I shook my head, my eyes filling. “I’ll pay the money. I’ll pay all of it, the entire thing,” I tried to bargain, despite the slickness that had already grown between my legs. “I promise. The whole amount is yours.”
His eyes were cold. “The deal’s been made.” My ass hit the stone table. “Don’t worry, I know how much you like it.”
My eyes widened. “I don’t,” I told him, digging my nails into his hand. “I hate it. I hate everything about it.” My breathing became labored, a rush building under my skin.
He lifted me up and shoved my hips back onto the table, my dress pulling back, the sleeves falling off my shoulders, his eyes falling to my chest, turning black. “I don’t like liars,” he said carefully, his eyes slowly lifting back to mine.
My panic swam through me in waves, my head spinning, my legs trembling as I tried to force my thighs together, tried to ignore the throbbing between them, theache. “Please,” I tried again, my voice weak. But my skin was too hot, sparks dancing across it everywhere he touched, everywhere he breathed, and I half wondered the real reason why I picked this dress. Was it because of the confidence it gave me, or was it something far more twisted than that?
He grabbed both of my wrists tightly, sliding them into one of his hands while reaching into his pocket with the other. A second later, he pulled out a blood red silk ribbon and smiled. “Remember this.”
I needed to leave.
I could just kick him in the nuts and run.
The self-defense lessons were a lie, but I knew basic defense and every guy had one huge weakness.
Just kick him.
Kick him!
But I remained still, my panicked breathing a little tighter with the collar around my throat, my eyes locked on his hands as he expertly tied the ribbon in some intricate knot. There was some extra at the end and he used it to tie through the loop on the collar where the leash usually clips too.
My eyes lifted to his, my breathing uneven, my thighs quivering. I could feel the slickness between them, feel the way my nipples hardened, feel the way my skin craved his touch as he shortened the distance between wrists and neck.
But I didn’t want to feel what happened at the end. I didn’t want it.
When he was done with the knot, he slid his finger through the loop and pulled me forward. “If you deny yourself, it’ll make things so much worse,” he threatened before shoving me to my back.
The stone dug into my bare skin, any movement of my shoulders, arms, or hands only made the collar pinch around my neck as my eyes lifted to the blue skies above.
Bright blue.
Not a single cloud to be seen.
I felt him lift up my dress and flick it back to my hips and then I felt his hot hands slide up my thighs and rip them apart.
Tears filled my eyes, a sob catching in my throat. This wasn’t happening. Why didn’t I run?
Because I was addicted. But just like all addictions, they were so good while riding the high, but as soon as you came down, that’s when the shame and guilt and regret slammed into you.
I was fucking addicted.
He stepped between my legs, forcing them further apart. His hand slid around my wrists, and he jerked me back up, my ass sliding painfully against the bench. He pulled me up until our noses nearly touched again. His mouth was open, his hot breath finding my lips, causing my thighs to clench and my own mouth to part as a dizziness fell through me.
Fuck me.
“You can’t even give yourself what I can give you,” he told me, my skin tightening, the ache between my legs unlike anything I had felt before. “You’re mine until the debt’s paid, little writer, do you understand that?”
I swallowed, wanting more than anything to lean in, to feel his tongue slide across mine, to taste him. I nodded. Against all reasoning and all rationality, I nodded.
His forehead fell against mine, the feeling so intimate, it set fire to the pit of my stomach. His fingers slid against my soakedpanties, just the lightest amount of pressure and my body shuddered in relief and need, a whimper escaping my lips.
His forehead pressed harder against mine, his mask digging into my skin, his breathing labored. “A payment,” he said, his hand tightening around my left wrist, as if he were trying to convince himself that that’s all this was. Just a payment. I needed to tell myself that too. It was just a payment. No matter what I felt, what I thought, what I wanted to believe, this would never be more than a payment.
My legs tightened around his hips, my feet trying to wrap around the back of his calves, pull him forward. I needed him closer.
I wanted him gone.
