Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Now you’re mine, Stella.”
With that, he seized the papers and stalked from the room.
Chapter Five
Sinclair
Fuck. That was not the way it was supposed to go. I paced around my study as Farns escorted Stella up to her room. What was I doing? It didn’t help that my erection was siphoning blood away from my brain. No wonder I couldn’t think straight.
I went to the closest half bath and locked myself in. I unzipped my pants, angry at the complication my dick was causing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This transaction was solely business for me. Something that needed to be done. The same as it had been for other generations of Vinemonts. The same as it had been for centuries. I wasn’t a special fucking snowflake. I was a Vinemont.
Of course, the last Acquisition had been done by my mother when I was still a small child, but I don’t remember it going so badly straight out of the gate. She had followed the rules, respected the tradition. She was a true Vinemont, whereas I was standing in a water closet with my cock bossing me around. Motherfucker.
I pulled the traitorous length from my boxer briefs and began stroking. If I could just squeeze out a release, I would be able to calm down and do this the right way. I closed my eyes and saw her red hair, the way it fell around her shoulders as I’d stood behind her, the way it was begging to be fisted as I fucked her mouth. No. I forced my eyes open and looked at my own reflection.
I wouldn’t think about her, not like that, not anymore. The time would come when I would fuck her, but not out of any real desire on my part, except for the desire to fully break her.
I fisted myself harder, pumping up and down as my hips bucked. An unwanted image of her guileless green eyes flitted across my mind. It was then my balls drew up tight and my cock jerked, shooting my seed into the delicate, hand-painted sink. Once I was done, I placed my hands on either side of the vanity and took a deep breath.
I had to maintain control. It was the only way to win. This year’s Acquisition prize was mine for the taking. All I had to do was stay strong. I stared at myself in the mirror, willing the mask back into place. Once satisfied I was what I needed to be, I straightened.
I cleaned up, rinsed my seed down the drain, and tucked my cock back in. With this little momentary insanity behind me, I knew I would be able to maintain, to win, to ultimately defile Stella Rousseau.
Chapter Six
Stella
Farns led me to an upstairs bedroom. He flicked on the light and showed me inside. The room was large and somehow light. I thought I’d be led to a cell with shackles and a metal bed. But no, this was a sweet country bedroom, even homier than my drafty room in town. It was along the side of the house, and two expansive windows filled one wall. Quilts hung along the other walls from floor to ceiling.
They were displayed with pride, some folded on racks and some spread out and exhibited. I scrutinized the nearest one with tired eyes. It bore a repeating pattern of a little boy in overalls and a wide straw hat. The fabrics were mixed, though all seemed well used.
“That one dates to 1897, I believe.” Farns stood behind me.
“Does he collect these or something?”
“No, miss, he doesn’t. His mother did, as did her father, and so on up the Vinemont tree.”
“Who made them?”
“This one was done by a great-great grandmother of the late Mr. Vinemont. The rest were done by other Vinemont women and sometimes men, if they had the knack of it.”
There were so many others, some done in a similar style, others with art deco influences, some oddly modern. The room was a mix of old and new.
“This one,” he pointed to a smaller square of material that was far darker than the others in the room, “was done by Mr. Sinclair’s mother.”
I ran my finger down a particularly straight seam. There was no pattern to the material, just jagged edges on blue and green fabric. The stitching was a deep crimson, discordant and striking.
“I didn’t think people who have been rich forever bothered themselves with being useful.”
“Forever is a long time, Miss Rousseau. Most things aren’t quite so constant.” He gave slight bow and left, clicking the door shut behind him.
I needed more than veiled information, but I was too tired to follow Farns and ask questions. He wouldn’t give me any real answers, anyway. Still, I went to the door and opened it. It hadn’t been padlocked from the outside or anything. They had a strange way of keeping prisoners.