Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(58)

How could they?

How could I?

How could I allow my body to react to their foul ministrations? I hated myself. I hated that I couldn’t hide my weakness or the stupid hormones I’d spent my whole life ignoring.

My knees wobbled and I almost folded like an accordion to the floor.

“You pass out and you won’t like what you find when you awake,” Jethro said. His voice cut through my grief.

Anger battled away my tears, nursing a new warmth inside. A warmth born of rage rather than flimsy passion. This burned hotter; it licked with orange flames, abolishing my hunger and weakness.

I was fed by anger. I smouldered with hate. I became stronger because of it. It gave me power to continue, but also stole my safety of acceptance. I hissed and scalded with liveliness. I couldn’t switch off.

“The next course, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro commanded from his position at the head of the table. Balling my hands, I threw away the parchment and stalked to the sideboard.

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.