If he was going to keep me in painful need for six hours, I was completely certain I’d die. I whined softly into the pillow.
“Jenny.” His voice held a warning note. “I never want you to be afraid of me. But you still need to do as you are told.”
A thrill went through my body at his tone. “Yes Sir,” I replied, desire pulsing in me.
“Good girl,” he said, kissing the back of my neck as a reward. “Now, I want you to put your hands on the pillow.” He waited while I did what he wanted. “Now, no matter what I do, I want you to keep them there. Don’t move them.”
I nodded into the pillow, then bit my lip as the memory of Dylan beating me for failing to acknowledge his instructions vocally. “Yes Sir,” I said hastily.
If he noticed my sudden stiffening, he ignored it, his hands moving surely over my back, stroking and caressing me. I took a deep breath and consciously forced myself to relax. I was going to spend the next three months as Alexander’s submissive. I needed to learn to trust him. He hadn’t hurt me in Paris two years ago. So far, he’d only been considerate. He wasn’t Dylan.
“Get up on your knees for a second,” he instructed. The fabric of the nightgown bunched up in his hands, and he slithered it up, past my hips, past my waist, all the way up to my shoulders. I shivered as I felt his hands glide over me. I had memories of the way he felt, firm and commanding. But memories didn’t compare to the real thing.
This was the way he’d touched me in Paris. I wondered how I’d failed to notice the dominance then. He hadn’t gone overboard with it that day, but his touch had always been assured. Never tentative. This was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. This was a man who was used to getting his way.
Right now, he desired me and my body was flushed with heat. All for him.
I sighed and melted into his touch. I’d missed him. I’d thought I’d never see him again. We were in the same bed. It was tempting to indulge myself, to obey him and see where he’d take me. I wanted amazing.
The silk slid past my breasts, exposing them to the cool air of the cabin. My nipples hardened in response. His hands moved over them, cupping and kneading them. I exhaled as little coils of pleasure wound through me.
“How hard do you like your nipples played with, Jenny?” His fingers tugged at a bud, the taut nub sliding between his thumb and forefinger.
My body has been trained to respond to pain. Whether I like it or not, soft caresses did nothing for me. I’d tried to stroke my nipples softly, but I’d learned that nothing other than a firm pull or the sharp bite of a clamp would cause my pussy to dampen.
I’d suspected it for the first time in Paris, two years ago. In the intervening years, I’d made my peace with it. Of all of the crimes Dylan had to answer for, this was the least of it. “Harder,” I muttered into the pillow. “Please…”
My cheeks were flushed with shame, but my desire for roughness didn’t seem to perturb him. It hadn’t in Paris either. Now though, I understood why. He was into BDSM; he had purchased a submissive at an auction. Kinky sex was a given.
He reached under me and tweaked both nipples harder, tugging them towards the bed. My hands were obediently placed at the pillow, but my fingers curled into fists as sensation swirled through me. My shoulders dug into the bed, while my ass remained raised, poised towards him. My waxed cunt dripped with arousal. I could feel it.
I wondered if he his steady gaze rested on my almost naked body. I wondered if he liked what he saw.
His hands stroked my calves and ran up my thighs. He gripped my ass cheeks and spread them open, and he groaned softly. “Beautiful,” he said. His thumbs caressed my puffy folds. “So wet and ready.”
I bit my lip and whimpered into the pillow again. It hurt to wait. I was impatient for the feeling of his body against mine, needy for his cock in me.
His fingers dipped into my pussy and spread the wetness there all over my ass, then spanked it firmly. “I can’t do too much of that,” he said, and I heard the regret in his voice. “The noise of the engines will only conceal so much.”
Heat rose from the spot where his hand had made contact and spread through my body. I pushed my hips towards him in invitation. Again, my body pleaded. Spank me again.
Alexander chuckled and every single cell in my body tightened in arousal at that sound. “In my playroom, cherie,” he said, and his voice was a sinful promise, “I’ll spank you as much as you desire. But right now, we don’t want Anne-Marie running in here to make sure you are okay.”
Every single one of Dylan’s guards had watched me being raped. No one had ever done anything to help me. To protect me. “Would she?” I said into the pillow. I couldn’t keep the bleakness out of my voice. “You mean she doesn’t know to stay away from the noise?”
His hands had been wandering up and down my body, stroking, exploring. Establishing ownership. But they stilled as I uttered those words. When he responded, his voice was troubled. “I very much hope that no one in my employ will ever ignore a screaming woman.”
He isn’t Dylan, I reminded myself again.
I deliberately wriggled my hips, and he chuckled. “Jenny,” he said smoothly, “you aren’t in charge here, remember? Keep your hips still. If I want to spank you, I will. If I want to caress you,” his thumb traced a path up my dripping slit, “I will.”
I moaned into my pillow as he continued speaking. “If I want to taste your juices,” his mouth lowered onto my pussy, “I will.”
Oh god, his mouth. His talented, talented tongue. His probing fingers. Everything played with me, pulling an orgasm from my body. “Sir,” I panted, trying to keep my hands where they were, and keep my legs open for him. “Sir, please…”
“Please what, Jenny?” he asked.
“Please fuck me, Sir,” I whined. I had two years of memories of his body against me, but memories didn’t keep me warm at night. I had to feel him again.
“Turn around.”
I hesitated for a second, wondering how to keep my hands on the pillow and still obey and he noticed. “You can move your hands,” he assured me. I turned to face him, and he moved over my body. His dick was visibly tenting his boxers and my eyes locked onto it. I was wet, dripping, ready. I needed him.
His hands tugged the nightgown over my head and tossed it to the side. His boxers followed and I exhaled visibly as his body settled on me. His warmth filled me as we touched, skin on skin. I inclined my head up for a kiss, and his lips quirked into a smile before descending on my mouth.
He nipped, nibbled, sucked. What his lips and teeth did, his fingers echoed as they toyed with my nipples, pulling and tugging. I arched into him and moaned into his mouth, locking my legs around his hips, hoping to pull him closer. But he shook his head, his fingers gripping my jaw. “I’m being very indulgent,” he said, “but you must obey. Stay still for me.”
I couldn’t. My body ached for more of his touch. But his tone had been serious. “Sorry,” I murmured.
He smiled, and those dimples twinkled into view. “Are you being bad so I’ll spank you?” he accused.
I shook my head. “No Sir,” I said meekly.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” he growled. His mouth descended on my nipples, nipping the tender buds. I groaned as wetness flooded through my core. I was dripping onto the sheets below.
He kissed his way down my body. I writhed and whimpered, putty in his hands. His palms caressed my skin, his nails raked a fiery path.
No toys. No whips. No clamps, no handcuffs. None of it was essential. He didn’t need the toys and the equipment to impose his will on me. His hips held me in place. His hand closed around my wrists. My legs, I kept parted of my own volition. I wanted to please Alexander.
I could only imagine what I would feel in his playroom.
Finally, he reached for a condom, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes,” I begged him. I didn’t hide my need. Desire had replaced any fear.
He sheathed himself, then took his cock i
n his right hand, aiming it at my pussy. I obligingly parted my legs wider. I was ready.
“Not nervous?” He looked amused but there was heat in his eyes.
I shook my head silently. I couldn’t form words. If I could, all I would say was please don’t make me wait anymore, please, please just fuck me.
He bent towards me and kissed me. “Good,” he said. Then he thrust into me. One hard, painful, pleasurable thrust, filling me like I hadn’t been filled for two years.
No teasing. Not now. Now, we both wanted the same thing. Fast, furious, animalistic. This was primal. This was reliving the memory of two years ago, but it was better. Because he was here, now. His body over mine. His weight on me. His cock pounding me, pleasuring me.
I felt the waves of impending release start to form. His eyes met mine. “No.” There was not a single doubt in my mind that this was an order. “You won’t come until I give you permission.”
I couldn’t form thought enough to protest. I nodded, my teeth clenched. I had to. I felt a need to obey him in this moment.
But obedience was brutally hard, because my body fit in his. Two years ago, sleeping with him had felt like coming home. Two years later, that feeling hadn’t been a lie. Though I should have been revolted at who he was, I wasn’t. My body needed him. My soul found completion in his arms.
“Please…” I begged as his cock raked every inch of my passage, setting every nerve ending afire. “Please, Sir… I need to come.”
His lips ground down on mine. “No,” he growled into my mouth. “Wait.”
I waited. Each wave of pleasure took me higher, higher. I was afraid I’d fall and shatter. I wanted to jump off into release, with or without permission. But I obeyed.
His eyes clenched shut. His cock hammered harder. He was inches from his own release and I tightened my muscles around his shaft, luxuriating in his groan as he felt me. “Cherie,” he muttered. “You will be the death of me.” He opened his brilliant blue eyes and looked into mine. “Come for me, Jenny.”
It didn’t take much more than that. I was ready. All I needed was permission. And when he asked, I climaxed for him, feeling his release at the same time.
As I clutched at him and awareness slowly returned, I realized that this was going to be the most challenging three months of my life. I couldn’t stay rational around Alexander. My body craved his too much, and I was unequipped to handle my own sexual desire.
Chapter 16
Ellie / Jenny:
It had been two years since I was last in Paris. I hadn’t returned since the day we’d fled for Tangier. I’d wanted to keep the memory of the night I spent with Marc perfect and untouched.
But Alexander was Marc and on the plane, I’d added a new memory to my recollections.
We didn’t go back to that small house that I remembered so fondly. The townhouse he took me to was in the centre of the city. Large, spacious and airy, with priceless works of art decorating the walls and glistening chandeliers hanging from the ceilings; this was the home of a rich and powerful man.
He looked at my face. I was struggling to stay awake. It always took me a day or two to adjust to each new time zone. It used to cause Lucien no end of aggravation. “You look like you are about to pass out Jenny,” he said to me.
“Jet lag,” I replied. “It always kills me.”
His eyes narrowed and too late, I realized that my trip to Bangkok was supposedly the first time Jenny Fullerton had left the United States. “At least, I’m assuming that jet lag’s the reason I was out of sorts for two whole days when I got to Bangkok.” I wondered whether my clarification was helping or hurting my cause.
“Why don’t I give you the full tour after you’ve got some rest then?” he said. “Come, let me show you to your bedroom.”
My heart stabbed with sudden pain. He didn’t want me to share his bed? “I thought I’d be sleeping with you,” I asked hesitantly. Raging insecurity swept over me and I didn’t like it. Had I not been good enough in bed for him?
His eyes softened. “You are always welcome to join me,” he clarified. “But we should set up the terms of our agreement in the morning.”
Bile filled my mouth. For a few hours, I’d been pretending that Alexander was my boyfriend. He’d been attentive, warm and caring, and I’d embraced the fantasy. But now that we were in Paris, the arrangement surfaced. I had been paid a million dollars minus Madame Lorraine’s commission to be this man’s submissive for three months. Tomorrow, he would tell me the duties expected of me in exchange.
I should have known better than to need and want Alexander. But it had happened anyway. One night in Paris two years ago and a couple of evenings of kindness. Starved of affection my whole life, that was all it took for me to lower my shields.
“That sounds good,” I responded tonelessly. “Thank you, Alexander.”
For a moment, he looked almost regretful. Then his expression closed and he nodded. “Follow me.”
The bedroom he showed me to, was a far cry from my cell in Abeokuta. Floor to ceiling windows with a view of the Eiffel Tower. The bed was large and comfortable looking. Pillows were piled high and the bedspread was grey silk. There was a small seating area to one side, where a loveseat covered with the same grey silk was flanked by two spindly looking chairs. A large TV hung from the wall. Doors led to an en-suite bathroom, a walk-in closet and to a small balcony that overlooked the street below. It was a lovely room and I didn’t care; all I wanted to do was to curl up next to him.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he replied. “Get some rest.”
“Thank you.”
Though my body screamed out for a sound night’s sleep, I was too wound up. My mind churned as a thousand swirling thoughts competed with each other.
He’d been warm and kind and funny. But it seemed that new rules would go into effect tomorrow. I was fighting not to panic again. This house was bound to have a dungeon in it. Alexander was my dominant. Tomorrow, I would be expected to obey his wishes.
And Sylvia. I wished I could forget about Sylvia. There were many memories I would have preferred to fade, but foremost among them was the night Dylan had caned me and left bloody marks while Sylvia had watched, her nostrils flared with lust. Blood aroused her. I shuddered to think about what was going to happen when she got to Paris.
I wasn’t sure if Alexander would hurt me. But I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sylvia would. She was like a cat toying with a mouse.
This mouse is a killer, I reminded myself. I killed Gregor Petrovich in Kiev. I killed Ivan Klimov in Paris. Pieter died in Berlin. Sam Green in Cairo. Only Daniel Schneider remained and he was still working for Dylan in Hanoi. Each time, after each mission was successfully concluded, I’d fixed an image of their bodies in my head. This was my counterpoint to the rape and the torture. Now, I reminded myself that I wasn’t that weak, afraid girl that Dylan had kidnapped. I was strong. I was on the road to being avenged. Whatever I needed to endure, it would only be for three months.
I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the fact that I had feelings, mixed-up and fucked-up as they were, towards Alexander. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow, the true colours of the man who bid on submissives in an auction in Bangkok would be revealed. I’d fallen under his spell easily. I told myself that it would be just as easy to free myself when his true personality was exposed to me.
***
I showered in the adjacent bathroom and dressed in a pale grey silk dress the next morning, grinning as I realized I matched the furniture in my room. Once I’d delayed as long as I could, brushing my hair a hundred times to try and calm my nerves, I emerged out of my room and went to the kitchen. There was a woman there, busy cooking something on the gas burners. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she smiled at me. “Voudrez-vous le petit dejeuner?” I assumed she was the housekeeper.
“Elle ne parle pas Francais, Elodie,” Alexander interjected, coming into the room. “Jenny, would you like some breakfast?”
I rem
inded myself that Jenny didn’t speak French. It would be difficult to pretend that I didn’t understand the language, but I would have to look convincingly uncomprehending when they talked among themselves. I sighed inwardly. I’d never had to maintain a cover story for an extended period. When we’d come up with the plan, I had assumed that my time with Alexander would be similar to my time with Dylan. I didn’t think that Dylan had ever asked me a question or was at all curious about my wants and needs. When I wasn’t serving him sexually, I’d been imprisoned in a cage or a cell.
“I’d love some breakfast,” I replied.
Elodie smiled at me warmly. “Eggs, toast and fruit, Mademoiselle? Or something else? Perhaps some croissants or pain au chocolat?”
I willed back the memories that rose to the fore. “Eggs and toast would be perfect.” I raised an eyebrow as Alexander handed me a cup of coffee.
He grinned. “You had three cups yesterday morning in Bangkok,” he replied to my unasked question. “A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar.”
“Impressive,” I replied. I ate my breakfast in silence at the kitchen island while Alexander sat next to me and read the newspaper. Elodie was chopping some vegetables for lunch by the stove. It was tempting to ask Alexander about the contract and our arrangement, but mindful of the fact that Elodie spoke English, I kept silent.
When I was done eating, he looked at me. “Shall we go into my study?” he asked. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way?”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Yes, Alexander,” I replied dutifully, getting up to follow him.
Chapter 17
Alexander:
I hadn’t bothered with a contract with either of the submissives I’d found at Lori’s auction before. Both Emma and Whitney had been well-versed in the lifestyle. We’d had safety discussions, of course, but both women were perfectly capable of expressing their desires.
Jenny was different. She seemed unable to tell me what she wanted. My hunch was that it was tied up with the real reason she’d been in Bangkok at Lori’s auction. Whatever her true purpose was, it kept her from being honest with me about her desires.
Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2) Page 13