Blaine, Destiny - Domination Plantation [Southern Plantation 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) (18 page)

Jules wore a slick condom, and she wasn’t sure when he managed to slip into the tight rubber, but she was thankful all the same. She didn’t want an unplanned pregnancy, and they apparently mirrored her concerns.

When Brogan joined them again, he was ready. A wild look of untamed desire marked its place in his eyes. Jules grunted as he pressed his cock into her ass, and at the same time, Brogan nudged her legs apart with his knee before sliding inside her pussy.

“Oh, gods,” she cried out. “I’m going to come!” she exclaimed, lost in middle ground, experiencing exquisite pain and unfathomable pleasure. Aware of how quickly her arousal had gained momentum, she locked her arms around Brogan’s neck. “I know. It’s soon. Too soon! I can’t hold…”

“Shh,” he whispered across her lips. She stretched her neck and tried to entice him into a more intimate kiss. Instead, all he gave her was a lopsided grin.

Then, he pounded her pussy like a lover gone mad, working his cock inside her with timed strokes, thick beats. Jules gripped her shoulder as his cock twitched inside her back hole.

She climaxed immediately, but neither Jules nor Brogan came. They were apparently just beginning their tedious task. They were preparing to work on a woman, and she should’ve thanked her lucky stars that she was their woman. She’d easily assumed the role of their obedient and quite submissive lover.

* * * *

Jules had never had an experience like this one. Oh sure, he’d shared women with Brogan before, but this was different. This was more intense.

Brogan’s strokes were tortured. He thrust into her and completely withdrew his cock before Jules plunged into her ass. They took turns, each staring down and watching the heads of their cocks disappear into the woman they wanted to tame as their own.

Adaptable, Jenna bucked against Jules and then rolled her hips forward with eagerness and acceptance to meet Brogan’s penetrations. “That’s it,” Brogan encouraged her. “Let me have your sweet pussy, baby. Give it to me, doll. Ride this dick, baby.”

His words were quiet and dark, but they turned her on. Jules felt her excitement seep from her pussy and cover the top of his shaft when he entered her from behind. She was easier to penetrate, accepting of his size and wet with hot desire.

When Brogan bit his bottom lip, Jules pressed his palms to her shoulders and thrust in and out until he yelled out her name. Brogan latched onto her breast and moaned. He cried her name softly against her full mounds as she writhed and bucked between them.

Then, they drove her to orgasm again and then once more. Finally, they left her there to sleep, and dream her way through the best of any other fantasies they’d yet to fulfill.

Chapter Twelve

Several days later

It was one of those days when a man wanted to work in the heat and sweat out all sorts of frustrations. Only when Brogan saw her, he knew he wasn’t going to have the luxury of solitude.

“I want to know about the scars,” Jenna said, approaching him.

Brogan frowned and dropped the hoof of the horse he was trying to shoe. Using his forearm, he wiped the moisture from his brow. Then, he studied her.

She was a pretty thing. She looked like something out of a Western contemporary movie dressed in her designer short cut-offs and red-and-white checkered blouse, open to reveal a clingy white tank.

“They’re scars, Jenna. We all have them,” Brogan said. “You have your own, only yours are concealed. Mine are a little more noticeable to the naked eye.”

“Tell me about them.”

Jules walked by her and slipped a kiss on her cheek without a word. When he was gone, she touched Brogan’s forearm. “I’ve thought of every possible scenario. I know about your parents.” He flinched when she mentioned them. “I know they died because of a bombing.”

His left eye twitched uncontrollably. “I don’t want to discuss this right now.”

“You need to talk about the past, Brogan. It’s the only way you’ll ever heal.”

“What do you know about healing?” He pushed by her.

“More than you know. You can’t carry this weight with you forever. Just because you have the scars on your body doesn’t mean you have to walk around with the bad memories, too.”

He glared at her like he saw right through her. His determination to defy the tales she wanted to hear was so obvious it hurt her to watch him, watching her.

“This isn’t open for discussion.” He picked up a pitchfork.

“It is, because if it isn’t, then you don’t trust me the way you want me to trust in you,” she said. “Earned trust and loyalty works both ways.”

“Listen, Jenna, this kind of thing doesn’t work with me. If you gotta go digging into my past, then you might as well take to the road, sugar. I wish you well and regrettably feel like you’re walking out on a good thing, but if you’re here with conditions, then you might as well leave now. Ain’t anything left here for you if you’re hell-bent on making a bunch of senseless demands.”

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists when he turned away and walked the other direction. “Don’t you turn your back on me,” she said, jogging to his side.

“Jenna,” Brogan said coolly, “I don’t owe you anything.” He stopped walking, set his jaw, and waited.

Was he serious? Did he make love to her—okay, fuck her was probably more like it—and then expect to kick her out like last year’s trash?

“I…” She was dumbfounded and it took her a minute to gain her composure. “No, you don’t get to do this. You and Jules owe me nothing, that much is right. But I thought you cared about me.”

She saw Jules studying them from a nearby wagon. He didn’t approach, and that alone issued a warning. Discussing Brogan’s past was truly off-limits, perhaps even to his own brother.

When Brogan didn’t say anything, she kicked over a shovel and marched toward the exit. She didn’t turn around.

“Pick it up. Now.”

She kept walking.

“Jenna, I said ‘now,’ and I meant it.”

“Pick it up your damn self!” She moved her hips a little faster.

He raced forward, and she took off in a run. Brogan wouldn’t have caught her, but Jules jumped off the wagon and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Where are you going?”

His jaw twitched and he glanced up, waiting for his brother to tell him what to do with her, no doubt.

“Away from here,” she cried, pushing away from him only to find Brogan’s hand clasped around her upper arm.

“Let me go,” she demanded, writhing under his grip.

“I told you to pick up that shovel, and you’re going to bend over and do it. We don’t have temper tantrums around here.”

“Oh no?” she questioned. “Could’ve fooled me.”

When he released her, he pointed toward the ground and jabbed his finger lower over and over again. “Jenna, we’ve been very good to you. The least you can do is act like an adult when you’re around our barns. We take pride in our place here, and I expect you to do the same.”

“Pride in your place, huh?” she asked, laughing. “I bet. Those stalls over there don’t have horses because you showcase the women here as freely as the animals? Oh if this barn could only talk!”

She shook her head and marched off again. This time he easily caught her and pulled her against him. She landed against his chest with a loud thud.

Brogan ripped his shirt over his head. “This fit is because I won’t tell you about these scars? You wanna know about them? Can you handle the truth if I tell you? What do you say I give you the blood and guts of it and make sure you get a real good image in your mind, huh? Would that work for ya?”

She swallowed hard, detecting the change in his voice, the anger lying below the surface, one she didn’t have any inclination to stop. Brogan needed this. He needed to talk about what had happened to him. She continued to push him.

“What’s wrong, little woman? You don’t want to hear the truth now, do you?”

“Yes,” she said, provoking him, tilting her chin up in the air. “I need to know. Tell me who did this to you and why!”

“Why does it matter, Jenna?”

She noticed Jules’s eyes were wide. He stood close enough to grab her out of harm’s way and looked as if he thought he might have to make a sudden leap about anytime. “Brogan, no. Heath didn’t okay this.”

“To hell with Heath! I didn’t know who she was until this morning, and you’re worried about Heath?”

Jenna gulped. The change in his voice startled her. The anger he tried to keep intact shattered beyond repair.

“What do you mean, who I am. I’m Jenna Martin. That’s who I am. I’ve been honest with you. There’s no great story behind my life, Brogan.”

“Jenna Martin,” Brogan mumbled. “Jenna Martin aka Jennifer St. Martín, the only child of Velázquez St. Martín.”

The name stilled the barn. Even the animals stopped stirring in their stalls. Brogan narrowed his gaze, and Jenna felt her chin quiver like the name of her birth father stunned her quiet and threatened to slowly drain the life out of her, what little she had left.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t handle the truth any more than he could,” he spat, pointing toward Jules. “Now you wanna go, you go. You run like hell because now that I know you belong to Velázquez, this isn’t an easy situation for any of us. You get what I’m saying?”

With tears in her eyes, she slowly nodded. She turned toward the house and slowly walked away. Then, she took off in an all-out run. She had one goal. She needed to place a phone call. It was long overdue.

* * * *

“St. Martíns’ residence,” a cool voice answered on the other end of the phone.

“It’s Jenna, I mean Jennifer. I need to speak to Velázquez.”

“Ah,
Jannnifer
, your father has been awaiting your call. He’s very excited to know you’re staying at the Evans property.”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, one she recognized by the way he drew out her name and made it sound more like
Jannnifer
rather than Jennifer. Only one man said her name with such exaggerated pronunciation. A person in her past that she’d never be able to leave completely behind because he’d trained her for the life she was now ready to live.

“Is this…” She paused. She knew damn well who had answered the phone and his apparent position in her biological father’s life didn’t matter. What mattered most was the truth she’d longed to find and she wanted to hear a dose of long-awaited honesty. She needed to hear it from the man she loathed most. “Put Velázquez on the phone.”

“Ah,
Jannnifer
, is that any way to address your Master?”

Her rigid body dropped to the bed, and she gripped her cell phone. “You’re not my Master. Now…I said…put him on.” She repeated herself, unsure of where she found the inner strength to defy the man who had trained her for the life of a submissive woman.

He was an evil man, a fellow who never took her for his own but trained her for the lifestyle by using a cruel hand and terroristic tactics in various forms of manipulation. He still made her sick to her stomach. She could still smell him, that Cuban cigar on his breath and even his spicy cologne forever burned in her nostrils. The man was vile and hell had a special place for his kind.

She could hear him breathing, but he didn’t respond.

“I want to talk to Velázquez!”

She heard the phone click and a man’s voice said, “If you wanted to talk to your father, Jennifer, it would become you, sweetheart, if you requested a conversation with your father, the man deserving of the title. It’s so good to hear your voice, darling. Are you well? Do you need anything? Where are you?”

Jenna’s father started off every conversation they’d ever had in much the same way. He wanted her respect and longed to hear her refer to him as her father but he’d abandoned her and her mother at an early stage in her life. She couldn’t call him
dad
, let alone
daddy
.

“You know damn well where I am,” she snapped. “You orchestrated this from the beginning, didn’t you?” She closed her eyes, squeezing them as tightly as possible to block the tears from falling. She couldn’t think about how he’d used Heath and Fiona, her friendship with Serena, her family. The only real family she’d ever known.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Jennifer. You’ve always jumped to so many conclusions.”

“I know you, Velázquez. I’ve always spotted your ways and understand how you manipulate the people in your life. Those you claim to love.”

“Ah, but, dear daughter, you understand nothing about my life. It’s time now to introduce you to the life I’ve trained you for, the life your mother has allowed others to train you for. See, it’s time for you to assume your place as my daughter and join your brothers here in Spain when you finish your task.”

Jenna shook as her father’s words stung her. Rather than argue with a known madman, one wanted by more federal agencies than Charles Manson was ever wanted by the people of California, she chose to stick to her reasons for placing the call.

“Do you know Heath, Jules, and Brogan Evans?”

Silence.

“Velázquez! Answer me! Do you know the Evans brothers?”