Page 14 of Bought By Sin

I supposed that didn’t have to be significant. What was extremely newsworthy was how fast my dick started to harden. With her leaning over slightly, her tight ass in front of me, her face directed away from me to project the illusion of her letting me do whatever I wanted to her without her seeing or knowing.

Goddammit.

What the fuck am I going to do with you?

It’d been a long, long time since I experienced a potent rush of lust like this. But I shoved it aside, quickly patting her down and checking her for a weapon. Need coursed through me, but I clenched my jaw and ignored it. Not finding a gun or knife, only discovering toned muscles and soft curves, I nudged her to turn and face me.

“Wires?” I asked, not counting on a reply.

She arched one brow and tugged the collar of her shirt forward, a silent and somehow sassy implication that I should look for myself.

The quick peek I took of her chest threatened to tent my pants completely. No wires were there. Only the smooth, tight skin of her generous swells heaving under her bra as she breathed harshly.

Fuck. Me. Now. I breathed through the increase of desire, masking it all.

I tilted my head toward the safehouse, the nonverbal order to get her to start walking.

Besides, if she had anything on her, the tech in the safehouse would detect it and file it on my security system.

Silent but obedient, she walked up the path toward the building. I didn’t let her get too far ahead, following her and watching her tight ass in those rugged jeans.

Rehearsing what I’d say as I laid out the rules of her new reality, I privately considered what it might take for me to get her to break.

6

MILA

He’s watching.

I entered the safehouse and waited inside the foyer. The instinct to scope it all out and figure out the quickest means of escape taunted me. Anytime I was in a new and unfamiliar setting, I had to anticipate what unknowns could help or hurt me. Any props or loopholes and shortcuts that could aid me in getting away. All the booby traps and obstacles that could injure me or keep me further captive. Orienting myself wasn’t just a practice of discovering new locations. It played a key part in how I could try to survive.

Scanning the simply furnished, one-story house, I realized that this wasn’t a dungeon. Lev wasn’t dragging me into the bowels of a basement lair sectioned off in rugged cells for captives to be chained up and locked behind bars. I’d been in plenty enough of those to almost expect to belong in them. Another constant and consistent trait of being the opposite of free.

Immediately noticing the bare minimum of décor and basic furnishings, though, I also recognized that I wasn’t a guest.

Of course, I’m not a damn guest.

To be a guest would imply that I was human. And I lost that standing ten years ago when my parents sold me to the Cartel.

I lacked the time to fully understand where I was. He entered the safehouse behind me and closed the door. Tracking the sounds of his footsteps in the foyer, I stood still and waited.

I waited for my fate. The setting wasn’t cluing me in to what I’d be for him.

If I were to be another runner or grunt worker for the Bratva, he would’ve handed me off to a guard and expected me to reside in a cell or dungeon space.

If he saw me as another kind of slave, one he’d abuse and fuck to his own delight, he probably would’ve brought me to a better scene than this. A luxurious bedroom where his personal comfort would be exposed and expected.

“You will stay here,” he stated as he rounded me, eyeing me with that deliberate and intense stare. From head to toe, he considered me. I was used to this appraisal, this blunt preview and giving my masters or buyers the wide-open chance to judge me.

When he stood in front of me, calm and collected, he didn’t offer anything else.

No instructions.

No questions.

Not a single word as he continued to watch me.

Staring contests were nothing more than mental warfare. Some would argue that the silent treatment was too. But I wasn’t only mute and closed-off like this for the sake of protesting the details of my situation. I didn’t know what to say. If I should speak.