The Seduction 3 (7 page)

“Yes, please Vaughn!”
I whimper, aching for him.

“What do you want?”
he growls.

“You!” I cry out,
so close to the edge. I’m consumed, like nothing else. “I need
your cock, please Vaughn. Fuck me! Fuck me now!”

With a roar, he drives
into me, fucking me deeper than I ever thought was possible.

Yes!

I scream, arching back
against him, matching every wild thrust with my own. Vaughn yanks my
body up against him, locking me in place as he slams his cock deep,
impaling me over and over until I lose my mind. My restraints are
biting at my wrists, I can’t move against his relentless driving,
and still I beg for more.

“Harder,” I gasp,
“Vaughn, oh God!”

He reaches between our
bodies, feeling at my crack where the slim probe is still buried in
my ass. Suddenly, it starts vibrating.

Holy fuck!

The tremors crash
through me, so intense I can barely breathe. I gasp for air,
screaming and mindless now with ecstasy as Vaughn resumes pounding
into my pussy. He grinds, rubbing high against my walls, right there,
fuck
, his cock
vibrating now with the force of the dildo, rubbing me from both
sides, so dirty and deep I lose my mind.

I explode with a
scream, coming and coming in a tidal wave of spasms until Vaughn
roars, pulling out of me to spurt hot liquid over my back and hair. I
collapse onto the bed in the grip of the most stunning orgasm of my
whole entire life.

KEELY

I can't sleep. I never
knew that sex could be like that, that my body could climb to such
intense heights. Vaughn is passed out, spent, after God knows how
many rounds, but even though my body feels like I just ran a
marathon, something keeps me awake.

I turn to look at him,
sleeping soundly beside me. For once, his cocky facade is dropped,
laying there with his beautiful lips parted, murmuring something
under his breath as he dreams. He looks peaceful, vulnerable even, a
world away from the demanding man who tied me down and shattered
every last one of my inhibitions until I thought I'd die from the
pleasure.

Who
are you really, Vaughn?

For a moment, I feel
totally alone, here in a strange house filled with people hiding all
kinds of secrets. I told Vaughn that I trust him, and it's true, but
I still don't know anything about him. Or Brent and my new siblings,
or even Ashcroft.

My father. A stranger.
A mystery.

I need answers.

Restless, I slip out of
bed and wrap myself in a robe. I step out into the dark hallway and
head past the staircase to the other wing of the house. I thought I
saw an office here when we arrived, and after taking a wrong turn, I
find it. I remember there being boxes and files, maybe something that
could tell me more about Ashcroft and why he reached out to me after
all this time. But when I flip on the lights and look around, the
room has been stripped bare.

Empty shelves, empty
desk. Even the pictures on the wall have been removed, leaving dark
squares on the old faded wallpaper.

Disappointment crashed
through me.

"Can I help you at
all?"

I spin around,
startled. It's the old butler, Albert, wearing a velvet robe. "Sorry,
did I wake you?" I apologize,

He gives me a weary
smile. "No, it's my arthritis. Joints always ache like hell
right before a storm."

"Oh." I look
around. "Do you know where they moved Ashcroft's things? I'd
love to take a look at what he was working on. Letters, maybe.
Anything?"

"Sorry, love.
Brent had everything boxes up and taken away. I don't know where."

My hopes fall.

"But if you're
looking for his personal effects, there may be some things Brent
missed." Albert gives me a sideways look. "But it depends."

"On what?" I
ask.

"On what it is you
hope to find."

Albert is watching me
warily. I tell him the truth. "I want to know more about him.
Understand why he put me in the middle of all of this."

He thinks for a moment,
then nods. "Come with me."

Albert leads me back
through the house, then up a winding set of stairs. It's dark up
here, but he knows the way by heart. As I follow him, my heart beats
faster. I look nervously around. We're far from all the bedrooms now,
out of sight -- and earshot from anyone who might be around.

"Where are we
going?" I ask, unable to keep the nerves from my voice.

Albert doesn't reply. I
wonder if he heard me -- or if he's choosing not to answer.

We climb another
staircase, creaky and old. Shadows loom all around me. I shiver,
pulling my robe tighter over my nightgown. I'm beginning to regret
ever leaving my bedroom at all when Albert finally comes to a stop at
the top of the stairs and pushes a heavy wooden door open.

"In here."

He's pointing into the
dark. Oh crap. Maybe this is all some trick from Brent. A plan to
lock me away up here like a crazy character in some gothic novel.
Nobody knows I'm here. They could tell everyone I just left, and --

Albert turns on a
light, illuminating the attic with a warm glow. It's packed with
boxes and dusty old furniture, draped with sheets. It's clear
nobody's been up here in years.

"If there's
anything left, it should be here." Albert nods vaguely at the
treasure trove of junk.

“Thank you,” I tell
him, as the old man retreats. I hear his footsteps getting fainter on
the stairs, and then I’m left alone in the creepy attic.

Where to start?

I begin peeking in
boxes, browsing through the bric-a-brac. It’s incredible what’s
been left up here to gather dust: first edition hardback books are
tossed in beside crumbling stacks of newspapers, and furniture that
looks like priceless antiques are draped with ratty old moth-eaten
blankets.

It’s overwhelming,
and sad too. This is the old man’s life, packed away. Untold
memories hidden in every object, stories I may never know.

After digging through
junk for a while, I finally hit the jackpot: a box of old photo
albums hidden under a bench. There are faded sepia photos of people I
don’t recognize, posing at family picnics and school events. But
soon, I find Ashcroft in the mix. Younger, but still recognizable.
Here he is standing proudly beside a beat-up car, a man of eighteen
or nineteen. Here he is wearing a dated suit, with bushy black hair
and laughter in his eyes.

I try to imagine the
life behind the photos, brief snaps frozen in time. There are several
of him taken with another man, his best friend, perhaps. They’re
always smiling and joking together, and there are even some with the
stranger’s family: a pretty young wife and two small boys. They
were close, I can tell: holiday photos with matching sweaters, summer
vacation playing by a lake.

I wonder who the man
is, and if they were still friends when Ashcroft died. There’s some
writing scribbled under a few of the photos of the couple -- Amy and
Jack, one note says -- and I make a note to ask around. Perhaps this
Jack can tell me more about Ashcroft. Maybe he even knows what
happened with my mom.

Then the album ends
abruptly. Empty pages, no more photos. And when I pick up the next
album, I find it’s from years later: Ashcroft looking older, with
his new wife at his side. The clothes are more expensive, the houses
look bigger. Foreign vacations and fancy cars. He’d made it -- but
there’s no sign of his old friends.

What happened?

I place the photos
aside for safekeeping, and turn my attention to the other box
nestling in the corner, almost hidden from sight. I think at first
it’s just full of moth-eaten sweaters, but underneath the rags, I
find a metal box, filled with old letters and files.

I sit cross-legged,
making myself comfortable as I dig into the papers. It’s Ashcroft’s
old correspondence, from years ago, and when I leaf through the old
company memos and purchase orders, I’m shocked to recognize the
handwriting scrawled across the page, marking Ashcroft’s typos.

My mom’s.

My heart leaps. It’s
the first evidence I’ve seen with my own eyes that she really knew
him. Aside from the DNA test and employment records, all my
assumptions about what happened between them have been just that:
speculation, with nothing to confirm Justine’s theory that they
were having a secret affair when he was her boss.

But here it is.

I eagerly scan through
the papers. It’s nothing much, just notes about lunch orders, and
phone messages, but I can just picture her at her desk, answering the
phones and typing up reports.

I feel a pang of
sadness. I miss my mom and dad every day. At first, after the crash,
the pain was unbearable. For months, I could barely drag myself out
of bed in the morning. Losing everyone I loved was unthinkable, but
then every day, it got a little easier. Now, I can think of them with
love and fondness instead of the crushing pain of loss.

I’m looking for any
hint of mom and Ashcroft’s relationship when I find a bundle of
letters addressed to her in Ashcroft’s familiar handwriting.

My heart stops as I
scan through the letters, reading Ashcroft’s note of love. Yes,
love.

I
couldn’t take my eyes off you today, you look so beautiful...

Will
you meet me at our place tonight? I can’t wait to see you.

I
think about you all the time. Your smile makes my day.

He was crazy about her.
I read his letters, and I can see how much he cared. He talked about
building a future with her: announcing their relationship so they
didn’t have to hide any more. They were together, in love, and
here’s the proof.

Then comes a final
note. Typed, business-like.

Annette
-- I’m sorry, but we can’t be together. You’re better off
without me. I’m giving you two weeks notice, then I want you gone
from the company.

I
can’t do this anymore.

Charles.

It’s brutal, the
worst kind of break-up. I can only imagine how devastated my mom must
have been to receive it -- especially if she already knew she was
pregnant.

I don’t understand.
One minute he’s telling her they’ll be together forever, the
next, he’s slamming the door in her face.

So what went wrong? It
doesn’t make any sense.

Then something slips
free from the bundle. A few loose photographs. They fall to the dusty
floorboards, and I pick them up, curious.

It’s my mom. Young,
wearing funny old fashion outfits. But there’s something weird
about the pictures -- they’re shot from far away, snapping her at
the grocery store and unlocking the front door of her apartment.
Surveillance photos.

I turn one over and
read the writing on the back.

The shipment goes
through, or somebody gets hurt.

I freeze.

What the hell?

I don’t recognize the
handwriting, but it’s there on the other photos too.

You’re running
out of time. I promise, the people you love will suffer if I don’t
get what I want.

There’s a photo of
Ashcroft’s friend too, playing in his yard at home with his two
young boys. There’s a bullseye drawn on the front in marker, the
target right over the man’s face.

I shiver.

This is seriously
creepy.

What was Ashcroft into?
And why was he being threatened?

Then I see the date on
the photos of my mom. Right before Ashcroft broke things off and she
left town.

My pulse kicks. Was
this the reason he pushed her away? Because someone was threatening
to hurt her?

I look through the box
again, but I can’t find anything else. All I have are the notes and
the chilling photographs, and a hundred new questions whirling in my
mind.

Tiredness hits me like
a ton of bricks. I feel like I could curl up and fall asleep right
here, so I tuck the letters and photos into a folder and then turn
the lights off, plunging the attic into darkness again. I close the
door behind me, and head back downstairs with my file, creeping
through the dark house.

Noise comes from down
the hallway. A bedroom door swings open, light shining in the dark.

I shrink back into the
shadows, watching from my hidden alcove. It’s Isabelle, creeping
out of a bedroom wearing just a silky nightgown, her hair mussed up.

Brent steps after her,
catching her arm. He’s in boxers and nothing else, and as I watch
in shock, he yanks Isabelle back and kisses her.

On the lips.

I stifle a gasp. It’s
not a friendly kiss, but cruel and hard. Isabelle flushes as she
steps away. I can’t hear what Brent is saying, but he’s not
happy. She bows her head, and creeps away, back to her own room.

I stay there, reeling
from what I’ve just seen. I know Brent and Isabelle aren’t blood
siblings -- Ashcroft adopted them later, first Brent when he was
thirteen, and then Isabelle a few years later. Still, he raised them
as family.

This is seriously
fucked up. What kind of twisted relationship do these people have?

I wait until Brent’s
door closes and the light turns off, then I hurry back to my
guest-room as fast as I can, my heart pounding in my chest.

VAUGHN

When I wake up, Keely’s
gone.

Shit, I pushed her too
far, lashing that sweet body to the bed and invading every part of
her. She said she would take anything I gave her, and fuck if I
didn’t put her to the test: driving her to the brink and back
before I eased that juicy ass wide open and showed her what it feels
like to be filled all the way to the fucking hilt.

The feel of her pussy
clenching damn near drove me insane, and with the buzz of that
vibrator rubbing through her walls? Fuck. I swore that next time,
it’ll be my cock plunging into that tight rear channel, but as I
look around at the dark, empty room, I feel a stab of remorse.