by Meghan March
My first thought is one of utter invasion. “Now I don’t even get to shower in private?”
“You get what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I force my limbs to break free from their paralysis and grab the second towel like nothing is amiss and wrap it turban-style around my head. “Can you lay off the clichés? It’s too early for that crap.”
I turn toward the mirror, determined to ignore his presence, but fail. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear he’s fighting off a smile.
“What? Not going to throw in it’s nothing you haven’t seen before? That I’m nothing special?” I don’t know why I’m taunting him. Probably because he’s making me absolutely crazy.
I peer into the glass, pretending to look at my pores as I reach down for the high-end skin-care products I was provided, but my hand misses the bottle because I’m too distracted by his face and the constantly changing expressions on it. They’re too swift to get a lock on, and I wish I could read his mind as easily as he seems to read mine.
“The steam was too thick to see through the glass. I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get out of the damned shower. Still feel me?”
One of the bottles goes flying as I spin around. “Go fuck yourself.”
This time, the smile that forms is harsh and forbidding. “I did that last night in my own shower, and I won’t fucking do it again, because I’ve got you here to take care of my every need.”
I can only imagine how I would have spit and clawed if he’d summoned me after our last confrontation to give him a handy in the shower.
“In your dreams.”
His smile shifts, now baring his teeth. “Hurry up. You’ve got a meeting with your banker this morning to discuss how close you are to tripping your loan covenants and being handed off to the workout department as one of the bank’s troubled assets.”
My mouth falls open. “How do you know that?”
He scoffs. “I find the fact that you think I wouldn’t even more insulting.”
“What time is it?” I glance around but it’s pointless because there’s not a single clock in this damn cell. It’s like being in a casino but without all the fun and a hell of a lot more risk.
“You have less than an hour to make it on time. So, I suggest you hurry.”
“Fuck.” I let out the curse, and yes, I know it’s not ladylike, but I was raised around men working in a distillery. “Then get the hell out so I can.”
I expect another imperious glare or smug grin followed by him telling me he doesn’t have to do a damned thing, but instead he pushes off the door frame and disappears into the master bedroom.
Shocking, actually. And more worrisome than I want to admit.
I rush through getting ready, trying to make sure my face looks as professional as possible before I hurry into the closet to find, of course, only one outfit waiting for me.
This time it’s a wrap dress made of silky fabric in stark black. The same color of Mount’s perfectly tailored suit. Not that I noticed or anything.
And, miracle of miracles, there’s a matching black thong and a black bra that plunges in the middle, perfectly suited to the neckline of the dress. The same gold chain and lock dangles on the hanger from the night before.
I ignore it. He didn’t notice I wasn’t wearing it last night, so maybe he won’t notice this morning. Not wearing it might be petty, but if it helps me retain another shred of control, I’ll take it.
I slide on an expensive pair of black pumps with gold trim around the soles and heels and stride into the bedroom, expecting to find Mount waiting on the bed. But he isn’t. I find him in the sitting room, lounging on an armless chair next to the table where the covered trays were yesterday. Those are absent today as well.
“Shit, my coat.” I turn around to dash back into the bedroom to grab it and then head straight for the door that leads out of my cage.
“Aren’t you forgetting an accessory?” Mount asks.
The damn necklace. Of course he has to make it an issue.
“Fine.”
I spin on a heel, pissed that I’m giving in to him, but telling myself it’s only because I can’t be late for this meeting. It’s not an option.
Mount was right. My loan officer is pissed that we’re only paying the minimum payment on our line of credit every month, even as we continue to borrow. Today is my chance to convince him that the check coming in from the Voodoo Kings will take a big enough chunk out of what we owe to keep Seven Sinners from being labeled “troubled.” The last place I want our loan to end up is in the hands of a workout officer, who will basically tell me I need to liquidate, pay off the debt I owe the bank, and walk away. I’ve already sold my body to the devil to save Seven Sinners, and now I might have to offer my soul to the bank to keep it running.
I grab the necklace and realize the lock isn’t just a charm; it actually holds the two ends of the chain together.
Like a freaking collar.
Are you kidding me right now? I want to rebel against this more than anything, but I don’t have the time. I also don’t have the key. But I guarantee I know who does.
I walk into the sitting room and hold it out. “I can’t put it on. It needs a key.”
Mount’s hand disappears into his suit jacket pocket and raises a tiny flash of gold, and I hand the chain over to him.
“So compliant this morning, despite your earlier attitude.”
“Because I don’t have time to waste on you. I have more important things to worry about.”
Mount’s expression turns darkly amused. “You have no idea how wrong that statement is. You need to learn who your real adversaries are, girl.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever I fucking want.” He unlocks the necklace. “Turn around.”
I swivel, giving him my back, and stupidly, I’m not afraid of what he could do to me. I should be. I need to be. But that fear would be all-consuming, even more so than the man himself, and my refusal to cower will not change.
Mount’s fingers, ridiculously hot against my skin, drag along the lines of my collarbone until the chain rests a few inches from my throat. The click is nearly inaudible when he snaps the lock in place, but his touch heightens my awareness as he spins the necklace around so the lock hangs in the front.
“Don’t even bother trying to take it off without the key. It won’t break.”
My smart mouth and sharp tongue beg to argue with him, but I don’t have time. “Fine. Whatever. Now, where’s Scar and the hood so I can get to work?”
Another smile stretches across Mount’s lips. “You’re missing your final accessory.”
Oh my fucking God. If he means that vibrator, I might murder him, but then again, time is of the essence.
“Where is it?” My question is snappish at best, bitchy at worst.
Mount’s grin turns lazier as he holds out another black box, but this one looks different from yesterday’s. A cold shroud settles around me as he lifts the lid to reveal what’s inside.
Oh, hell no.
There are things I just won’t do. I may not be a good girl, like perfect Imogen, but I’m not a bad girl like Jury either. And I never have and never will open my back door for business.
“No.” My denial is implacable as I stare down at the black-and-gold butt plug nestled in black velvet.
Mount’s grip tightens on the box. “You need to remove that fucking word from your vocabulary when you’re dealing with me. It’ll save you a lot of grief.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” I say, emphasizing each word. “That is not going in me.”
Mount’s dark gaze burns into me. “Did you not understand when I told you I’d be making use of your hands, mouth, tits, cunt, and ass? Because that’s non-negotiable. You agreed. Willingly.”
I swallow another sharp reply. My ass is virgin territory, and I intended for it to remain virgin territory until I was interred in the family burial vault.
&nb
sp; “Tick. Tock. Time is running short, Keira. You want to make your meeting or miss it? Because I happen to know for a fact that Lloyd Bunt isn’t going to give you a chance to reschedule before he hands your file over to the workout department. Then you’ll have to let me taint your pure little body to save your precious company, and it’s going to go down the drain anyway.”
“I fucking hate you.” The words come out on a single breath.
“Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me,” he replies, his smile never faltering, but his eyes flash again. “You said you won’t go to your knees for me to fuck your mouth, and I’ve already had your pussy. Your tits aren’t going to quite do it for me today, so that leaves only one option. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a cock buried in your ass. Based on the fear in your eyes and the way your pulse is hammering in your neck, I’d swear the answer is no.”
I shake my head, refusing to let him make me feel like there’s something wrong with me for not trying anal. “And I’m not going to today either.”
“Willingly,” he repeats, and I want to take back the promise I made.
Mount snaps the lid closed and shoves the box toward me. My hands instinctively close around the edges, and I step out of his reach.
“My cock won’t fit in that tight little ass with the stick you’ve got shoved up it, so we better get to stretching it out.” He nods toward the bathroom. “The lube is in the bottom right drawer. My advice? Be generous with it. And you’re not leaving without that plug in your ass, so you better hurry if you want to make your meeting.”
Rage. My seemingly constant companion blooms again as I back away from the man that I definitely could pull a trigger on, especially at this moment. No one would miss him. New Orleans would rejoice at his demise. Or so I assume.
I keep my steps measured and my glare intact until my heels click on the marble floor of the bathroom and I slam the door behind me.
Resting my forehead against it for only a few seconds, I stare down at the black box in my hands, and like I’ve suddenly developed X-ray vision, I can see exactly what lies inside.
When I shove off the panel and face the mirror, my face is the picture of outrage and horror. Which pretty accurately conveys how I feel right now.
I can’t do this. The girl in the mirror is one hundred percent certain of that fact. The voice that harnesses my rage argues in opposition. Of course you can. It’s a butt plug, not a syringe of heroin. Stop being a pussy and find the lube so you can go meet your bankers and act like the CEO you are.
Crouching down, I yank open the bottom right drawer and find the lube exactly where he said it would be. Fucking bastard. The slur is getting repetitive, even to my ears. I need to come up with something new to fully express this level of fury.
I snap open the lid of the box and pull out the plug, holding it in one hand and the lube in the other.
All I have to do is spread it on and shove it in. I can do this.
My back door clenches tightly, delivering a solid no way in hell response.
But if I miss this meeting and Seven Sinners’ loan ends up in workout, my dad will find out, and . . . I don’t even want to picture the fallout.
I flip the cap on the lube and dump some on the black-and-gold plug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how to use it, and I’m pretty sure Magnolia had given me an anal trainer kit years ago as a gag gift that wasn’t really a gag.
With the base of the lube-coated plug gripped in one hand and the other tugging down the waistband of my thong, I stare into the mirror and give myself another pep talk.
Just shove it in. I squeeze my eyes shut and awkwardly maneuver it beneath the skirt of my dress, wishing I’d thought to remove it. I press the end against the hole I swore would remain virginal and try to force myself to push, but I can’t.
I just can’t.
With a cry of disgust, I throw the plug in the sink, tug my thong back into place, and grip the edge of the counter with both hands.
I’m a coward. And I totally should’ve used that anal trainer kit.
There’s a knock on the door. “This is your twenty-minute warning. With traffic, you might still make it on time if you hurry.”
Glaring, I spin around, wishing once again my stare could incinerate. I dash forward and yank the door open so quickly that I take Mount by surprise. He hangs on to the top edge of the door frame, staring down at me with that arrogant eyebrow raised. He studies me for a moment.
“Turn around and bend over.”
“No.”
His expression goes dark but flares with interest at the same time. “You and that word. Are you really disobeying my order?”
I swallow, because there’s no way I want to admit to him that I can’t do it. I hate this weakness in myself almost as much as I hate him. But the clock is ticking, and I don’t have time for my pride to get in the way of losing my family’s legacy. I’ve already sacrificed too much.
“I’m not doing it.”
His eyes narrow on my face, and he’s reading me too easily for comfort—again.
“Oh yes, you are, but that’s not what you’re saying. You won’t let yourself miss this meeting. So it’s either you can’t or won’t. Which one, Keira? Are you being stubborn or shy?” His eyes flare with heat as though both options excite him.
“Does it matter?”
“More than you know.”
When I hesitate to respond, he looks down at his watch, and I’m reminded of the need to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. That’s the only thing needed to prompt my honesty.
“I can’t.”
The darkness fades from his expression, and his black gaze flashes with heat. “Ask me.”
He doesn’t have to elaborate because I know exactly what he wants. Any other morning, I’d tell him to go fuck himself again, but I don’t have that luxury today.
“I need help.” I utter the words with the same enthusiasm as I would if I were confessing to murder. Well, anyone’s murder but his.
“Help with what, Keira?”
Oh, this motherfucker.
“I hate you.”
“It’s hard to forget when you constantly tell me. And to be honest, I’m getting sick of hearing it. Now, fucking ask me for exactly what you need.”
I jerk my head toward the sink. “Help me put that thing in.”
“Help you slide that butt plug in your tight little ass so I can stretch it out and then fuck it because it’ll make you come harder than you ever knew was possible?”
I grit my teeth, and for the first time in my life, I’m the slightest bit curious if what he’s saying is true. Magnolia swore I was missing out, hence the anal trainer kit.
He’s fucking with my head again. That’s all.
I shove my curiosity down before I bite out my reply. “Yes.”
His smug smile of satisfaction appears as if on cue and he walks to the sink. “I can’t say you didn’t at least try.”
He leans down to open the bottom drawer where I’d found the lube and produces some kind of spray and a neatly folded towel, and drops them both beside the sink.
“Clean it. Bring the plug and the lube into the sitting room.”
I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror as I wash the plug, and then use the disinfectant spray and wipe it clean. I’m not sure if that’s because I can’t face my shame or because I’m afraid I’ll see a glimmer of excitement.
There’s no doubt that Mount’s orders affect me like some kind of black magic. My hard nipples, visible against the fabric of the dress, and the wetness coating my thong are proof of that.
Still, I carry the plug and the lube through the bedroom and into the living room like I’m stepping up to the scaffold to face the noose. Mount is seated in the same chair he was before, but this time, he’s moved it farther away from the table.
I cross the plush carpet, my palms beginning to sweat as I stop two feet in front of him and hold out the items. He takes them from me and I s
tart to turn around, already predicting that he’ll command me to bend over.
“Stop.”
His order stills my movement, and slowly, I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“Let me see your hand.”
I’m shocked that he gives my injury a second thought. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I flash it at him, intending to tuck it back beside me so we can get this over with, but he grabs my wrist. He surveys the injury for a moment before looking up at me.
“You’ll be fine. Should barely feel it by tomorrow.”
“I know. I—” Before I can finish telling him I didn’t need his assessment, he cuts me off with another order that throws me completely off-balance.
“Over my lap.”
I jerk my head back and stare at him like he’s insane. “You have to be joking.”
His eyes narrow, and my comment sounds ludicrous even to me. Mount doesn’t joke.
“Fine.” I attempt to hold tight to my pride, but it’s already unraveling as I bend over his lap like a naughty child who earned a spanking.
His palm brushes the back of my thigh, and I jerk at his touch. It’s only by biting my lip that I stay silent as he pushes the skirt of the dress up and folds it over my back, completely baring my thong-clad ass to him.
I’m expecting him to be cold and callous in this exercise, but nothing could be further from the truth. His fingers trace the faint bruises I saw in the shower, and my skin heats.
“Do they hurt?”
The question catches me off guard. “Like you would really care.”
His palm cups the curve of my ass cheek and squeezes enough to put pressure on the marks. My thighs clamp together involuntarily.
“I want an answer to my question.”
“No, okay? It’s the curse of fair skin. I bruise easily. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s lucky for me that I like seeing my marks on you. It’s good to know it’s so easy and painless to get what I want.”
Before I can come up with a sharp reply, he releases his grip and trails a finger up the back of the thong where it’s tucked between my cheeks, and they clench together.
He lets out a half laugh at the reaction but never stops his lazy exploration, tucking a fingertip under the waistband and sliding it from side to side.