The office is massive. Expansive windows overlook the compound, an opulent desk faces the door, and leather furniture is arranged in a sitting area. Behind the desk sits Marcus Stone.
He looks maybe thirty-five. Much younger than I expected. His face is the kind of handsome that turns heads—strong jaw, full lips, eyes the color of ice.
Is that a good thing? I mean, it’s one thing to be manhandled by an old, smelly man and another by a young, handsome one. I’ll take the latter because I’m assured my nightmares won’t be all that terrifying.
“Bonnie McKenzie.” He stands, revealing a height that matches Ash’s and a build that says he knows how to fight. “Finally.”
My father stands from one of the chairs. I hadn’t seen him there. He won’t meet my eyes.
“President Stone.” I keep my voice neutral. “Thank you for the invitation.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Please, call me Marcus. We’re going to be very well acquainted soon.”
This makes my skin crawl.
“Your father and I have some final details to discuss.” Marcus gestures to Melissa. “She’ll show you where to wait.”
Melissa’s hand on my arm is firm as she guides me out. The doors close behind us, and I’m separated from my father.
She leads me through hallways to an elevator, down to a basement level that makes my anxiety spike. But when the doors open, it’s not a dungeon.
It’s a club.
Low lighting, a sound system playing electronic music, and a full bar along one wall. And in the center, raised platforms with stripper poles where three women dance in various stages of undress, moving with grace to the music. They’re beautiful, thetype that takes work and money to maintain, but their eyes are empty.
Leather couches form a semicircle around the platforms, the kind you sink into and can’t easily get out of.
“This way,” Melissa says, guiding me past the dancers to a door on the far side.
The room beyond is smaller. A dressing room, maybe, with a vanity and mirrors, a plush chair, and a rack of clothing that makes my stomach turn. It’s filled with lingerie.
Melissa closes the door behind us, and the music muffles to a dull throb.
“President Stone will be here in a few minutes.” She moves to the rack and starts sorting through hangers. “He prefers…certain aesthetics.”
“I’m not wearing that.”
“You are.” Her voice is flat. “Unless you want to make this harder on yourself than it needs to be.” She pulls out something black and lacy, holds it up against me to check the size. “This should fit.”
I want to refuse, but what’s the point? In an hour max, I’ll be in Marcus Stone’s bed regardless of what I’m wearing.
At least if I cooperate, maybe it’ll be over faster.
I strip down to my underwear, trying to ignore Melissa’s clinical assessment of my body. She hands me the lingerie—a black lace teddy that leaves nothing to the imagination, and matching stockings with garters.
“Arms up.”
I raise my arms, and she slides the teddy over my head, adjusts the straps, and clips the garters to the stockings. Her hands move like she’s done this countless times before.
How many women has she dressed for Marcus Stone’s pleasure?
“Sit,” she says, pointing to the vanity.
I sit. She touches up my makeup, adds darker lipstick, and fixes my hair so it falls around my shoulders.
When she’s done, she steps back and nods in approval. “He’ll be pleased.”
We return to the main room, and not long after, the door opens and Marcus walks in, jacket off now, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos I hadn’t noticed before. His eyes track over me slowly, cataloging every inch of exposed skin.
