Chapter 5

5

BARON

T he party is in full swing when we arrive, which isn't my style at all. I like getting there before everyone else, only because it puts me at an advantage when I can keep track of guests' arrival. It's something dear old dad taught me—he only ever taught me skills I could use in our business.

Still, it doesn't matter because everyone turns their heads at the sight of me and Heather entering the wide double doors.

I've heard so many things about the Cain matriarch's parties. They're always grand, lavish, and often over the top. At one event, they hired the entire Cirque du Soleil. Dad never got an invite because he's what others call new money. And the Cains? They were millionaires way before my ancestors crossed the Atlantic. In the world of the ultra-rich, the Bishops are at the bottom tier.

Not that I'm complaining.

Besides, when Heather said the party would be held at her Mimi's mansion, I fully expected a house ten times bigger than mine. My estimate was wrong. This is roughly thirty times grander and bigger. My entire home alone could fit in one of the ballrooms. Yes, one of the ballrooms. Like I said, the Cains love to party.

I adjust my mask—black and red lace that matches Heather's gown—and look at the goddess beside me. The gown itself is beautiful, but on Heather, she just glows. She's a vision in the crimson gown.

It's backless and has a deep V in front, which is pretty much why my eyes have been glued to her from the moment I first saw her tonight. Her bodice is red, with some lace and beading, and the lace overlay forms into long sleeves. From the waist, her gown transitions into a cascade of rich, deep black satin, the skirt flowing beautifully. In a sea of pastels and neutrals, Heather stands out effortlessly. Her black hair is in a neat chignon, and while I like it, I prefer she let her hair down.

Even with her mask on, though, several pairs of eyes stray towards her. I can't blame them. I'd do the same if I was on the other side and not the man she's with.

Heather pulls on my arm and leads me to the elderly woman sitting on a winged Queen Anne chair. Mrs. Harriet Cain is a picture of elegance and grace, and she may be eighty but I don't miss the sharp gaze she casts on me, eyeing me up and down as if gauging if I am worthy to stand beside her granddaughter.

She lifts her hand to me to kiss, and I oblige. I have never felt as awkward and unsure as I do now.

"Mimi, happy birthday!" Heather plants a kiss on both cheeks. "This is my date, Baron Bishop."

Harriet nods in acknowledgment, her piercing stare never leaving my face. "I would stand, but you look like you have stronger knees."

"Strong enough to handle Heather's personality too."

Heather smacks my arm playfully and glares at me, while Harriet snorts and covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking. "Well, Heather. Looks like you finally found someone worthy of you." Harriet motions with her hand, beckoning me closer as she whispers, "I like you better than her exes already."

For some odd reason, that simple compliment pads my ego, and I feel like a much bigger man than when I first entered her home. "That makes two of us. Thank you, Mrs. Cain."

She waves a hand. "Call me Harriet. Now go get yourself some food. Unlike other parties you've been to, I don't like my guests to go hungry. Now shoo."

A woman after my own heart. I too don't like parties sans food and chairs. What's the point of throwing a party if everyone's hungry and miserable on their feet? Hors d'oeuvres and wine can only get you so far.

"Mimi has the best caterer," Heather murmurs and hands me a small plate. She starts filling it with food, telling me what each one is. "Lamb skewer, spring rolls, cheesy crab turnover. And oh, this one's my favorite." She pops something into my mouth, and I don't even know what it is. If it contains cyanide, then I guess at least I won't die hungry. "Ham and brie pocket pastry."

My mouth is so full I can only nod and give her a thumbs-up. Heather grins at me before she spots something behind me, and her expression shifts. Her eyes narrow, a subtle tension tightening her jaw. She tries to maintain her composure, but the flicker of annoyance in her gaze is unmistakable.

"Hi, sis! I'd like you to meet my date. Oh wait, you know him." Corinne's voice grates at my nerves, and she still hasn't seen me. "Alex, say hi."

"Hey, Heather," Alex says, like the good dog he is.

"Who's the poor boy you dragged to the party? Hey, you. Turn around. Don't be shy." Corinne takes it up a notch by tapping my shoulder.

So I shrug off her hand and turn around, and the shock on both of their faces would be so funny if I didn't feel Heather stiffening beside me.

"Corinne. And your date—whoever this ‘poor boy' is." I purposely don't mention Alex's name because I want him to think he's nothing more than dirt under my shoe. That's more than he deserves for being part of this.

Corinne bursts out laughing—zero amusement, a hundred percent sarcasm. It's so loud that some of the guests nearby turn their heads at the sound. She and Heather may look alike, but observe them for three seconds, and it's fairly easy to know who's who.

Heather's features are softer and brighter. She likes to wear her hair long, and she never covers up her freckles. Corinne sports a shorter hairstyle, and she's obsessed with looking impeccable—perfect winged eyeliner, perfect makeup, perfect lipstick.

And on a deeper level, they're two sides of a coin.

Heather minds her own business, stays in her lane, and only fights when provoked. Corinne, on the other hand, likes to pick fights with anyone who threatens her Queen Bee status. Unfortunately for her, it's always Heather—Heather who doesn't give a damn about popularity. And that rankles her more than anything.

"Hi, Heather. Nice seeing you. Didn't expect to bump into you here," Alex says.

"It's Mimi's birthday, Alex. My presence is expected. If there's someone who shouldn't be here, it's you."

"Whoa, Heath. You still mad about the yacht party? I feel bad, not gonna lie, but it's not like we'd work out."

Corinne doesn't let Heather respond, cutting her off as soon as Heather opens her mouth. Yeah, Corinne hates it when the spotlight's not on her.

"Hi, Baron. Fancy meeting you here. You got lost or something? Or maybe you decided to do some charity work and be my sister's date for tonight?" She turns to Heather and smiles. "Does it bother you that Alex and I are dating? That he likes me more than you? Desperation doesn't look good on you."

I let out a laugh, startling all of them. "Damn, Cor. You talk about desperation like you didn't pretend to be Heather and tried to kiss me after the football game in senior year."

"Fuck you," she snaps.

"Get in line."

Corinne blinks rapidly, like she's trying to process what I just said. Alex darts his eyes between me and Cor, and Heather grips my arm tighter.

I don't really like getting in between women's fights, but no one—and I mean no one—insults my Heather. I will not stand for it.

With my hand around her waist, I pull Heather closer to me and kiss her temple. When I speak, however, it's loud enough that the other couple can hear. "Sorry, I didn't tell you, baby. She cornered me, wearing your favorite shirt—you know, the faded gray Beavis and Butthead shirt—and said I needed to stop bullying her."

My smile disappears as I face Corinne again. "It's pretty sad that you go out of your way to try and make Heather miserable, yet here she is, thriving, glowing, and just living her best life." I turn to Alex, not bothering to hide my disgust. "I'm glad you broke up with her. She's way too good for a loser like you."

"Well, that's it for exchanging pleasantries." I beam at them, and to anyone who's watching, we're just people casually greeting each other. "Pardon us if we prefer a different company. The air smells weird with you two here. Must be the toxicity."

We step away, only for Corinne to grab Heather. Heather jerks her arm back, and Corinne gets in her face. "You're not his type, Heather. You're just his new shiny toy. He's playing with you."

Heather turns her gaze to me and throws me a genuine smile. "What if I want to be played with?"

I don't get a chance to reply because she grabs my lapel and crushes her lips to mine. Every other thought disintegrates to dust. All that matters is her and me and our tongues dancing to each other's rhythm.

When she begins rubbing against me, I steer us out to the balcony, completely forgetting the other couple. I mean, as much as I don't give a flying fuck about what others think of me, I want this moment to belong to us and only us.

The curtains close behind us, the music just white noise for our heavy breathing and Heather's little moans. Her gown, which I loved only moments ago, now becomes too much of a hindrance. There's about five inches between our lower bodies, and I fucking hate it.

I deepen the kiss, coaxing her mouth to part, and when they do, I plunge my tongue into her warmth over and over—an imitation of what I will do to her pussy once we get the chance.

Heather breaks the kiss, her breath warm on my face. "I'm so hot for you right now. Let's find somewhere more private."

Ah, the magic words.

The entire party becomes a blur as I semi-drag Heather outside, my head whipping left to right, looking for someplace where I can taste her and claim her as mine.

Heather registers my confusion because she takes the lead, pulling me to one of the three dozen or so bedrooms.

Maybe Harriet wanted to make sure no one made out in any of her rooms, so she locked them.

Frustration wells inside me until Heather pulls me to the opposite side of the hallway to a partly hidden room behind the wide staircase.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and I wince at the sound, wondering if there are CCTV cameras installed just above it and if someone's watching us right now. I check and there's none.

Thank you, Jesus.

The door closes behind us, and the smell hits me first—musty and a rich, earthy scent. This room is vast, with towering shelves filled with books, stretching up toward the vaulted ceiling. The lights are dimmed, the warm glow barely reaching the far corners of the library, casting shadows along the shelves.

A thick Persian rug muffles our footsteps, but that's as far as I get. Heather takes me to one dark corner and pulls me in for a kiss. It's hot, urgent, and hungry. Too hungry. Everything has led to this. All those arguments and pranks and now we're pouncing on each other like there's no tomorrow.

We're a tangle of limbs as I back her toward the nearest shelf, forcing myself to go slower. I break the kiss only to gather her skirts and lift them so I can have access to her sweet, sweet pussy.

My pulse pounds in my temple, and my cock is so hard to the point of pain. I take her mouth in another fiery kiss before dipping a finger in her slit, only to find her fucking wet.

So many teasing remarks spring to my head, but I don't say any of them. I just want to please her, and after years of jerking off to thoughts and photos of her, I want to finally feel her pulsing around me.

Thank God for her heels because we're at the same height, and I can easily wrap her one leg around my waist, nipping her bottom lip while hooking her panties to the side.

"I can't wait anymore, Heath. I need to be inside you."

The words come out a growl as I wedge the tip of my cock at her entrance, hissing at how tight she already feels around the head. As much as I want to be rough and slam to the hilt inside her, I don't want to rip her in half. This needs to be as good for her as it will be for me.

I already confessed part of my feelings, now she needs to see it through my actions. Her pleasure is my priority. It will be from this day forward.

With one hand on her thigh and the other cupping her jaw, I slide inside her inch by inch, going against every instinct to ram my hips.

But Heather surprises me by meeting me halfway, pushing against me like she can't wait to take my cock. If that's the case, who am I to deprive her of what she wants?

I rest both hands on her waist as I drive myself home, watching as she arches her back and lifts her face to the ceiling, her lips parting in a whimper.

God-fucking-dammit. I almost come from her reaction alone.

My fingers dig into her as I slide in and out of her cunt, hissing at the way she suctions around me, milking me and making me lose my damned mind. Heather leans against the shelves, and it's a good thing they seem sturdy because there's no creaking and no other sound except our heavy breaths, my grunts, and her moans.

Her hands tunnel through my hair, and she grabs a fistful, yanking my head back. The stinging pain is so unexpected but not unwelcome that it drives me closer to the edge.

I bury my face in the crook between her neck and shoulder and suck the sensitive skin. It's going to leave a mark, and she'll wear it for the next few days. I've claimed her as mine and fuck yes I will brand her.

My hips don't stop moving, and Heather rotates hers too, but when I push deeper into her and ram forward then upward, she sucks in a breath and lets out a moan so loud I'm 50% sure all the other guests can hear.

So my Heather is a screamer, eh? I should've known.

My rhythm changes after she slumps backward, her eyes at half-mast and smiling at me softly. It's my turn.

With my mouth against hers, my thrusts become frantic, wild, and uncoordinated, pleasure building in increasing waves. Every muscle in my body goes tight, tense, and hot. Then my tether snaps, my own orgasm blinding me.

Fucking hell. It feels like I've just released a dam of come inside her, hot spurts filling her, some sliding down her leg.

I kiss her one more time and rest my forehead on hers. "I'm not letting you go, Heath. Never. You're mine."

Even with her hair and makeup a mess, Heather looks divine, with one side of her mouth lifting. "If I knew you were that good, we could've skipped the hating each other part and headed straight to fucking."

I smirk back at her. "I told you, Heather, I never hated you."