Decadence After Dark: The Complete Collection (Dark Romance box set) : Owned, Claimed, Ruined, Lie With Me, Elicit (Decadence After Dark )

by M Never

  “That’s it. Just like that, pet.” His voice sounds strange as he nuzzles my face, bringing me back to that boiling point.

  Everything below my navel throbs until I can actually hear the pulses echoing in my ears. I surprisingly moan. I don’t think I’ve ever moaned from ecstasy. Then I can’t breathe. I can’t think, as a rushing sensation clamors through my body, from the tips of my tense fingers to my vibrating core.

  “Say it.” He stabs his swelling cock through my flooding folds. I barely have enough air to breathe, but I do as I’m ordered. I cry his name as I come. “Master! Master!” My voice is small, strained, as my insides flip.

  “Yessss . . .” he hisses as he starts to pound away, one hand latched on my hip, the other on my throat. This I recognize. This is the savage I know. The man who takes what he wants no matter how hard or hurtful. I sink my teeth into my lip as the pleasure slips away and morphs into ungodly pain. My whole body is rigid as he squeezes my windpipe while enduring his punishing thrusts. It hurts. The force. It hurts so fucking bad.

  I suck in small, precious amounts of oxygen desperately as the bed slams against the wall as hard as he slams into me.

  Time seems to stand still as consciousness slowly slips away. Spots cloud my vision as my air supply thins.

  At the last second, right before I pass out, Master releases a roar. Clutching my throat like an iron clamp, he buries his cock as deeply as he can.

  So deep I swear he rips my virgin womb wide open.

  Master pulls out, heaving like an overrun Greyhound as I choke for air.

  I’m paralyzed, pathetic, frozen on my hands and knees, waiting for his direction. I know the consequences of taking liberties. Even if they’re as small as moving.

  Master pushes me onto my side. The blindfold still securely in place, my hands still bound by the cuffs. There’s liquid leaking down the inside of my thighs, and my vaginal muscles are on fire.

  “Who do you belong to?” He roughly runs the pad of his thumb across my lower lip.

  “You,” I answer meekly.

  “What are you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Who are you?”

  “No one.”

  My lip quivers for a fraction of a second under his touch before I rein in my fragile emotions.

  “We’re connected now, pet.” Master tickles his fingertips along the curve of my side. “I possess every one of your firsts. We’re embedded.” He urges me onto my back before forcing my hands over my head. “Tonight is just beginning, my little pet. I’m going to take what’s mine. As many times as I want. However I want.” He gropes my entire body—breasts, abdomen, battered bottom.

  “Spread your legs.” I drop my knees, and he makes a lewd sound. “Your virginity is stained all over the sheet and your thighs.” He traces an unusual pattern over my skin. “Bright red and beautiful.”

  Of all the things he’s done—demeaning, abusive, embarrassing things—this moment is the very worst. I’ve never felt more violated. Not even when he stripped me naked, cut off my hair, or sodomized me for the very first time have I ever felt so degraded. My plundered virginity isn’t beautiful. It’s an atrocity.

  I feel him crawl on top of me. Silent tears wet my eyelashes.

  “Cry for me, pet.” It’s as if he knows. He pushes roughly inside me again. My pussy constricts, not from excitement, but from soreness and sensitivity.

  He grunts and groans. “That’s it, pet. Squeeze,” he reminds me as he fucks me inconsequentially. “You’ll never forget me,” Master painfully reiterates. “We’re embedded.”

  I grit my teeth and screw my eyes shut, pleading for death.

  I wake up alone. In bed. Completely free.

  No bonds. No blindfold. No cage. No Master.

  I look down and see the remnants of last night stained all over the sheet. There’s so much blood it looks like a massacre. Everything hurts. My body. My mind. My soul—what’s left of it.

  I slip out of bed and cautiously walk freely around the tiny apartment. A luxury I’ve never been privy to before. On the kitchen counter is a white box with a note. The outside of the envelope reads “pet.” I tear it open.

  Pet, fortunately for you, our time has come to an end. Unfortunately, your suffering is just beginning.

  Clean up, get dressed, and go.

  Go?

  For such a short note, there are so many foreboding sentences. I open the box and pull out a red, spandex dress. No underwear. And matching high heels. I haven’t worn clothes—real clothes—in two years. Like the slave I am, I do as I’m told. Rushing to shower, I almost don’t believe I’m free. Your suffering is just beginning.

  I pull on the dress and slide my feet into the high heels. Jesus, they’re really high. Like hooker high. I wobble a little as I finger comb my wet burgundy hair in the cruddy bathroom mirror. It’s almost as long as when I first arrived, reaching the middle of my back.

  Collecting my wits, I grab the doorknob apprehensively. Terrified actually. I don’t know what’s out there. I look back at my little cage. As pitiful as it is, I know it’s safe. But I don’t want to live like a slave for the rest of my life. If this is my out, I’m taking it. I yank open the front door to a dingy hallway.

  Roach motel for sure.

  I wrap my arms around my waist and walk unsteadily to the stairwell. I walk down three flights, and when I emerge in the lobby, I’m blinded by the sun. Master always kept the blinds closed, so the most natural light I received was slivers through the slats of the shades. I walk outside; the muffled sounds I’m used to hearing are now clear as a bell. It’s stimulation overload. The area isn’t very nice. It looks like a bad part of LA. Decaying buildings, dirty streets, and beat-up old cars. But contrary to the ghetto-like surroundings, parked on the curb directly in front of me is a black stretch limo. I take an unsure step before the door opens. I peek inside, and my heart leaps into my throat.

  A man in an expensive suit stretches out his hand, beckoning me, and I know right then that Master was right. My suffering is just beginning.

  Eight Years Later

  “JETT!” MY NAME RINGS THROUGH the house as I walk down the stairs.

  “Jett!” It immediately rings again, by a different voice this time.

  “Here!” I call back, stopping on a marble step on the grand butterfly staircase.

  Two pairs of large, sparkling eyes and bright, beautiful smiles appear over the ornate banister on the second floor.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?”

  “I can’t find my sequin thong,” Nadia informs me.

  “And you think I had something to do with its disappearance?”

  “No, not exactly. I just thought I’d ask if you’ve seen it.”

  “Is it in the wash?”

  “No.” Nadia pouts.

  “Did one of the other girls borrow it?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve torn apart every drawer in the house.”

  “I’m sure it’s somewhere.” I cross my arms casually as I stare up at her and Amber.

  “I need that thong!” She reacts like a spoiled teenager—which may be partly my fault.

  “Nadia, there are seven thousand pairs of underwear in this house. Believe me, I know the exact number because I paid for every one of them. Wear one of those.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?” I question.

  “Because the sequined one is her lucky thong,” Amber teases her. “And James is coming tonight.”

  “Shut up.” Nadia elbows her.

  I see the dilemma here. “Nadia, do you think James cares which thong you’re wearing? As long as there’s material around your waist he can rip off with his teeth, he’ll be happy.”

  “You think?” She bats her big doe eyes.

  I sigh. “I know.” The way Nadia and James are going, her days in this house are numbered. You’d swear I’m running a dating service, not an upscale brothel, by how many hookups have happened over the last six years. A
s much of a pain in the ass it is to replace an employee, I understand why it occurs so often. My girls are top of the line. Beautiful, refined, educated, and lionesses in the sack. Each as special and unique as a snowflake. What man can resist that? I can tell you, not many.

  “Now, go finish whatever you need to finish. The clientele for the social will be here at seven.” I send them on their merry way.

  “Yes, Jett.” Nadia flutters off, but Amber lingers.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  Amber, my black-haired vixen, spies down at me like a curious cat.

  “When is Alistair coming back?” she asks cautiously.

  Heaven help me. “I don’t know. Soon.” My elusive uncle has been here since Mansion’s inception. He helped get the whole project off the ground. Laid the foundation with his expertise and fostered it, along with Kayne and me, into the flourishing, multimillion-dollar enterprise it is today. He comes and goes as he pleases, oblivious to the fact he’s hooked yet another girl into his ring of seduction. Unfortunately for Amber, Alistair isn’t the settling down type.

  “Okay.” Her disappointment is evident as much as she tries to hide it.

  “Go on.” I send her off as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I sigh as I answer it. It’s a Saturday.

  I glance at the word restricted on the screen before I say, “Hello?”

  “Darling,” a woman purrs on the other end.

  “Sasha—”

  “I sent you a present.” She cuts me off and then abruptly hangs up.

  Present?

  A moment later, the doorbell rings.

  I hurry down the stairs and across the high-gloss marble foyer to answer it. There are no visitors on the roster for today.

  I swing open the massive mahogany front door and come face to face with a woman. A stunning woman. My heart slams into my ribcage when I meet her eyes. Big, bold, blue, bewitching.

  “Can I help you?” I ask like a dope.

  The statuesque redhead gazes at me with an imperial air.

  “Sasha sent me. She told me you’d be expecting me.”

  “How do you know I’m the one you’re looking for?” I lean against the doorframe sporting a sarcastic smirk.

  One corner of her pink glossed lips turns up. “A tall, blond, handsome smartass with turquoise eyes. If that’s not you, I’m looking for your doppelgänger.”

  My smile widens on its own accord. Cheeky little robin. “If you know my name, you’ll be granted access.”

  “Jett.” She hums the magic word, and her melodic voice vibrates all the way down my spine. Damn.

  “And you are?” I step aside, inviting her in.

  “London.” She passes through the entryway like she’s floating in her heels. What a fucking woman.

  I motion to the driver of the car to leave her bags in the foyer before I escort her through the house.

  “I assume Sasha sent you to work.”

  London pauses to look at me. Something brewing behind her beguiling blue eyes. “Yes. She thought a change of scenery would be good for me.”

  Well, it’s sure as fuck great for me.

  “Okay then, let’s talk.” I lead her into my office. What? Did you think Kayne was the only one with a workspace?

  Although decorated vastly different from my partner’s study, it serves much of the same purpose.

  I motion for her to sit in the white, tufted chair opposite my desk. The room has a contemporary feel. Cool gray, built-in bookshelves, dark hardwood floors, and a freestanding, polished wood desk with potted white orchids. Understated and masculine with a modern flair.

  I pull out a folder from one of the drawers behind me. All records of the girls are hard copy. No electronic trails. Easier to destroy. All I need is a flick of a match.

  “This is going to be a little formal. But I give the rundown to every woman who comes to work for us,” I explain, trying my damnedest not to get distracted by her silky legs crossed directly in front of me. Her form-fitting black dress leaves little to the imagination with its plunging neckline and micro-mini length. But even wearing something so provocative, she comes across as classy instead of trashy.

  I concentrate heavily on filling out the form instead of the image of the enrapturing redhead on her knees.

  All in due time.

  I inhale a collective breath and begin the assessment process.

  “I want to first and foremost say that what happens in this house stays in this house. Every employee is my responsibility. And I take that responsibility extremely seriously. You have choices. Mansion is not a prison. You can leave whenever you want. You can say no to whatever you want. This is not forced sexual labor. You need to enjoy the job as much as the customers enjoy the service. Do you have any issues with that?”

  The coy smile she arrived with never leaves her plump lips. “No.” She chuckles discreetly, almost to herself.

  “Did I say something that amused you?”

  “Not really. You just sound like Sasha.”

  “Yes, well, we share many of the same viewpoints and run very similar operations.”

  “Yours seems to be quite a bit more substantial.”

  “Only because we have different endgames.”

  “I see.” She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. Maybe that answer was a little too cryptic. It’s not exactly like I can come right out and tell her Mansion is a cover for a covert operation.

  “London.” Her unique name rolls off my tongue. “You will always be safe here.” I want to put her mind at ease. She’s in a new place, with a new boss, about to embark on a whole new occupational journey. Sasha captains one cruise ship; I command an entire fleet. “I understand the enormity of what this job entails. Of how much of yourself you have to give. It’s not taken for granted nor does it go unrecognized. The girls in this house are treated with respect. They’re the celebrity attraction and catered to as such. Do you understand?”

  With wide, attentive eyes, she nods.

  “Good. Now the formalities.” I pick up the ballpoint pen. “First and last name?”

  “London Erickson,” she replies quietly. Almost timidly.

  I scribble as she speaks.

  “Age?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Last time you were tested?”

  “Right before I left LA.”

  “Everything negative?” I flick my eyes up from the paper.

  “Yes. I have the results in my bag.”

  I nod, appeased.

  “Do you have any issues with having sex with a woman?”

  “No.”

  “A threesome?”

  “No.”

  “Foursome?”

  “No.”

  “Orgy?”

  “No.”

  “Submission or bondage?”

  Again, she shifts in her seat, but her voice is firm. “No.”

  “Anal sex?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Very good.” I check off all the boxes, with vivid images of fucking her while she goes down on another woman. The pen starts to slide through my sweaty palm. I haven’t been this tuned up over a woman since God knows when. Now that I think about it, probably never.

  “All your earnings will go into an interest-bearing account. You won’t need much money while you’re here. Everything you need will be provided to you. Food, clothes, amenities. No cell phones, though. If you have family you want to keep in touch with, we have a line designated for that. We’re discreet. No exceptions.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t have any family.”

  Most of these girls don’t.

  “One last thing. I like every girl to educate themselves or have a hobby. Some are working toward their GEDs; most are taking college courses online”—

  “I have a college level education.”

  The way she speaks and carries herself that doesn’t surprise me.

  “Okay. A hobby, then? Maybe something new you’d like to learn?”


  London cocks her head contemplatively. It’s as if I’ve asked her the square root of three million and three.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  I surmise by her response no one has ever asked her what she likes or what her interests are. Yet she has a college degree? She comes off as a confident woman, but I can see there’s more to this little red robin than meets the eye. Every girl who walks into this house has a story, and London is no different.

  “Well, there must be something that interests you? Music? Painting?”

  She shakes her head and bites her lip, worry surfacing on her sharp features.

  “Learning another language, maybe? French? Spanish?” I toss another idea out there. She glances out the window right before she pauses thoughtfully.

  “Pictures. I’ve always wanted to learn how to take pictures.”

  “Pictures?” I repeat.

  She straightens defensively in her seat, awaiting my what? By her anxious energy, I would guess my criticism. But she won’t get it. Never from me.

  I soften my voice. “Pictures. Okay. That’s a new one. But okay.” I make a note. Research cameras and online photography courses.

  Her tension eases, a beholden look in her eyes.

  “There is one more thing.” I clear my throat and close her file. “I assess each girl.”

  “Assess?”

  “Yes. I need to know their sexual skill level so I can match them with the right clients. Some girls need training.”

  Her stare sharpens. “Okay.” She gives me no objections. “When does that happen?”

  I glance at my watch. Right now? Right this fucking second.

  “Why don’t we introduce you to the other girls, get you settled, and then do the assessment,” I suggest like the calm and rational man I wish I were at the moment. Maybe on the outside. Inside, I’m balancing on my unsteady control to keep from ripping her clothes off and fucking her like a savage right on my desk.

  Her eyebrow arches perceptively. Does she see through my smokescreen? If she does, my poker face needs some extensive work.

  “Just tell me where and when.” She has no issue rising to the challenge. Strong, beautiful, confident, feminine, fierce. She’s the perfect sex object in the making.