Chapter 9- The Claiming

Leaving the bed, Nicholas went to lock the door after Harvey, worried he would decide to burst into the room again.

The room was quiet, only filled with Rory’s soft sobs and Nicholas’s hushed words. His stepfather loomed over him. His wide, broad frame casts a shadow over his son’s body. His fingers traced the bruises on his body. Surely it still hurt the kid.

His neck and his thigh had light traces of Harvey’s prints.

“Daddy…” Rory whimpered. His voice breaking as he leaned closer to him, leaning deeper into the warmth of his father.

Nicholas hummed in response as he stared down at the kid. The kid he had helped raise since he married his mother.

He had watched him grow. Being there for every award and winning. The kid had always been so timid and so quiet. But now, she was a temptation to him and his bane.

What would he do now?

However, that was a question and possibly—hopefully—an answer for another day. For now he had to do something to calm the growing anger within him.

He smelled.

Rory smelled.

He smelled like his own son, and he hated it. Nicholas was a man who was possessive and wanted answers. So what Harvey said is true? Does Rory go around campus sleeping with other men? Was he not the only one he lay with?

Those questions were unanswered, and Nicholas didn’t even know when or if it was the right time to ever ask questions like that, but then again, when would there ever be a right time for questions like that?

‘I’m definitely not the only one; that is for sure.’

That acknowledgement triggered something in him, and he frowned deeply at the thought of it. It was disgusting, and he felt an overwhelming feeling of possessiveness that he never even felt for his own mother, his wife.

“Stop crying.” Nicholas commanded, his voice a level of low, gravelly rasp. He turned his chin towards his face as he gripped his jaw.

“Look at me.” It wasn’t a request. Even though he had turned his face to him, his eyes wavered away from him.

Slowly but consciously, he turned to his father. Rory’s lashes were wet, his breath uneven, his chaotic, sad eyes locking with Nicholas’s burning gaze.

“Tell me, where did he touch you?”

Rory’s finger twisted in his sheets. He slowly pointed to his thigh, where Harvey had bruised his pale skin. Then his wrist.

The possessiveness in Nicholas caught on fire in the pit of his gut. The fire of rage and desire fought to take place in his mind.

As of now, morality, marriage, and discipline—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Rory and the existence of Harvey’s prints on his body.

“What else?”

“…What else?” Rory’s words got stuck in his throat.

What else….

The only thing left was the breakfast table.

“Well, during breakfast today he…” Rory’s voice trailed off as he looked away from him. He didn’t need to look at his father to feel the anger emitting from his body.

He jerked up, knowing he had to change the mood and his father’s anger.

“Daddy… please, help me.” He whimpered, his voice breaking with a mix of desperation and desire.

“Say it, and I will do it.” His words came out full of promise and with no ounce of doubt or lies.

“Take me. Wash his scent and prints off me…”

Nicholas’s breath turned hot and ragged. His hand slid under Rory’s slightly opened shirt. His callous fingers traced the marks left by Harvey.

“You are mine,” he growled, his voice rough with something darker than anger. “No one else’s.”

Rory arched his body into his touch, his hands locking behind Nicholas’s neck.

“I know. I promise, I am only yours.” He whispered back, his voice trembling from his leftover tears. But that didn’t change the surety in his heart.

“But my body needs you to remind it. My heart knows and is sure of it, but my body still betrays me.”

Without holding back, he pressed his mouth against Rory’s, kissing him fiercely. That bordered on violence. Rory yielded, his body easily melting into his dominant touch.

His fingers tangling in Nicholas’s hair.

“You are mine,” Nicholas repeated against his lips. His hands roamed around his body, claiming and imprinting on his skin.

Rory’s brain melted. It felt good; it was delicious to be treated with complete love and desire.

“Yes,” Rory gasped, his voice breathless. “Yours and yours alone.”

Nicholas’s lips trailed down Rory’s neck, biting and sucking, replacing each touch with his own.

“You are going to be sore by tomorrow.” He murmured, his voice dark with an inevitable promise.

“Good,” Rory breathed, his body arching into Nicholas. “I would never get tired of your touches. I want to feel you for days and days to come.”

That was his wish, his desire, his hope. He hoped for it.

He knew his only problem was Harvey.

But for now, with Nicholas all over him, he was going to ignore it. He was going to think of Nicholas and Nicholas alone.

Nicholas’s hand slid lower and gripped Rory’s hip possessively. “You will feel me forever.” He vowed, his voice a low snarl.

But then—

A sharp, staccato click of heels echoed in the hallway. Rory’s body went rigid.

And he went paler than usual.

Nicholas, too froze above him. Their noses nearly touch, and their breath mixed. The metallic rattle of the doorknob turned and sent a jolt of terror into their bodies.

Clearly, Harvey doesn’t wear heels, and they were both in the room, which meant there was only one person who would be at the door.

“Rory? Are you in there? I just saw Harvey storm out of the house. What did you do to him?”

Heidi.

Her voice was sharp and condescending. She sounded so dismissive and impatient with him.

It was no surprise she blamed him for whatever mood Harvey was in. It was really no surprise. But what would be a surprise is if she saw him in bed with her own husband.

His very own stepfather

She rattled on the knob some more, getting annoyed the second she wasn’t given access. Any moment now, she would burst the door down, and it would truly be the end of him.