A Rose to Keep (The Society 1)

Mateo’s dad nodded. “It’s nice to know my death has already been planned out. Will you be mourning my death or dancing on my grave?”

“Dancing. You’d love it, but I would put on some rap music, not that classical shit you’re into.”

I didn’t think I’d ever seen Mateo like this. His father shook his head, but I saw a twinkle in his eye.

I shifted from one foot to another and his gaze landed on me. His nostrils seemed to flare.

“Who is this?” Mateo’s dad asked.

I looked toward him, as Mateo pointed at Gideon, William, Dante, and Heather, before landing on me. “And this, is Sian Roberts. The selected.” He added the last part in a whisper.

“You look like your mother,” he said.

“Sian, this is my dad, Justin.”

I stepped forward, holding out my hand for him.

He took it but then pulled me in for an unexpected hug. I flinched away from his touch, too surprised by his sudden touches.

Justin immediately jerked back.

“You knew my mother?” I asked.

This was news. I rarely, in fact, I never saw any of my mother’s friends. My dad always had people around, entertaining, not my mother. How odd.

“Yes, we went to the same academy. The one you’re going to now.”

“Right, yes, you would have been the same age,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips.

The way Justin kept on looking at me, I thought there was something on my face. I clenched my hands, waiting for whatever he was going to say.

“Dad, this is totally not awkward, but you’re making it so,” Mateo said.

“Right. I am cramping the young kids’ style. The house is yours. Don’t party. Don’t break shit. Don’t do anything that’s going to get you into trouble.” Justin slapped Mateo on the back.

“Where’s Mom?” Mateo asked.

I saw Justin’s shoulders slump. “She’s already headed to the city. I’m meeting her there.”

Mateo nodded and Justin left, leaving a heavy dose of silence in his wake.

“Well, that was … interesting. Is your dad the cuddly kind?” I asked. I wasn’t going to lie, but I was a little jealous of Mateo’s dad. Mine never showed me any affection whatsoever. He treated me more with disdain.

I hated him, if I was being truthful, and ever since we had our dinner where he’d ordered me to take on the selection, I’d been having foggy memories of a time when I was a kid. The bruises. Drew being there, helping me up when he slapped me down. Calling me names from a bitch, to useless, and a waste. How he didn’t want a fucking daughter.

My memories of my mother were a little more vague. She always seemed to be absent. Rarely in my company for longer than a few minutes. However, there was one memory, with a knife, that I couldn’t seem to grasp. It was like it was on the edge of my mind, refusing to allow me to see.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I smiled at Mateo. “So, are you going to give us the guided tour?”

Mateo loved showing off his place. There was no doubt about it. He loved pointing out certain artifacts, paintings, and how they were purchased. He believed his father had a direct link to the black market, which was how he came to acquire some of life’s treasures. They were really pretty.

After he showed us the swimming pool, game room, kitchen, garden, and the library, he took us upstairs to where we would be sleeping.

Heather had the room next to mine.

The guys were just down the hall, and my room had a view overlooking the garden. It was beautiful. I sat my butt down on the large bed and leaned back.

“That’s a good look for you,” Mateo said, leaning over me.

I laughed. His hands had gone to either side of my waist. One of his thighs sliding between mine.

“What? On an amazing luxury bed?”

“No, lying down, submissive.”

“Do you have dominant fantasies?” I asked.

“Not the kind you think, but I don’t know how I’d feel if I chained you up.” He took my hands, locking them above my head. “With the guys, I’d never need to use rope or chains. I’ve got you.” He nudged his nose against my neck, and I tilted my head back as he pressed lips to my pulse.

I released a gasp as he sucked down.

After the way he’d touched me during our date, I’d gone to bed touching myself several times from the erotic memory.

The hand at my waist went down, sliding over my hip, heading toward my pussy, and each touch highlighted my need for me. I spread my legs, letting him know it was okay to touch me. I hadn’t changed out of the uniform and the skirt was a little loose around my thighs.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

I didn’t know what I wanted, but I didn’t want him to stop. I loved the way he touched me, driving me higher and higher with need.