by LP Lovell
They’ve left me soiled and used, and yet, I’m always craving more.
23
Later in the morning, the car trudges along the busy street toward Tobias’s office. Tobias sits next to me, busy on his phone, so I focus on the buildings as they creep by. While I’m dressed in a tight, knee-length black dress that could pass as professional, Tobias instructed me not to wear underwear.
Some days I feel like there are women who would sell their soul to be where I am, to fuck Tobias and Preston, and other days I feel like a cheap whore. Well, at one million dollars, I guess an expensive whore is more appropriate.
Tobias's hand lands on my thigh, pulling my attention from the window. His gaze is locked on his phone, but the action is so...normal, so casual, that for the briefest moment I imagine what it would be like if we were a normal couple. No contract. No games. No rules. I'm not sure I can picture Tobias as my boyfriend—As anyone's boyfriend. The word would always be too tame, too mundane to describe him.
He glances up from his device and tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
Last night with Three… My chest tightens. I've been pushing down the sickening feeling since I woke up because I remember nothing, and that scares me. Some stains sink so deep they mar a person’s soul. “No.”
He gives a curt nod. “Probably best you don't remember...”
Emotions bubble in my chest. Tears blur my vision. I turn my back to the window, not wanting to show weakness because I know he will feed on it like a leech. He must sense it though, as a shark scents blood in the water. Which is why I’m not all too surprised when he fists my hair and yanks my head around.
“Poor little lamb.” He leans in and the tip of his tongue sweeps my cheek, catching the tear that broke free “It’s a pity you're so pretty when you cry.”
Of course he would think that. He likes pain and suffering.
The car comes to a stop, the people passing by on the sidewalk nothing but shadows through the tinted glass. I shouldn't push him, but I can’t help it when he mocks my suffering. “You like your women broken.”
It’s not a question so much as a statement. After all, surely that's what this game is: A war of attrition, a mental battle to see if he can grind me into nothing more than dust.
“Yes.” He releases my hair and sits back on the leather seat. “Broken things are strong.”
And I have no idea what to make of that. Does he want me strong, or broken?
The car door opens and Tobias climbs out, offering me his hand. That hum of electricity shoots up my arm when I lace my fingers through his and head toward the entrance of the enormous skyscraper that houses the Six Degrees offices. We’re halfway to the top floor when he squeezes my hand. “I’m tense, Ella. I’ll need relief when I get to my office.”
Something in me viscerally recoils at his words. I hate that I’m nothing more than some slave here to serve him. My temper rises from the corner they’ve whipped it into, bubbling beneath my skin even as moisture pools between my thighs at the thought of fucking him, of sucking his dick and having him come down my throat like the good little whore I am. A good little whore who had his dick in my ass only a couple of hours ago.
I bite my tongue because I know he wants me to argue, to deny him. To lose.
The second we enter his office, he drops my hand. “Pretty little lamb. I need you.” He tilts my head back as he kisses down my throat. “You are special. Superior.”
I can’t keep up with his shifting gears, his mind games. His hands go to my hips and he slowly backs me toward the window. “Fuck, you smell so good.”
The next thing I know, the cool glass of the window is against my back. “I want to do such dirty things to you.”
I immediately want this dress off and his hands on me. Sex. My every thought now seems to revolve around when they will fuck me.
“Let me do terrible things to you,” he groans like he's desperate for me. Like he needs me or he'll die. He grabs at the hem of my dress, bunching and lifting until my pussy is exposed and he shoves my legs apart with his knee. There’s something sordid and erotic about my bare pussy pressed against the soft, expensive material of his suit pants. Something raw in being so exposed while he’s still fully dressed and perfectly pressed.
His warm fingertip presses over my clit before gliding across my wet and waiting opening. “Always so ready for me, little lamb.”
I don't want to be, but I am. My body gravitates toward him, seeking sick gratification. I want to hate him for the horrible things he does but instead, I crave his touch more than my next breath. And when he shoves his thick fingers deep inside of me, I fist his suit jacket, tugging him closer.
“All those people down there,” he whispers, pressing me harder against the skyscraper’s window. “They have no idea I have my finger deep inside your cunt right now, and I love it. I love secrets, Ella. And you...” He takes a deep breath, sliding his finger in and out of my pussy. “Are my favorite little secret.”
Without warning, he pulls my dress over my head and tosses it underneath the desk. I’m naked against the glass of his office with all of New York City bustling beneath me—Beneath us.
“I can do whatever I want to you.” He spins me around, slamming my front against the glass. “I could fuck you in the ass right now.”
I’m still sore from this morning, and I have no doubt he knows it. He wasn’t gentle then, and if he takes me now, I know he’ll be even rougher.
Because he can. Because he owns me. Because even if I wanted to, I can’t say no, only submit.
“You're being too quiet, little lamb...”
I don't want words. I just want him. “Fuck me.” I sound desperate and needy, a stranger to myself. But isn’t that the whole point? In four days they have taken everything I was and twisted it, bending me to their will.
I hear the clink of his belt, then feel the heat of his skin against my backside. “Put your palms on the glass.”
Before I have a chance to, he slams my cheek against the window and buries himself deep and hard inside me. I bite back a moan as pain and pleasure tear through me, my abused body both recoiling and reveling in everything he has to offer.
“I'll make you scream, little lamb. No point in keeping quiet.”
He fucks me hard and brutal, fisting my hair and yanking my head back until my spine screams in protest. That fire builds, the sense of belonging growing with each touch, each breath. It's times like this that I fear I'm nothing more than some sinful desire aching to be filled.
His palm lands on my ass with a resounding clap. “You better scream for me, little lamb.”
A knock comes from the other side of the door followed by a woman calling for Mr. Benton, but Tobias continues to thrust into me.
“Mr. Smith wants to speak to you,” she says.
“One moment.” He pulls out of me, shoving his cock back in his trousers and zipping his fly.
When I go to scoop my dress up, he snatches it from my grasp. “I get very angry when I don't get off. I don’t want to lose my temper on my guests.” He smirks. “Get under the desk.”
I do as I'm told and crawl under the wooden top in nothing but heels because I can’t argue, but I also have no doubt he’ll leave me to stand there naked in front of a stranger if I refuse.
“You look so perfect on your knees, little lamb.” He takes a seat in his office chair then strokes my chin before he rolls his chair beneath the desk.
The door opens and shuts. “Tobias, you were late coming into the office this morning.” My heart stills at Three’s distinct, condescending British accent.
“I had things to tend to this morning,” Tobias says.
There's a pause, a moment where even from underneath this desk I can feel a storm cloud of tension brewing.
“I'm sure you did.” Three clears his throat. “You're too fond of her.” I still, my mind scrambling for memories of last night, of this man, but onl
y a black void exists.
Tobias reaches for his fly and unzips it, pulling out his dick on a silent command. Like the good little toy I am, I grab him and swipe my tongue over his thick head.
He tenses slightly, but that's the only reaction he gives. Tobias may think he has all the power here, but I have his balls in my hand right now, his dick in my mouth. I own him at this very moment.
“You didn't want to play nice last night,” Three says.
Tobias’s fingers grab at my hair and he forces me to swallow him back. “I have decided I don't like sharing.”
“We made a deal last night. I didn't touch your precious little Ella. Are you going to hold up to your end of the bargain?”
I falter for a second. Tobias made a deal…For me? And Three didn't touch me? I swirl my tongue over the head of Tobias's cock.
“You have my word,” he says, thrusting into my mouth just before he comes.
“Such a steep gamble, Tobias. So daring...” Three chuckles. “But I must say, she truly is perfect if she can weaken you.”
“It's not a weakness.”
“Emotions of any kind, even pity, are a weakness. And you pity that girl.”
If Tobias was capable of emotions, pity would not be one of them. The man is cruel to a fault.
Footsteps cross the room. “Only two more days...” The door opens then shuts.
Tobias pushes his chair back and stands, fastening his pants.
Did he protect me? He’s fond of me? I crawl out from under the desk, still naked, and push to my feet. “You didn't let him touch me.”
“You are mine, little lamb. Mine to touch, mine to fuck. Mine to own.”
But Three was another player... He lets Preston touch me. Tobias himself told me to submit to Three the same way I would them. So many questions burn up my throat, but I force them down. I only have one strike left.
Tobias Benton is not a man that elicits any sense of safety, so why do I feel so cherished right now? Have they fucked me up that much? Probably. Tobias is the monster in this story, the gamekeeper, my oppressor, and yet, he saved me from Three, a man that in my gut I know is far worse than Tobias or Preston.
“Fuck me,” he says.
When did Tobias become my haven?
24
The afternoon drags on. Meeting after meeting. Me pretending to be Tobias’s assistant and having to watch women stare at him while they most likely fantasize about someone who belongs to me.
Belongs to me… God, I’m losing it.
The last meeting adjourns and Tobias and I leave the office, meeting Preston on the street.
“So, Ella…” Tobias lights a cigarette. “What do you think of murder?”
“I...” What do I even say to that? I've learned with them not to elaborate too much, to keep my answers short and closed to probing. “I think it's illegal.”
Tobias’s gaze shifts from me to Preston, the smoke curling from his lips reminding me of the devil. “Do you think people who commit murder should be punished?”
There's always a right and wrong answer with Tobias. The trick is knowing which is which because I think he wants me to answer wrong. “Yes,” I say.
Preston’s arm wraps around me as we maneuver between the throngs of office workers leaving work for the day. “How do you think they should be punished, sweet Ella?”
I feel as though the answer to this question is obvious, but nothing with them is ever as it seems. “I think they should suffer the same fate.”
“So you would murder a murderer?” Preston asks.
It feels like a trick question, but I couldn’t murder anyone. Not directly anyway. I didn’t mean to kill that homeless man. “No.”
We turn the corner, passing through the crowd emerging from the subway. “So, if given the chance,” Tobias says. “You'd let a murderer walk free?”
“No…”
“Let me rephrase it. If you knew you could save a hundred people's lives by slitting a single man's throat, would you do it?”
“And if you don't,” Preston adds. “Those hundred people die.”
“Would you not be a murderer either way, little lamb?” Tobias laughs, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. “Or, like yesterday, would you absolve yourself of guilt and responsibility and let fate take its course? After all, not everyone is a hero, Ella. Not everyone is superior.”
We stop at a crosswalk and Preston pulls me close to his side. “Don't worry, Ella. It's only a hypothetical question.”
Only a question. Is anything ever only a question with them? “I suppose, in theory, I would kill the one man.”
“How, in theory, would you take his life?” The sick smile settling on Tobias’s lips makes me anxious. Why is he asking me this? Nothing they do or say is ever without reason, without a point.
“In theory...” This isn't theory though; it never is with them. They don't waste words on pointless conversation. “I’d choose a humane way.”
“And what exactly is a humane way to murder someone? In theory, of course,” Preston adds. The crosswalk changes from red to green and we cross through the middle of Manhattan. People are all around us, and these two are asking me how I would murder someone, smiling as though we're discussing our evening plans.
I think about it. I would choose something without much pain. Something without gore. Poison maybe? But that can take a long time to take effect. I think of how I would want my life to be taken from me if I had to. I’d want peace. I wouldn’t want to be aware. “Carbon Monoxide poisoning,” I finally say. “It’s a way I would choose for myself if I had to make a choice.”
When I glance up at Preston he lifts a surprised eyebrow.
Tobias simply laughs. “How thoughtful of you, little lamb. I'll keep that in mind.” He winks before striding forward, parting the crowded sidewalk. That isn’t unsettling at all…
Preston and I follow in our master’s wake until we reach the limo that seems to always be waiting wherever we go.
The car drops us outside St. Matthew's Hospital. Of all the places for them to bring me, this seems unlikely, and the suspicion has me on edge.
The sterile smell of cleaner and bleached sheets hangs heavy in the air when we step inside. “Curious, sweet Ella?”
“I live in a constant state of curiosity with you two.”
“Makes life exciting, doesn't it?” A wild smile flickers across his face.
Tobias stops in the middle of the two-story atrium, a charming smile on his lips as he speaks to a group of men in white coats. They smile back, drawn into the trap so easily. They see Tobias’s polished veneer and buy the lie, but Tobias is a lion parading as a house cat. I once read that serial killers and businessmen share personality traits, and I completely believe it. Tobias is somewhere between a god and a genius, and Preston… He's right there beside him. The devil's beautiful right-hand man, his loyal counterpart. His perfect match.
When we stop behind Tobias, one of the doctors looks at Preston. “Yours and Mr. Benton’s contributions are greatly appreciated. These children's families would be lost without it. It's very generous of you both.”
“It's only money.” Tobias smiles, and while that smile seems genuine, I know there's more to it. Something sick and twisted. Dark and depraved.
We’re guided up to the 8th floor where we’re asked to scrub up and put on gowns, masks, and gloves. Then the doctor shows us around the wards complete with new plasma TVs and game consoles—ones I’m assuming Tobias and Preston’s donations bought.
The question of why they brought me here itches in the back of my mind. None of this makes sense, though I fear it will all too soon. I’ve learned to live in a constant state of hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
We leave the empty wing and turn by the nurse’s station. “There's someone I would like you to meet, little lamb,” Tobias says, stopping in front of a patient’s room. He taps on the half open door and we’re invited in.
My chest tightens when
my gaze lands on the fragile little boy asleep in the hospital bed. There’s a tangle of tubes hanging from his IV pole and oxygen shoved in his nose. A woman I assume is his mother sits in the recliner beside him. It’s obvious from the dark circles below her eyes and splotchy cheeks she’s been crying.
“How is he?” Tobias whispers. The conviction in his voice nearly breaks me.
“The study drug didn’t work. They've given him a few weeks at best.” And then she breaks into tears.
Tobias sits on the edge of the bed and places his hand on the boy’s arm—Thomas, according to the sign decorating his hospital room wall.
The little boy’s eyes slowly open.” Mr. Tobias!”
“Hey, little man.”
“Superman came to see me.”
Tobias chuckles. “The real superman.”
I’ve never seen Tobias seem so genuine and it’s jarring. Now I feel horrible for wondering if this is all just a twisted part of the game, some ploy to screw with my head. It’s obviously not.
Thomas attempts to push up in the bed a little but doesn’t get very far. “And he told me I was the strongest little boy he'd ever met.”
“I believe that,” Tobias says quietly.
A soft sob breaks from the boy’s mother. I want to offer her a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, but I'm a stranger. Her child is dying, and no amount of support will ever make this right. Thomas continues to tell Tobias about his visit with Superman. I can’t help but wonder how the little boy manages to find happiness when his situation seems so grim. The lump in my throat swells until swallowing around it hurts. I have no right to the tears welling in my eyes, which is why I quietly slip out the door and into the waiting room. Removing my mask, I fight the emotions swarming inside me as I head to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. It’s not fair when children die. The tears that creep from my eyes make me feel like a fraud because I’m not the one losing a child, and I have no right to that woman’s grief. I swipe at the tears and turn from the window, my gaze landing right on the fancy gold and black plaque on the wall: The Benton and Lucas BMT Unit.