk to them about our lives.

Bridget and I have never spoken about family dinners. There’s just this unspoken thing between us, an implicit knowledge that we have to do this for my mom and her dad. They’ve both been through too much for us to be difficult about a few dinners every month.

Not to mention, Bridget and I are well into adulthood and don’t really have room to pull the whining “But moooooommmm” card.

“You two should see what your dad got up to today,” Mom says, smiling ear to ear across the table at Solomon. “It’s remarkable.”

I glance at Solomon. I don’t call him dad, and I know there’s no expectation to. But the second he walked into my mother’s life, all six something of him with his shiny balding eagle nest head and pointy nose, she was so excited to get her life back. The life she had before Dad, my real dad, died.

I’ve never had the heart to tell her it will never be the same. I think she knows that deep down. “What’d you get up to, Sol?”

Solomon smiles, then blots his mouth off with a napkin. “Well, I don’t know if it’s remarkable.”

“It’s remarkable!” my mom says, her blue eyes bugging out and curly, brown hair bouncing. She’s stopped covering up the silver strands with dye. “Don’t sell your accomplishment short.”

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