Page 40 of Van Cort
She stirs and rolls over to her front and looks at me, pouting ravished lips. “Mmm?”
“Get dressed. We’re going to lunch.”
“Really? And here’s me thinking you’d much rather room service.” She props herself up on her elbows and kicks her feet up behind her, bobbing them gently. “I don’t get to lie in often.” I’ve had them for the last fuck knows how long. I’m bored of them too.
“Do you want me to spank you into it?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You wouldn’t.” I would.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Try me.” I’ve learned to enjoy bright red asses. I think it comes from being spoiled, rich, and then broken. My years away taught me that, or my hatred of Rhett did. Somehow, the tears of others became something to attain. They helped me in some warped way, turned me into him when I needed the same venom.
“Everett?” She pauses. “You go for lunch. I’ll wait here.”
Everett, Everett, Everett.
I sit and stare at her from the chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll give you a countdown. I can promise you, you’d rather be in that shower before I reach one. Ten.” She laughs and keeps looking at me, as if I’m joking. I’m not. “Nine. Eight. Seven.”
She laughs again. “Everett? You’re rushing the countdown. Stop it, what’s going on with you?”
“Six. Five.”
Her eyes narrow, and she eventually starts thinking like she should. “You’re serious?”
“Extremely. Four.”
“Everett. Stop.”
“Three. Two.” I get up, very ready to deliver a few ass strikes to get my day moving.
She’s scrambling from the bed instantly, the sheet wrapped around her and a shocked look on her face. “What’s gotten into you?” I watch her tuck the sheet around her ass, shielding it. “You really are a control freak.”
“You could say that.” She sidesteps towards the bathroom and smiles. “It’ll hurt. Last chance. The next number’s on the tip of my tongue.” I step again and she shrieks and runs, laughing as if she thinks I didn’t really mean it. I really did.
I stare at the door, waiting. No Van Cort male has ever been known for patience. It’s another thing that comes from being rich and spoiled. Even as young boys we had everything we needed, other than a living mother and an available father. The mansions, the cars, the drivers and nannies. There was one nanny called Mother Juliette. She’d sit us on her knees and read us stories about big, bad wolves and pretty young girls. I wondered, while I was in Europe, if that’s where it all started. They terrified us at first, but her soothing hands made it better somehow.
Mother Juliette. I never forgot that story, or the ones after that. Always fairy tales, where some insidious monster was lurking and a Prince charged in to save the day. In some fucked-up world where rich children play and pain was inevitable, Rhett must have found some semblance of solace in those old memories. Maybe I did too? The Prince and the monster.
She gave us that.
Lara.
Half an hour passes and she’s still not out of the bathroom.
I’m not pleased with that.
Add that to her not sucking me off and I’m done playing nice.
I look at the door handle and smirk, reaching my hand towards it as I hear the hair dryer switch off. The feel of her pulling on the handle to open it amuses me.
I hold it firm, making sure she can’t leave.
“Everett?” The door shakes in my hand a little as she tries more pressure on it. “Everett? The door’s stuck!” I don’t answer or change my grip. I let her panic start to fill the air. “EVERETT!” My smile broadens, and I continue listening. “Oh God. EVERETT!” Another pull on the handle and she really starts shouting for help. “HELP!” There’s no help here. Only games and twisted little attempts at revenge.
The handle shakes again, this time followed by her banging on the door to try getting attention. It goes on and on, and I listen to it all, almost laughing at her cries for assistance. Perhaps she’s claustrophobic. That could be useful.“Everett? Please, please help me.” Ah, begging. Cute. “Please.” Another few weak bangs and I hear her slide down the door, sniffing and snuffling to herself. She’s crying. Perfect.
I back off the door quietly and go to the main entrance, opening it silently so I can let it slam. “Andie?” I call. She scrambles, banging the door again rapidly.
“Everett?” She bangs again. “In here! The door’s stuck!” It opens the moment she tries tugging it again.
