by Ella Miles
So I slid my thick, rock hard cock into my hand and pretended it was Kai’s lips wrapped around it instead. I came hard on my bare stomach. But it wasn’t enough. I immediately fisted myself again, imagining it was her pussy I was sinking into, which wasn’t hard to visualize since I’ve seen her naked more than I’ve seen her clothed. Her thin legs wrapped around my waist, and though frail, digging into me with all her might. Her fingers clawing as her legs squeezed me tight. I would drown in her body, our heavy breathing outpacing our flowing blood. I would fuck her until I simultaneously pulled a tear-filled cry and a rippling orgasm from her body. Only then would I slam my cum deep into her and adorn her with her first moment of pleasure during sex.
I came again, imaging her battered body surrendering to mine for the first time. Her eyes glittered with overcoming joy and terror at letting me be the one to show her the beauty of fucking.
When I was finished, I cleaned myself off and went in search of Langston to chew him out. He’s the reason I lost control. Seeing him with her brought me to my weakest point.
Instead of finding Langston, I found her.
Kai was standing in the darkness at the door to my office. The door was cracked, and her body was stiff as she stared inside.
I heard the familiar sound of panting and heaving as two bodies fucked. It’s a regular sound in a place like this—expected even.
But I could understand what it might trigger in a woman like Kai, one who only associates sex with suffering.
And I know exactly who is behind the door she’s listening to. Zeke.
Fucking bastard.
I really need to get him a bigger office with a couch or bed. That way he’ll stop bringing women into my room.
“I never took you for a voyeur,” I say.
Kai exhales, as if she’d been holding the world inside as she watched. Like hearing my voice shook her to her core.
I narrow my eyes, as I study her features in the dark. Luckily, I can see so well in the night because I see the glistening on her cheek—wetness from crying. But it’s like all her tears were sucked back up when she heard my voice.
My voice saved her.
I stare back at my friend and his hookup for tonight.
She’s not upset because she is watching a man fuck a woman. She’s not imagining that it’s her or he’s fucking her against her will.
She’s upset because she thinks the man was me.
“I was looking for you,” she says, finding her voice. It’s gruff and laced with desire.
“I see that.”
We are both quiet, listening to the muffled sounds of sex.
“Jealous?”
“Of what?” she asks.
“The woman,” I nod in the direction. “Do you miss getting fucked daily?”
She slaps me.
And I deserve it. My words were harsh and cruel. But I need her to hate me, to be afraid of me, and keep her distance. Because I’m losing my battle at keeping her away from me, and cruelty is the only thing she will respond to. I’ve been too kind these last few weeks; I’ve begun to let her into my world. And it has to stop.
Her touch continues to sends sparks. It was a brief interaction of our skin, but I’m dizzy with the aftershocks, the tingling her flesh offers. It was the first time she touched me willingly. And I almost want to make a snide comment again just to feel her hand against my face, no matter how sharp the sting on my face.
“Rape isn’t fucking,” she says.
When I gaze at her again, my eyes are heavy with tension.
“I was only pointing out you must have needs. Wants. Desires. You need to heal. And at this club, you can find whatever man you want to fulfill you. You’re not ready yet, but if you want to heal, you need to find that man.”
“I’m not going to find a man to fuck in your sex club.”
“This isn’t a sex club.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, it is.”
I resist the urge to move in on her and box her in with my body and capture her wrists. “No, one of the purposes of this club is sex, but more importantly this is a place where business and pleasure mix. Men come here for a good time, yes, but more importantly they come to meet other men who can assist them in their endeavors. They try to befriend me, so I might be in debt to them and owe them a favor.”
“And the women? What do they get other than being whored out?”
“Protection. Safety. Money. Everything they desire.”
“As long as they sell themselves.”
I shake my head. “The women don’t see it that way. They might be desperate when they come to work for me, but they live like queens. Worshiped and wanted. They are never forced to fuck or even touch a man. They don’t even have to dance. They can simply serve liquor and get paid a six-figure salary to work for me.”
She gasps.
I close the door to my office. I’ll deal with Zeke fucking in my office later.
“You can’t hide your secret lust from me. I see it as plain as I can see your tits in my mind. I’ve seen the look too many times not to notice.”
She glares.
“There is no shame in feeling lust. Just because your innocence was taken doesn’t mean you stop wanting to find the joy in a good lay. It’s not sick or twisted. I’m the sick one, not you,” I say.
“I agree; you’re sick.”
“I am, so stop looking at me like I could save you. I can’t. Not with protection. Not with my body. Not at all.”
“I know you can’t save me from the demons that haunt me; nobody can. And even if I get better, I’m still a prisoner in your home with no hope to work off my debt.”
My eyes darken. I can think of plenty of ways she could work off her debt to me.
“Langston will drive you home. The club was too much for you. From now on, you can stay a prisoner in my house,” I say, my jaw clenching as I say the word prisoner. But that’s what she is, until I release her. Or someone else figures out the truth.
“Why not you?”
“Because I have work to do. And Langston owes me.”
“Thank you for stopping Langston,” her words explode out of her in a whisper.
I huff. “You obviously haven’t learned anything if you are thanking me. I’m not your protector, Kai. You should know by now that I could set you free; I just never will.”
And then I walk away, despite my urges to stay. To drag her into a spare room and make her realize what it’s like to be fucked and enjoy it.
I feel her staring as I round the corner. I can’t save you, but you can save us both.
27
Kai
Enzo said I need to have sex in order to heal. I need a man to pleasure me. That’s the only way to truly get over my fears.
I’m sure he’s right, but I can barely tolerate clothes, I can’t sleep in a bed, I hate the sunlight. I’m not ready for sex. I don’t think I’ll ever be.
I stand frozen in my spot after Enzo leaves me at the closed door to his office. I can’t believe I thought the man in the room was Enzo. I can’t believe I cared, but I do. I’m not even sure I’m jealous because I want Enzo to be the one fucking me. I’m clearly not ready for sex. I just don’t want him fucking anyone.
If I’m his possession, then I want him to be mine. But it doesn’t work that way. Only one of us gets to be the object, the other a person with a life.
“Katherine,” Langston says cautiously from behind me.
I turn, and it’s clear from his stoic expression he’s been given orders from Enzo. I’m now Katherine instead of Kai. Why am I Katherine here? What does my name mean? If I spoke my name aloud to the men in this club, what would happen?
“Are you ready to go home?” he asks.
Home.
Enzo’s place is anything but home. I don’t have a home. Even if Enzo would let me go, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t have a high school diploma. I have no money, no experience, and I can’t even tolerate being touched. I don’t know
how I’d get food if I were truly free. I should be thankful Enzo keeps me, even if I don’t understand the purpose.
I nod.
Langston leads me out the front, but not through the crowded rooms at the entrance. Through the door and outside into the night, he doesn’t walk slowly or wait for me at all as we stride down the street. My feet ache in the shoes. I feel the flicker of early light, as the sun slowly begins to rise. How is it already almost morning?
I’m exhausted. The night was long, even though the time spent away from the house was relatively short.
Langston stops in front of a Maserati and opens the door. I slide into the passenger side before he hops into his side.
My heart races fast, my palms sweat, and my pupils dilate as Langston eases onto the road. Driving here was easier with Enzo at the wheel, but I don’t know Langston, I don’t trust him. But Enzo didn’t offer to drive me home. Because I’m nothing to him. I need to remember that even when he offers me a brief moment of kindness.
I close my eyes to try to block out the car ride. My plan works, because we arrive at Enzo’s house before dawn breaks.
Langston hesitates as the car idles, he’s looking at me. And as much as I want to run out of this car and into the safety of the house, to my room, I don’t. I can tell from Langston’s hurried breath he wants to say something to me, but he’s not sure how to say it. I wait, hoping it will give me some insight into Enzo, the man they all call Black.
“Be careful.”
I narrow my gaze. “Careful?”
“Yes, careful. This is a dangerous world you are now a part of. Black may be a king. He may rule all, but Enzo is different than the man he portrays at Surrender. He’s frailer than you realize. Don’t hurt him.”
“Don’t hurt him! Are you serious? Shouldn’t you be telling him not to hurt me?”
Langston looks me over. “It doesn’t appear you have been hurt in weeks. Enzo is helping you, not hurting you.”
“I wouldn’t say keeping me as a prisoner is helping.”
He leans across me, and I freeze trying to keep my chest from bumping against his arm. He’s careful not to touch me as well. He opens my door.
“Then leave. Go. Be free. I won’t stop you. Enzo won’t stop you.”
He smiles smugly when I don’t move. “That’s what I thought. You need him to survive. So stop thinking of yourself as a prisoner. You’re as much a prisoner as Enzo is.”
I frown, and then I realize Langston thinks of Enzo as a prisoner as well. To what, I don’t know? His father? His job? What?
Slowly, I step out and walk inside. Langston waits until I close the door before he speeds off.
Westcott welcomes me with a smile. “Can I get you a coffee or tea? Some breakfast maybe?”
Does the man sleep? Why is he up so early? And hasn’t he realized it’s not morning for me? The sun is up, which means it’s time for bed.
Except, I don’t know when or if Enzo is coming home. He seemed pissed off the last time I saw him. He may leave again for weeks just to avoid me. And I haven’t slept alone on the floor in weeks.
I scrunch up my nose at the thought of tea or coffee. “No, I’ll just be in my room.”
I practically run to the stairs before I kick out of my heels, leaving them on the floor as I dash up the stairs. I get to the bedroom and slam the door shut. I lock the six locks Enzo had installed again. And then I begin to strip the constricting clothes off. When I’m free of them, I sigh.
No.
I need to continue to make progress. I lost six years. I need to make up for it. Get my life back.
But I’m tired of wearing tight jeans. So I walk to the closet and let my hand stride over the fabric. Half of the closet is filled with Enzo’s suits, jeans, hoodies, and sweatpants. The other half is filled with clothes I’ll never wear. Dresses, jeans, skirts. I tolerated the jeans, pushing myself. I need to settle now on wearing clothes, any clothes. Something I can sleep in.
I pull the largest T-shirt on my side of the closet I can find, and I slip it on. It hangs down to my knees.
It’s a start.
I walk back to the bedroom and stare at the bed. It still looks like the most uninviting thing.
One step at a time. Today I wear clothes. I went out in public. Soon I can try the bed again.
I stare at the blackout curtains blocking the sunlight. Maybe just one more step?
I walk to the curtain, grip the edge, pull it open and let the light in. I lean against the window forcing myself to feel the warmth, forgetting some windows in the house turn into a door when the appropriate pressure is applied. The window falls open, and my body trips out onto the balcony.
I wince as the brightness of the sun burns my eyes. It’s so fucking sunny. But it’s warm and relaxing at the same time.
Just five minutes. I’m already out here. Five minutes. Tomorrow it will be six, then seven, then eight. I will get my life back; I’m not a prisoner.
There is a couch with a small table and chairs on the balcony. I want to sit on the hard chair, but I choose the soft couch. I curl my legs up, compelling myself to try and get comfortable.
Four minutes. Just four more minutes.
I am strong.
I am not broken.
I can heal myself.
I don’t need Enzo.
I don’t need anyone.
I close my eyes, trying to block out some of the sun’s rays.
But my body shakes at the heat. I shift in my seat trying to get comfortable. I grab the hem of the shirt I want to rip from my body. It itches and scratches, driving me mad.
I try to adapt to my old ways. Shutting everything out. Squeezing my fists to the point of pain to distract myself. Counting. Blocking. Guarding. None of it works.
Enzo.
I know it’s the one that will work, because it’s what saved me time after time. There is nothing wrong with it. Fantasizing about him doesn’t make me sick. It’s just because he’s the only man in my life. The only man who hasn’t physically hurt me.
That’s not true—Mason didn’t hurt me either. But I’m not attracted to Mason like I am Enzo. He doesn’t have that rugged, beckoning, mysterious look Enzo has. Enzo is the only boy I’ve ever kissed. He’s the only one whom I can imagine.
Kiss me.
His lips brush against mine, stopping just shy of giving me what I fully want.
Kiss me, I say in my head again.
This time, he doesn’t resist. His lips devour me; his tongue slips deep inside, threatening a groan to escape my throat. I hold the sound in, not ready to show him how much pleasure a simple kiss gives me.
More.
He tangles my hair in his fist as our bodies rub against each other. I shift my weight, pressing my body closer.
Want me, fuck me.
He pushes me back, and I fall against the soft fabric of the couch. His dangerous eyes leaving me dazed as he exposes me, pushing up my shirt.
“Touch yourself,” he says.
I nod.
I want this. The fire between my legs is begging to be touched, stroked until I explode. I need this.
I slide my hands down between my legs.
“Like this?”
“Yes baby, just like that.”
I begin rubbing slowly over my swollen nub. Small circles and then bigger, I move my fingers, stroking faster. And then I reach inside, pulling some of my liquid out, and drag it over my clit, intensifying the feeling.
Yes, God, yes. This is what I’ve been missing—an orgasm to pull me from my shell.
“Faster,” Enzo commands.
I do as he says. I can feel myself growing with need and tingles ripple through my body heating me and bringing me closer to the edge I seek.
I look up at Enzo with heavy eyes, I’m close, but I need his help to get me to the brink.
“Your turn,” I say.
He frowns, looking at me with disgust.
I stop. “What’s wrong?”
; “Why would I want to fuck a whore like you? You’re disgusting. You have no curves. Your skin is battered, permanently. You have no fight left. No man will ever want to touch such a revolting whore like you.”
I pant heavily. No, I’m good enough. Touch me!
“No.”
I jolt, my eyes waking from the fantasy I was playing in my head. I breathe recklessly in and out, knowing I can’t get enough oxygen to calm my body any time in this century.
I stare down at my body wide-eyed, which doesn’t help my anxiety. My hand had slipped between my legs, trying to act out the fantasy. Of all the times I’ve imagined Enzo in my head, I’ve never attempted to act it out. That’s what went wrong.
I can’t tolerate touch—not even by myself. That’s how fucked up I am. That’s what those men did to me.
I wipe my moist hand on the edge of the T-shirt I’m wearing and pull it down as I sit up, my body still spinning a million miles an hour. I need to go back inside and try to sleep. Forget this day even happened, but I’m not sure it’s possible.
A loud popping sound startles me. I curl into the farthest corner of the couch, as I hesitantly look over the edge of the railing to see what is happening below.
I don’t see anything.
“Fucking ladder,” Enzo curses.
A metal ladder thumbs against the railing again, this time staying against it.
I bite my lip, and try to remain calm as I watch Enzo climb up the ladder to the balcony. I’m not sure he knows I’m up here. So I stay silent.
But he came back. I smile.
He reaches the top, swings a leg over the top, and then jumps out of his skin when he sees me. He starts falling backward, and I reach my hand out, trying to grab him to keep him from tumbling over.
He rights himself before I reach him.
We both stare at my hand outreached to help him. I would have never offered to touch him in order to help him before. This is a step.
“Progress,” he says, smiling.
“What are you doing?”