She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother

The echo of Helena’s declaration still vibrated in the silent dining room.

​”That was just an appetizer… We have much better courses prepared for the main event.”

​And Alex’s low, hungry response… “I am very eager to taste the main course” …sealed the dismissal.

​Vivienne stood frozen where she was, still positioned beside Alex’s chair, the wine bottle forgotten on the table. The shock of Helena’s dismissal hit her harder than the lingering sexual frustration.

Helena had done it. With a few well-placed words, her cousin had taken Vivienne’s brazen act of dominance and turned it into a mere amenity. A warm-up act.

​Vivienne was no longer the rival; she was the trophy.

​A slow, twisted smile tugged at the corner of Vivienne’s lips.

​’Well done, Helena,’ she thought, a flicker of genuine, twisted pride warring with her jealousy. ’You actually turned the tables.’

​It was cunning. It was ruthless. It was exactly what Vivienne would have done. Her “assistant” had managed to reduce the CEO of Vanderbilt Industries to a side dish.

​But pride didn’t fix the hollow ache between her legs. And it certainly didn’t mean she was going to surrender.

​She’d been edged twice. Brought to the absolute brink and yanked back with cruel precision, left aching and empty and vibrating with a need so acute it was physically painful.

​She needed to come. Now.

​Not later. Not after dessert. The game didn’t matter anymore; the rivalry was background noise. The only thing that existed was the throbbing void where his hand had been. She needed him to finish it, to push her over the edge, or she felt like she might actually shatter right there on the marble floor.

She didn’t just want his hand. She wanted him.

​She wanted him to shove the crystal glasses aside, bend her over the mahogany, and take her right here. Violent. Animalistic. She wanted to be claimed, branded, and filled while that bitch sat three feet away and watched.

​The taboo of it… the sheer, filthy exhibitionism of being ravaged in front of her own subordinate… didn’t shame her. It fed her. It sent a fresh, scalding wave of arousal crashing through her veins, overriding every instinct of self-preservation she had left.

​’You want to play hostess? Fine. Let me show you just how grateful I am.’

She turned her gaze slowly from Helena to Alex.

He was looking right at her, and deep in his dark eyes, she caught it… a glint of pure, wicked mischief. He wasn’t just a passive observer to their rivalry; he was feeding on it. He was fully aware of the power play, reveling in the chaos he had created, watching them tear each other apart for his favor with a predator’s amusement.

​The realization hit her like a drug.

​The knowledge that he was the puppet master… that he was manipulating them both and enjoying every second of it… sent a fresh, scalding wave of arousal crashing through her veins.

​She didn’t retreat. She surrendered to gravity.

​With a fluid, desperate grace, she sank down directly where she stood, dropping her weight and perching her bare, wet ass brazenly onto his lap.

The collision was obscene. Her bare, slick flesh landed heavily on his thigh, the expensive wool of his trousers instantly soaked by her need. But it wasn’t the fabric that made her gasp… it was the ridge of granite beneath it.

​His erection was massive, hard as a rock, pressing directly against her swollen, over-sensitive entrance.

​Vivienne’s eyes squeezed shut. A long, shuddering moan escaped her lips, too loud and too raw for a dinner table, as the overwhelming friction set her nerves on fire.

​She couldn’t get close enough. Driven by a frantic hunger, she seized his hands… large, warm, and dangerous… and dragged them up, crushing his palms against the heaving swell of her breasts.

​She let her head fall back, resting it heavily against his solid chest, and gazed up at him through half-lidded, glazed eyes.

​”Please…” she whimpered, abandoning all shame as she rocked against him. Her breath was hot against his neck, her voice a broken, wet plea. “Make me cum… Alex… I’m begging you… just make me cum…”

​Across the table, Helena froze.

​Her fork slipped from her numb fingers, striking the fine china with a sharp, violent clatter that shattered the room’s silence.

​She stared, her breath trapped in her lungs, paralyzed by the sheer, breathtaking audacity of it. She had expected a retort, maybe a glare… but this?

​Vivienne peeled her face away from Alex’s neck, turning her head just enough to lock eyes with the frozen woman across the table.

​She took in Helena’s petrified expression… the wide eyes, the parted lips, the total loss of composure… and her own lips curled into a slow, devastating smirk. It was a look of pure superiority, a silent, mocking reminder that cut deeper than any words: You played a good hand, darling, but you are still a newbie compared to me.

​”Thank you for giving me such an opportunity, Ma’am,” she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed venom as she rolled her hips subtly against Alex again.

​Her eyes fluttered, half-closing in ecstasy.

​”I’m really enjoying this.”

Helena stared at the spectacle in front of her. The slutty, insolent bitch. Vivienne wasn’t just breaking character; she was desecrating the dinner. She was practically dry-humping the guest right in front of the salad course.

Helena should have been disgusted. She should have been outraged.

But she wasn’t.

She was ravenous.

Her eyes tracked the way Vivienne’s body molded against Alex, the way her cousin was practically vibrating with need. And instead of revulsion, a heavy, molten heat pooled in Helena’s stomach.

Look at her, Helena thought, her pulse hammering. She’s a mess. She’s completely broken by him.

’I want that.’

She wanted him to break her. She wanted to be the one on his lap, losing her mind. But she wasn’t going to beg for it like a scrap-eating dog. She was the Queen. And the Queen didn’t beg; she commanded.

But then, Alex moved.

​His large hands shifted to fully engulf her heavy, heaving breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse. He didn’t caress them… he claimed them. He squeezed hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a rough, possessive violence.

​Vivienne threw her head back, a broken cry tearing from her throat.

​”Ahhh!”

​But she wasn’t the only one.

​A soft, involuntary whimper escaped Helena’s lips… a mirror of the sensation she was desperate to feel.

​She slapped her hand over her mouth instantly, eyes widening in horror at her own slip. She looked up, terrified… and locked eyes with Alex.

​He was staring right at her.

​His hands were still kneading Vivienne’s breasts, milking the pleasure out of her, but his eyes… those dark, abyssal eyes were fixed solely on Helena.

​And in that moment, the “Queen” crumbled.

​She felt hypnotized, her mind going blank, the rigid walls of her ego dissolving under his gaze. The thought of maintaining dignity suddenly seemed ridiculous.

​Queen?

​Who cared about being a Queen? She was just an assistant, wasn’t she?

​She watched Vivienne… the powerful, arrogant Vivienne Vanderbilt… reduced to a shivering, begging slut in his arms. And she realized the truth: Power wasn’t sitting in the chair. Power was feeling those hands.

​If she can do it… why can’t I?

​A dark, heavy heat pooled in her belly. She wanted to replace her. She wanted to be the one being squeezed, the one being ruined. She clenched her thighs together instinctively, the friction sending a jolt of electricity up her spine.

​’I need him to touch me like that.’

​And suddenly, a wicked idea sparked in her mind. A way to clear the board. A way to take the seat that really mattered.

​She swallowed hard, dropping her hand from her mouth. She sat up straighter, her expression shifting from shock to a cold, calculated hunger.

​”Helena,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the haze of Vivienne’s desperation.

​Vivienne froze, her head snapping toward her cousin.

​”Since Mr. Hale is done with his… appetizer,” Helena said, her eyes flickering disdainfully to where Vivienne was perched. “You should clean everything up.”

​She gestured vaguely at the table, at the mess, at Vivienne herself.

​”And one more thing. Go upstairs to my private reserve. Bring the 1998 vintage for Mr. Hale.”

​She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, territorial threat.

​”He requires something with more class for the main course.”