Devil's Bargain

by Natasha Knight

  I smile. Study her. “You’re poking a bear, sweetheart.”

  “That’s sad, really, a man like you, having to pay women to fuck him.”

  “On your knees. Let’s put that mouth to the use it was intended for.”

  “Are you always such a jackass?”

  “You bring out the best in me. Kneel.”

  “I’m not putting that thing in my mouth.”

  “Do you prefer to take it up your ass?” From the look on her face, it’s not what she expected. “We’ll get to that, I promise, but I was easing you in, sweetheart.”

  “Stop calling me that. I am not your sweetheart.”

  “You’ll be whatever I want you to be. You’re bought and paid for, remember? Now get on your knees before you piss me off.”

  Her face goes red and rage rolls off her.

  I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t expect what she does next.

  I don’t expect her to slap me, not after my warning.

  Her gasp comes an instant after her hand collides with my face.

  I force a long, deep breath, feeling the sting of the slap. Feeling the rage bubble inside me. I tighten the muscles of my gut to tamp it down, to control it.

  I’m bigger than her. Stronger. I can hurt her in a way she can’t hurt me. I have to be careful.

  When I shift my gaze back to hers, she has her hands to her mouth and her eyes are huge. She’s staring at me like she can’t fucking believe what she just fucking did.

  It takes me a long time before I speak.

  “You want to play rough, Melissa?” The words are a low, almost whispered threat.

  She swallows, shaking her head. Streaks of black line her cheeks, a trail of mascara and tears.

  “Because I can do rough.”

  She gives a scream when I lift her off the floor, throw her over my shoulder. I feel like a caveman as I stalk down the hall, slapping her ass once as her fists pound against my back.

  My bedroom is the last one, it takes up the whole of the back of the penthouse. I walk in, flip the light switch so the lamps on either side of the bed go on. They cast a warm, yellow light, as the clear glass of the windows turns smoky, darkening.

  Windows for walls here too. The city lights beyond. Quiet but for the sounds she makes as she struggles.

  I toss her on her back onto the bed.

  She bounces on the mattress.

  I stare down at her, at her pretty, naked body, small and soft and supple. I unbutton the top buttons of my shirt, undo the cuffs, taking my time as I watch her lying there watching me. Once it’s half-unbuttoned, I pull it over my head.

  She looks at me, takes in my chest, my arms.

  On the outside, I look like a businessman. Underneath the thousand-dollar suits, I could be mistaken for the enforcer.

  Her eyes zero in on the tattoo she can see.

  “Respect all. Fear none,” I tell her.

  At least until they prove you wrong.

  Her gaze shifts to my eyes.

  I strip off my pants, and they move south to the dragon along my thigh and hip, and it’s like she can’t stop looking and doesn’t know where to look, especially when I take off my briefs and she sees my hard cock. I watch her for a moment as she takes it in and when she meets my eyes again, I see a slight panic inside them.

  I put one knee on the bed. “You want me to be rough with you?”

  She’s up on her elbows, then her hands, and inching backwards away from me.

  I grab her ankle, tug her back down and lay my weight on her. With one hand, I grip the hair at the back of her head, force her to look at me and all the while, I feel her wetness against my belly, my cock.

  “Some women need it. Do you need it, Melissa? You need me to be rough so you come?”

  She shakes her head as much as she can, watching me, her breathing short and audible.

  She looks different than I expect. Panicked.

  And mute.

  I have to remember she’s not the usual sort of woman I bring up here. Any fear those women show is an act.

  This one, I get the feeling she’s not acting.

  I shake off the thought.

  I just paid a quarter-of-a-million-dollars for her. I’m fucking her. And for that price, she’d better be one hell of a fuck.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I open the nightstand drawer, take out a condom. What I want most is to sink my cock into her bare, but I don’t need complications.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I ask, kneeling up over her to roll the condom on.

  She swallows, huge eyes locked on my dick.

  “Please tell me you’re not a fucking virgin,” I ask, realizing this could be the panic I see.

  She blinks, drags her gaze to mine. She’s still mute.

  I raise my eyebrows and she shakes her head.

  Good.

  I smile, lean down over her, cupping the back of her head, twining my fingers in her thick hair and holding her when she tries to turn away. I slide my other hand between her legs and bring my face to hers, inhaling deeply, turning her a little to take the lobe of her ear between my teeth.

  “Think you can take it all?” I whisper when she whimpers as I rub her swollen, wet clit.

  Drawing my hand away, I lay my weight on her, grip one thigh, bend her leg at the knee and open her up. She’s so tight when I push into her that for a moment, I wonder if she lied. If she is a virgin.

  I watch her face as her warmth envelops me, and I think yes, I want to tear into her. I want to feel her heat.

  Her face tenses as she stretches to take me. She makes a sound, a whimper, and her hands are on my shoulders, nails digging into my back.

  “It hurts,” she says.

  “You’re tight.” I move inside her, feel her juices lubricating the passage, pull out, thrust. “That one’s for slapping me.”

  “It hurts,” she repeats, and there’s that panicked expression again, her eyes almost child-like when they meet mine.

  I slow, draw back.

  Her nails dig into my biceps, my chest. I’m sure she’s drawing blood now.

  “Easy, Melissa,” I say, taking one of her wrists and drawing it to the side. “Relax.”

  She looks over at it, at my hand on her wrist. She makes a sound and I can hear and feel her breathing coming shorter as she tugs at her wrist.

  My grip isn’t hard but I keep hold of her.

  Realizing she’s not a match for me, she turns those big eyes back to mine and the skin around them is wet. A tear slides down the side of her face.

  “Let me go.”

  “You need to relax. It won’t hurt if you relax.”

  “Please let me go.”

  Watching her face, it’s strange, like it’s taking all she has not to break out into a full panic.

  I pull out of her, take her other wrist and drag her arms over her head.

  She arches her back, twisting to see what I’m doing, and when she feels the leather of the first cuff wrap around her wrist, the sound that comes from her is like that of an animal.

  Not a fighting one.

  A wounded one.

  Once both wrists are secured, I take my weight off her and slide down her slender body between her legs. With my hands on her thighs, I open them wider.

  “Let me loose. Please.”

  Her pussy’s wet, dripping. She’s ready. Even as tight as she is, she’s ready. But I’ll give her this first.

  I dip my head down and lick her and hear her sharp intake of breath as she goes dead still.

  I do it again, circling her clit, then taking it into my mouth.

  “Please!” she cries out and when I suck that hard, little nub, it’s moments before her back arches and she lets out a long moan. Her eyes are closed, face tense, hands fisted in their restraints and she’s coming. She’s coming hard and fuck, she tastes good. She tastes amazing.

  I don’t go down on women. I haven’t in too long to even remember their taste.

 
But her. I can’t get enough of her and when I ease my grip on her thighs, she bends her knees on my shoulders, squeezes and whimpers.

  I suck harder, drawing out her orgasm, wanting another.

  “Oh God. Please stop!” She’s panting and her thighs are squeezing and she’s coming again, bucking with her release even as she begs me to stop.

  I taste her, relish her every breath, every whimper. I only let up when she falls limp on the bed.

  I kneel up between her legs, look at the gaping pink of her dripping cunt, then at her face. She’s relaxed and soft, her eyes like the color of sand on the softest beach.

  “I like your taste,” I tell her.

  “Please take these off. I’ll do what you say. Please take them off.”

  “Not yet.”

  I lift her hips, turn her over. She tries to immediately turn back, but I stop her.

  She makes that sound again, that wounded, panicked sound.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Melissa,” I tell her.

  She buries her face in the bed.

  “You’re safe.”

  “I’m sorry I slapped you. I won’t do it again. Just take them off.”

  “Look at me.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Look at me and I’ll take them off.”

  It takes her a long minute, but she turns her head and her face is wet with tears and I remember what she’d said about men. About being forced.

  “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just sex, all right? Just sex.”

  She nods fast but I can see she doesn’t believe me.

  My dick’s going to go soft. I have never dealt with a woman crying in my bed.

  After a moment, I reach up and undo the cuffs.

  She draws her arms in and rolls onto her side, turning away from me.

  I get off the bed, go into the bathroom to slip the condom off and pull on a pair of draw-string linen pants. I walk into the living room and grab the bottle of vodka and a glass. I return to find her sitting up on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her hair is a wild dark mass beneath which her whiskey eyes track me.

  I pour a generous portion of vodka into the glass and hand it to her.

  She takes it without being urged to. She drinks a small sip first, then downs the rest of the glass.

  “I can honestly say I’ve never had a woman need to be drunk to fuck me,” I say. I’m serious but I also need to diffuse this. Get her out of her head and whatever’s going on in there.

  “I just don’t like being tied up.” She holds out her glass for more.

  I pour more vodka into it.

  She shifts her gaze away like she can’t look at me and drinks the whole of the glass.

  I put the bottle down.

  “More,” she says.

  “No more,” I tell her, taking the glass.

  She sets her arms stiffly at her sides.

  “I want to look at you,” I say.

  She stares back at me.

  “Just look.”

  She nods.

  “Get on your elbows and knees.”

  I watch her take in the instruction, pour myself a vodka in her glass while she does, slowly, turning over, climbing up onto her elbows and knees.

  “Knees wider. Good. Like that.”

  She follows my instruction, burying her face between her forearms, her hair hiding her from me.

  I take the glass, swallow the contents of it, pour another and walk around the bed. My dick hardens as I take her in, her smooth olive skin, the heavy breasts hanging down, almost too heavy for the rest of her, begging to be cupped and squeezed.

  Her shapely thighs and her ass.

  Fuck.

  Her ass. Her cheeks are parted just enough to display her pink and glistening pussy and as I look at it, a smear of arousal slides down her inner thigh.

  I want to lick it off her. Bury my face in her ass and devour her.

  Swallowing the contents of the vodka, I set my knee on the bed.

  She shifts a little, tensing.

  “You’re fine. I’m not going to fuck you.” Fuck. Did I just say that? “I just want to see, Melissa. Taste.”

  I widen her knees with my own, and settle between her, set my hands on her ass, open her wider.

  She makes a sound. A whimper.

  I dip my face down, kiss her lower back, her ass cheek. I smell her arousal and fuck, I want to bury myself inside her. But instead, I lick her again, lick that smear of arousal from her inner thigh, hear her gasp when I do.

  I slide my tongue along the length of her pussy and circle her asshole. I do it again and again until she’s panting and I’m going to fucking blow in my pants when I hear her come again, that sound she makes a fucking aphrodisiac.

  The smell of her, the taste of her, the sight of her, all of it, it makes me fucking crazy, and it takes all I have not to sink my cock into her. Not to hold her down and spread her open and drive into her.

  It takes everything for me to get up off the bed and walk out of the bedroom.

  I slam the door harder than I intend to and walk with a fucking steel rod between my legs into the living room to pour myself three fingers of whiskey. I drink it in one gulp before pouring another.

  I go to the wall of windows, look out onto the strip and sip my drink.

  I don’t know what the fuck just happened in there. Between me buying her to fuck her, I might remind myself, and this, me here with fucking blue balls.

  The bedroom door opens, and I turn to watch her walk into the living room. She’s barefoot and wearing the shirt I just took off. It’s huge on her. It falls almost to her knees and she keeps having to tug it up when it slips off her shoulder.

  When she sees me, she stops, hugs her arms to herself.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she says, any attitude from the start of this night gone, her voice small and unsure.

  I know she’s not playing or acting. It pisses me off a little because those things I can deal with. Those things are what I know.

  This…her…it’s foreign.

  “Go to bed.” I turn away.

  “You didn’t—”

  “Go to bed, Melissa,” I repeat.

  “But you…the debt—”

  I turn to her and when I take a step toward her, she takes one back. It makes me stop.

  “Contrary to what you may think, rape doesn’t get me off. Now go to bed.”

  4

  Melissa

  I walk back into the bedroom and close the door.

  I look around, take in the sophistication of the place and for all its beauty, it’s sterile. Cold. Too clean and impersonal. Only the rumpled sheets and the smell of sex make it less clinical.

  I walk into the bathroom, glancing at the lights of the strip as I go. The bathroom is big and it’s the only room without windows for walls. I lock the door behind me although I don’t think I need to. He won’t come in.

  It smells like his aftershave and I wonder if he ever has women here because everything is so masculine.

  Switching on the shower, I step beneath the flow. Even his soap, when I lather it, smells like him. Like he’s in here with me.

  “You’re safe.”

  For some reason, being here, in his shower, in his room, in his bed, I feel safe. Which just goes to tell you how screwy my radar is.

  It’s not that he’s not dangerous. He is. But not to me. At least not right now.

  Tonight, I don’t have to double-check the locks. Test every window.

  Liza’s in town and she’s hurt. I wonder how long she’s been here. If she came looking for me. Why would she seek me out now?

  But Liza isn’t the problem. She’s not the one who scares me.

  I turn up the hot water. It’s almost too hot, but I stand under it and close my eyes.

  I’m tired.

  When the steam is too thick to see through, I switch off the water and grab one of the towels on the rack. I wrap it
around myself and take a second to make a turban for my hair.

  I wipe steam from the mirror and look at myself. All I think when I do this is it’s not me. It’s like this woman, she’s a stranger. Like I’m still that kid inside looking out of her eyes.

  That’s the only part I recognize of myself. My eyes. I peer into the mirror and there I am, same as always.

  If I look closely, I see the fear.

  I wonder if others see it too. I doubt it though. Most people never really look close enough to see much of anything that’s real. That may make them uncomfortable.

  I wipe the back of my hand across my nose and turn away, pull the towel from my hair wishing I had a hair tie, and walk into the bedroom to pick up his shirt. I slide it on.

  It, too, smells like him. I don’t mind it. Besides, I don’t have anything else to put on.

  I get into the bed and switch off the light because I don’t know what else to do. I’m wide awake and turn onto my side, looking out at the city below through the smoky glass.

  It’s been a long while since I’ve had sex. This was the first time in almost seven years, in fact. I didn’t have any idea how I’d react to it, to someone touching me. I never thought I would let it happen again.

  But what happened, I wouldn’t have guessed it’d be like that. I expected to disappear. Just vanish.

  Maybe it’s because of what he said. That I was safe.

  I guess I’m lucky that it was with him. Another man may have forced me. Held me down and did what he wanted to do.

  Who am I kidding? Every other man would have done that.

  “Rape doesn’t get me off.”

  Then he’s in the minority.

  This loan shark, criminal, auctioneer of women, the one I would have expected to be a rapist, he’s the opposite.

  And then there’s the fact that I came.

  He made me come.

  I haven’t come with a man ever. Not once.

  But what does the fact that he didn’t exactly get what he paid for mean for Liza? Is our deal off?

  That’s what I’m thinking about when the bedroom door opens a little while later. I stiffen, close my eyes and hope he thinks I’m asleep.

  He goes into the bathroom and I hear the shower go on. Ten minutes later, he’s back in the bedroom and I’m glad my back is to him when I feel the blanket lifted and the bed depresses beneath his weight.