Typically, the chosen one and the Lord know each other. They’ve been friends, or they’ve dated. Few instances are like Blakely and me—when the Lord is forced to pick a certain chosen one. There are women at Barrington who would kill to be a chosen. Serving a Lord is an honor for them. Matt has kept her in the dark for a reason. He didn’t want her to know what was going on. He thought it didn’t matter, and she was a sure thing for him. Now that’s no longer a possibility. So, his reasons for keeping her in the dark have changed.
I wouldn’t say she would have been my first choice because I never thought of her like that. Is she hot? Yeah. But I knew she was off-limits. Even after I was given the order, I had reservations. That was until I started planting myself in her life. I’ve been following her for several weeks now. Then after the little taste she gave me—I’ve been salivating, wanting more. If I had revealed myself to her in my bedroom that night, she wouldn’t have allowed me to touch her.
If the chosen one accepts, she is yours until you no longer have use for her. She won’t remember that motherfucker’s name after I have my way with her.
Slowly, I hook my fingers into her underwear and pull them down her tan legs, letting my knuckles graze her smooth skin. Gripping her thighs, I push them apart and crawl onto the bed to kneel between them. I look over her shaved pussy, bringing the fabric to my face. I inhale, my cock jerking in my pants. Fuck, I need to be inside her, but that can’t happen tonight. Not yet.
The rules are clear, but they don’t say anything about playing with her. They allow us just enough to hang ourselves. The Lords are always testing us.
I throw the underwear to the floor and slide my hands up the inside of her thighs to her cunt. I bite my lip, spreading her lips open for me. “Goddamn,” I whisper, slipping a finger inside her.
She’s not wet, but I didn’t expect her to be. Bringing my finger to my mouth, I suck on it up to my knuckle and then slide it back in, gently testing the waters while my eyes go to her face.
Her head is tilted to the left, her dark hair covering her pillow, and her breathing remains unfazed. I reach up with my free hand and shove her shirt up farther to expose her chest to me. I smile at the fact she’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts are fucking amazing. Round and firm, they fit in my hand perfectly with pretty pink nipples and small areolas.
Looking back down at her pussy, it’s getting wetter. I remove my finger and add another one. She still doesn’t move.
My girl has proven that I own her, and I can’t wait to show her just what that means.
I start to get more and more aggressive. Her head moves to the other side, and a whimper escapes her lips. I didn’t give her very much GHB because of her small size. I didn’t want her to experience too many side effects. I just needed her to be drowsy and impaired to the point I could play with her. Plus, it can increase an urge for sex.
She arches her back for me, her lips parting, and I watch the way her nipples harden as her pussy tightens around my fingers.
I readjust myself on the bed, placing my left hand by her head. I lean all my weight on it while forcing a third finger into her tight cunt. My cock twitches with anticipation to be inside her. To be the first there. To own her.
Her breath catches, and I gently kiss the corner of her lips. “Beautiful.”
“Ryat.” She moans.
“Yeah, Blake. It’s me,” I tell her, and she whimpers. Even drugged and only half-conscious, she knows I’m the one touching her.
I begin to finger-fuck her roughly while my thumb plays with her clit. Her body rocks back and forth, making her tits bounce and the bed squeak. She lets out a cry when her pussy clamps down, and she comes all over my fingers.
Something about having her like this—having total control over her body—is very powerful. Knowing she willingly took something I gave her without any knowledge of what it was. She’s craving to be owned, to be dominated, to be mine!
I stop, and her eyes remain closed. Bringing my fingers to her mouth, I rub them over her parted lips, smearing her cum across them like icing. “Soon, little one,” I tell her before I stick them in my own mouth, licking them clean. Tasting that fucking honey that I’ve been craving after she gave herself to me in my bedroom.
Pushing off the bed, I move to a sitting position between her shaking legs. I reach down and grab the collar of the oversized shirt and rip it down the middle. “I’ll burn this,” I say to myself, pulling her arms out of it, knowing that I’m one step closer to owning her and erasing any trace of Matt.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the card and lay it on her nightstand. Now I wait.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BLAKELY
CHOSEN ONE
IREAD OVER the white card in my hand that was left on my nightstand Monday night after he visited me.
Lifting my eyes to the cathedral, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to nibble on it nervously. It’s what one would think of—large and medieval-looking with the high walls and spiers on the top. It sits in the middle of nowhere off the two-lane road. It reminds me of something you’d see in a scary movie where some kids come to a haunted building to explore. Only they all end up dead in various rooms due to blunt force trauma, and the villain smears their blood along the walls.
Okay, maybe I’ve watched too many scary movies lately.
An old white cross sits above the main entrance. You can see where it once was upright due to the discoloration, but at some point, it has fallen. The wind rocks it slightly back and forth, making a creaking sound just adding to the ick factor. It could not be scarier if it was made for a movie set.
It’s cold out tonight. My body shakes, and my teeth chatter while I stand in a low-cut black mini dress that barely covers my ass and red Gucci heels. I have all my weight on the balls of my feet. Otherwise, they’d sink into the soft ground.
I did my makeup heavy with smokey eyes, thick eyeliner, and red lipstick. I probably look like a cheap hooker walking the streets to find a John. But I won’t be getting paid for what I’m about to do. No. I’m going to freely give it away. Hand it over to a man who I know will use it. Abuse it.
Looking back down at the card, I flip it over to see The Ritual Vow Ceremony typed out along with the address that I had to google. It was exactly thirty minutes from campus, tucked back in the middle of nowhere. Below that, it reads—once the chosen accepts her duty, she is bound to serve him.
I’m getting to be part of a “ritual” of the Lords. I know it seems as creepy as it sounds, but I need something new in my life. It’s been missing something for as long as I can remember. And Ryat made me realize what that is.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to do something for yourself?”
His question in the library made me think. From a young age, I’ve had dreams of what I wanted for a future, but my parents have shot them down one by one. I wanted to go to Stanford, but that wasn’t an option.
“Barrington is where you’ll go.” My mother told me that when I was twelve. No argument.
I like Barrington, don’t get me wrong, but it just wasn’t my first choice. I wanted to be normal for once. I went to a private school all my life, so Barrington feels no different. It’s secluded in the middle of Pennsylvania. It’s for rich kids—the elite. The ones with criminal records a mile long that daddies have paid off and judges have brushed under the rug. What could possibly go wrong when you put them all in one place? They are the men and women born and bred to take over their family’s business one day. The degrees are formalities. You need the accolades on paper even though they’re just handed that billion-dollar empire once they graduate.
I guess that’s another factor that led me here to the middle of nowhere at this cathedral—bored out of my fucking mind. Every day of my entire life has been planned out for me. The sports I was allowed to play, the grades I had to make. The man I’ll marry.
It’s been painfully exhausting. Do you ever just want to shut it all off? Not have to think about the next second of your life? Go on an unplanned road trip? Have a one-night stand with the cute guy you scrolled past on your timeline? Social media makes you think you have all this freedom, but you don’t. Not really. You’re stuck behind a device watching others live out their dreams. You post selfies of fake smiles and expensive clothes, hoping that someone will envy you. Reassure you just how good you have it. All the while hating your life. “Smile, dear, you never know who is watching you,” my mother always tells me.
Desperation is never pretty.
Ryat is my way out. Being a chosen one is my escape. Well, at least for now. Who knows how long it’ll last? Maybe it’s all for pretend, but it’s something I want to do.
Taking in a deep breath, I begin to climb the stairs into the building. Pushing open the heavy doors, they squeak, informing whoever is here of my arrival.
My heart hammers in my chest while I walk down the central aisle. Figures fill the large pews on either side. They’re all dressed in black cloaks and white masks. I wasn’t raised religious, so I’ve never been to church before. I always expected places like this to be the color of gold—shiny and expensive—to give you an overwhelming feeling of calmness. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s old. The high ceilings are the same color as a dark night. You can see there were once paintings on them, but over time have faded to unrecognizable. The floor is covered in leaves and branches. It’s just as cold as it was outside and the old stained-glass whistles from the heavy winds.
Ahead of me looks to be a large stage and altar. On both sides are long staircases that take you up to a loft overlooking the congregation. In the middle of the loft sits a tub for baptism sunk into the floor up against the ledge. The side facing us is all glass to allow the people of the church to witness. Three steps on either side step down into the water, and it has to be about four feet deep.
I make my way on shaky legs to the front, leaves and branches that cover parts of the rotting floor crunching under my heels. Old, outdated, and very abandoned-looking, this place is nothing like the hotel where they live. Makes me wonder why they would use it for anything.
Coming to a stop at the front, I notice in the first two rows, sitting next to the ones dressed in cloaks and masks, are women. None of which are covered. They’re like me. Each wearing dresses and heels. The girl on the far end catches my attention.
It’s Sarah.
I go to walk over to her but stop when I see the woman next to her. It’s the blonde from the party at the house of Lords. Matt’s girlfriend.
Is he here? If so, he’s wearing a cloak and mask. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, thinking he’s watching me, but I notice you can’t see any of the women’s hands or arms. Looking closer, I realize they must be behind their backs. My heart hammers, blood rushing in my ears at the eerie silence in such a large building. It’s deafening.
I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder from behind. I try to turn around, but it prevents me from doing so. Instead, he runs his hands down my arms slowly, and I know he can feel me shaking. When he gets to my wrists, he gently brings them behind my back.
I close my eyes, knowing I’m going to accept what’s coming. No matter what happens here tonight, it’ll be because I took a chance. I chose to be here. I choose to be his for however long he decides he wants me.
He grips both of my wrists in one of his hands, then I hear the sound of metal. My chest rises and falls with each erratic intake of breath. I look out at Sarah, and she has her head down, staring at the floor. A quick glance down the first row shows them all doing it.
The cold metal wraps around my wrist, and he secures the handcuffs one at a time to the point they pinch my skin, making me whimper.
“Are they too tight?” I recognize Ryat’s voice, pulling my hair off my shoulder.
“Yes,” I answer softly.
“Good.” Then he tightens them each one more click, and I hiss in a breath.
“Will you hurt me?”
“Yes.”
I expect there to be pain involved, and a part of me is excited about that. Grabbing my upper arm, he yanks me back.