Claimed by the Heir (Dark Muse 5)

The Will's Unveiling

The estate looked like something that should have been bulldozed years ago, a crumbling monument to old money and even older secrets. Ava stepped out of the car, her heels crunching on the gravel, the sound loud in the thick, wet air. Her black dress clung to her body, thin enough that the cold bit at her skin and every step made the fabric rub against her thighs, reminding her of the way Octavius used to grab her, fingers digging in, leaving marks she had to cover up. Her heart hammered, not just from the memory of her dead patron, but from the sick, excited feeling that crawled up her spine. Kendric squeezed her hand too hard, his big, callused fingers swallowing hers, his eyes darting around like he expected a ghost to jump out and start yelling. The garden stank of wet dirt and dying flowers, but all Ava could think about was the line in the will she’d seen: she’d get everything, but only if she let herself be passed on to Octavius’s son, like a used sex toy. The thought made her nipples harden under her bra, shame and arousal mixing in her gut.

The study smelled like old cigars and leather, the kind of place where Octavius used to fuck her over the desk and then light up like he’d just closed a business deal. Books were jammed everywhere, half of them falling apart, and the candlelight made everything look like a cheap porno set. Ava sat down, the velvet chair cool against her bare thighs, making her shiver. Kendric sat next to her, his leg pressed up against hers, but it just made her more aware of how out of place he was here. The lawyer, Hargrove, looked like he’d never smiled in his life. He cleared his throat and started shuffling papers, acting like this was just another day at the office. Ava’s eyes locked on the will, her breath coming faster. She crossed her legs, her dress riding up, showing off more skin than she meant to, but she didn’t bother fixing it. She remembered how Octavius used to look at her in this room, like she was a piece of meat he’d bought and paid for.

Hargrove started reading the will, his voice flat and bored, like he was ordering lunch. Octavius left Ava everything—fifty million in art, all hers. But then came the catch: she only got it if she let herself be used as a muse for his son, Adrian, just like she’d been for Octavius. She had to pose, submit, do whatever Adrian wanted, keep the family tradition going. The word 'submit' echoed in her head, making her thighs clench and her pussy ache, even as she felt sick at being handed off like a whore. Kendric squeezed her hand so hard it hurt, growling under his breath that this was insane, that she wasn’t property. But Ava saw the look in his eyes—he was jealous, but there was something else, too. The idea of her being used, of watching, turned him on, even if he’d never admit it. The room felt hot and close, the air thick with the smell of old paper and her own arousal.

The door slammed open and Adrian stormed in, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. He was all sharp edges and anger, his shirt wrinkled, jeans tight enough to show off the body he’d built out of spite. His eyes locked on Ava, and she felt naked under his stare, like he could see every dirty thought she’d ever had. He snatched the will from Hargrove, sneering about being forced to take his father’s leftovers. He circled Ava’s chair, close enough that she could smell sweat and paint on him, close enough that she wanted to squirm. He called her the symbol of everything his father had stolen from him, his eyes glued to her tits, her dress doing nothing to hide how hard her nipples were. Ava’s breath came fast, her thighs pressed together, trying to hide how wet she was getting from the humiliation.

Kendric jumped up, his chair screeching across the floor, trying to look tough, but his voice cracked. He told Adrian to back off, that Ava was his wife, not some prize in a sick game. Adrian just laughed, stepping closer, his fingers dragging over Ava’s arm, rough and possessive. He told Kendric he’d be helping, watching while Adrian turned Ava into his own personal muse, wiping away every trace of Octavius. Adrian’s breath was hot on her cheek, his words meant for both of them, and Ava’s pussy throbbed at the idea of being fought over, owned, humiliated. She hated how much it turned her on, her chest rising and falling, her body betraying her in front of both men. Hargrove tried to protest, but nobody listened. Adrian’s stare made it clear who was in charge.

Adrian leaned in, his mouth right at Ava’s ear, voice low and dirty. He told her she’d be posing for him, tied down, exposed, maybe even put on display for strangers to see. He promised to wipe away every trace of his father, to make her his. Ava’s skin burned, her hips shifting in the chair, her pussy aching to be touched. Kendric looked like he wanted to punch Adrian, but he just stood there, fists clenched, too weak to do anything. Adrian taunted him, saying Kendric was boring, that Ava needed someone to light her up again. The words hit hard, and Ava felt herself getting wetter, ashamed at how much she wanted it. The room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat, everyone breathing hard, waiting for someone to make the next move.

Ava’s voice shook, but she said it anyway: she’d do it. She’d let Adrian use her, pose her, whatever he wanted. Adrian looked smug, like he’d just won a bet. Hargrove packed up his papers, acting like this was all normal. Kendric slumped in his chair, furious and humiliated, his hand finding Ava’s but pulling away when he felt how sweaty she was. Adrian leaned in, whispering that tomorrow she’d find out what it meant to really belong to someone. The words made Ava’s pussy clench, her whole body buzzing with shame and excitement, the room thick with the promise of what was coming next.