Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2)

by Crescent, Tara

  “Ah, Jenny,” he groaned, pulling away. “You are making me break each and every one of my rules.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that; I didn’t want to ask. I just wanted to kiss him, to feel his cock in my needy pussy. I wanted his fingers pinching at my nipples and I was ready for the flogger’s kisses on my naked back. I wanted to submit to Alexander.

  “Playroom?” My voice was breathless with longing.

  He smiled. His eyes were clouded with desire. “Playroom.”

  ***

  Did I expect my heart to beat like a trapped butterfly might beat its wings against its prison? Did I expect to feel the signs of an oncoming panic attack? Was my skin supposed to get cold and clammy? Should I have instructed myself to take deep breaths and focus on my mission?

  But my mind was fuzzy with arousal and my body wanted to test itself. I was ready to feel everything that Alexander would put me through. If there was fear, it was thickly overlaid by layers and layers of lust and want and need. It was buried behind a slick cunt and rock hard nipples.

  I looked around with undisguised curiosity. The racks where a submissive might be restrained. The assortment of whips and floggers hanging on the wall. The metal chains that hung from the ceiling. The gleaming wooden X of a St. Andrews Cross.

  The only thing that made me shiver was a row of canes. There wasn’t enough lust in the world to bury that particular memory.

  He noticed. “You have caning scars on the back of your thighs,” he said quietly. “I won’t use them unless you want me to. I’ve no desire to trigger a painful memory.”

  God, he was so perfect. And yet, he was dating Sylvia, who had been in the room the night those scars were caused.

  “Come here.” It was an order.

  I obeyed. In this space, obedience came automatically.

  His hands wound through my hair, tilting my head back. “Listen to me, Jenny.” His voice was firm. But sincerity shone out of his eyes. “I don’t know what kind of hell your previous Dominant put you through. But I promise you, I don’t cause pain without giving pleasure. I will give you what you crave. Nothing more. The idea of you cowering in fear makes me sick to my stomach. Everything in me, every bit of who I am is urging me to send you away. You don’t need a Dominant. You need a therapist to help you heal.”

  I had a mission. Kill Dylan in Hanoi. That was my therapy. The hours upon hours of my training. The pain felt by my body as I was repeatedly thrown on a gym mat until I started to learn to inflict pain of my own. Broken legs. Broken wrists. Aching, burning muscles from flat-out running. The prickling feeling of unease over my entire body as I practised going days without sleep. Hunger. Thirst. Pain. Agony.

  “I might not need a Dominant,” I whispered in reply. “But I want one.”

  “In this room,” he said darkly, “you’ll have to trust that I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” I desperately hoped that this crazy, unearned trust that I was giving him wouldn’t backfire in my face. “Yes Sir.”

  ***

  I didn’t see much of Alexander over the next day. After showing me the playroom, he’d disappeared into his study. He’d given me free rein over the house, but warned me that I wasn’t to enter his study without permission.

  So many secrets. I wondered what Alexander concealed in his study. The accounts of the slave trade all over the world? Would there be the details of Dylan’s next victim? Would there be information that would help us take down Sylvia, if we even could? Our mission had stayed narrow so far. Both Lucien and I were driven by our demons. We’d cared about Dylan and only Dylan. But it was hard to ignore the rest of it when it was so within reach of me.

  I pushed those thoughts away. I was Alexander’s submissive. I was an American who had never left home. I would be expected to see the sights of Paris, and so I did. I rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I browsed the antique stores in the Left Bank. I walked the cobbled streets of Montmartre, Alexander’s credit card in my purse. “Use it,” he’d instructed me. When hell freezes over, I wanted to reply, but I didn’t. Apart from my natural desire to be independent, I was too keenly aware of where his wealth came from. His fortune was built on the backs of the misery of others. Just because he was one-step removed from the actual abduction and buying of human beings didn’t make the truth of who he was any better.

  But as much as I should have been repulsed by him, I wasn’t. When he emerged from his study to seek me out for meals and conversation, I sparkled under his attention. When we shared stories of our favourite books, curled up in the comfortable chairs in the library, I cuddled up to him and indulged shamelessly in my fantasy that this was a man I could get involved with. When he teased me for the innumerable cups of coffee I drank, I blushed in response.

  He was charming. He was kind. None of it was real. I knew that. I didn’t care. I was just busy counting off the seconds before I could be in his playroom.

  Chapter 19

  Ellie / Jenny:

  “Ready for the rules?”

  My heart was beating so loudly in my chest that I was convinced he could hear it. Hell, I was convinced Elodie could hear it, and she was three levels below us.

  I couldn’t form words so I just nodded mutely. Alexander flashed me a grin. “You look nervous again, cherie. Relax. Have fun.”

  “Yes Sir.” I knew one rule already and I abided by it. In a session, I called him Sir.

  I was wearing a simple charcoal grey dress that ended a few inches above my knees. Not exactly a look that screamed sex siren, but it was made of cotton and was perfect for a day of walking around Paris in the muggy heat.

  “Good. Remember, be honest about your desires. Tell me what you want and tell me what you don’t want. Okay?” He shot me a reassuring look. “This is our first time in the playroom and I’m not going to do anything too intense. Do you want to use red and yellow as your safe words?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  His lips thinned. I got the feeling he wanted me to talk to him but I was too busy holding it together and had no words to spare.

  “Come here.”

  I closed the space between us, standing in front of him with my eyes lowered. “No, no,” his sexy voice, with its undertone of a French accent, rebuked. His fingers tipped my chin up so that I looked at him. “I would like you to keep your eyes on me. I want to watch your reactions.”

  He moved to my side. “I would enjoy hearing you moan. Don’t hold it back. Don’t hide from me.” His breath tickled at my ear. A sharp flare of lust combusted in my body as his big, strong hand gripped my forearm firmly and led me in front of the large X of the St. Andrews Cross.

  “What do you think?” he asked me, his eyes intent. “Want to be tied up?”

  He told me I had safewords. He promised he wasn’t going to punish me. He said this wasn’t going to be very intense. And in Paris, two years ago, I’d trusted him enough to go back with him to his house.

  I took a deep breath. Please don’t hurt me, Alexander, I thought inwardly. Then I held my hands out to him. “Okay.”

  His gaze locked onto mine before he nodded curtly. He took something out of his pocket. A simple sleep mask, the kind airlines used to hand out to passengers trying to block out a little light. “Close your eyes,” he said. His fingers placed the mask over my eyes. Elastic gripped the back of my head, holding it in place.

  My vision wasn’t completely cut off. If I peeked, I could see my toes. I could see Alexander’s loafer-clad feet as well. A glimmer of light was still visible. It kept my fear at bay. “Good?” his voice asked.

  “Yes Sir,” I responded. With my eyesight curtailed, my hearing felt more acute. His voice was smooth on the surface, but was jagged with tension underneath.

  “I’m going to tie your wrists and ankles to the cross,” he told me.

  I felt the rope wind around my wrists. I’d caught a glimpse of it yesterday when he’d given me the tour. It was bright red in colour. S
oft to the touch, though when I tugged at my restraints, the bindings held firm. “You have a small range of movement,” he advised. “Try it.”

  He was right. I could move my wrist a couple of inches in any given direction. “Are you planning on staying out of reach?” I snarked at him.

  He laughed. “What are you going to do to me, cherie?” I felt his fingers on my ankle. First the one was bound, then the other. Again, I had a tiny bit of range, but not enough to wriggle free. “You can stamp on my toe, if you’d like. Those high heels seem like they could cause a lot of damage.” I heard the amusement in his voice.

  I grinned too. “You are wearing shoes,” I pointed out. “Your toes seem protected.”

  He chuckled. I felt his lips on mine, and my own parted. His warmth was so necessary to me at this moment, like a blanket I could wrap myself in and stay safe.

  “Are you ticklish, Jenny?” This time, he just sounded panty-melting hot. His voice dripped with sex appeal.

  “Don’t,” I squealed. I was tied up on the cross, and my sleeveless dress provided no protection from his teasing fingers. He traced a path on my arms, ticking at my upper arms, coming closer and closer to my painfully sensitive armpits. “Please…”

  “Please Sir,” he coached me. His fingers just grazed over that spot and I started writhing and giggling.

  “Please Sir,” I begged again.

  “If you insist,” he teased. His hands moved to cup my breasts through my dress instead, and his lips nipped at a bud through the fabric. I inhaled sharply as a shudder of pleasure ran through me. “This dress,” he said, his voice muffled against my chest, “is very much in the way. Are you attached to it?”

  “It’s one of yours,” I told him. “It’s undoubtedly some designer label and is worth thousands of dollars.” I couldn’t keep the mockery out of my voice.

  He ignored my tone. “In that case, I feel no regret about what I’m going to do next,” he said smoothly. “Hold still. I’m going to cut it off.”

  I tamped down the sudden fear in my heart. I had to get to Dylan. That was why I endured this.

  Liar, my conscience rebuked. I wanted to get past the fear and trust Alexander. Every bit of my heart yearned for that.

  I heard the snip of the scissors and I held very still. The cold steel grazed against my shoulders and my front, and then the pieces of my dress fell from me. Alexander growled as my bra and panties came into view. “White and pink,” he said. “Very innocent.”

  I bit my lip as the bra cups were pushed down and those nimble fingers tweaked my nipples. I moaned as a storm of sensation assailed me. “Alexander,” I whined.

  A sharp pinch greeted that. “Sir,” I corrected myself. “Please…”

  “What is it, Jenny? Is there something you want to ask me?”

  I didn’t know what I was pleading for. I did know that the way I was restrained, with my eyes blindfolded, everything seemed magnified. Every sensation was a thousand times stronger. My panties were plastered to my pussy, soaked through by my desire.

  His mouth lowered on my nipple, wet and warm. His teeth scraped against that too-sensitive flesh, while his fingers continued their ministrations on my other breast. I thrashed my head from side to side as longing coursed through my heated blood.

  One hand dipped lower and cupped my mound. I resisted the urge to thrust my pelvis and grind against his palm. “So wet, Jenny,” he teased, feeling the soaked fabric. “I think your panties must be quite ruined. I feel less guilty about cutting them off.”

  I grinned at that. His tone had been playful and entirely unrepentant. He wasn’t staying up nights worrying about my panties, that much was clear. “I can tell, Sir,” I retorted, unable to hold it back.

  His palm stroked my cheek. I flinched instinctively, waiting for the backhand to my face. But it didn’t come. His fingers didn’t hurt. They caressed. Exactly as he had promised.

  I breathed a little easier. A little bit of the fear that lay like an ever-present cloud over my head lifted. A small gleam of warmth entered.

  “Have you ever played with a Hitachi before, Jenny?” he asked me.

  I shook my head. “What is it?”

  “A vibrator. Not any old vibrator though, a powerful one.” I heard a buzzing come nearer. I felt a pulsing touch on my nipple that sent answering throbs of desire through my body.

  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god, Sir,” I wailed. I wriggled, trying to inch away from that torture. Or was I trying to push into it? I couldn’t tell.

  “So responsive,” he said. I heard the satisfied purr in his voice. “So very responsive.”

  He ran the vibrator everywhere except my mound. My jaw. My midriff. Everywhere until I was futilely humping the air in front of him, needing to feel that intense vibration against my clitoris.

  “Patience, baby,” he soothed. I heard the smile in his voice.

  He tortured me for endless minutes. When I was sobbing with need, he finally inched the Hitachi down to my pussy, holding it slightly away from me. My breathing hitched. I had never wanted my panties gone as much as I did at this minute. “Please Sir,” I begged.

  The sharp cold steel grazed against my hip, and I heard the blades of the scissors slice through my expensive lace underwear. Finally.

  “I want you to come for me, Jenny,” his voice instructed. There was a hoarse note to it now, a fragmenting of control as he watched me react to his touch. The vibrator ground into me, whirring against my core. I felt a tightening of my muscles as I responded to that strong pulse. I pushed into it, I pulled away from it. My wrists rattled at their bindings, my legs thrashed as my knees threatened to buckle.

  I screamed as my climax ripped through me.

  It lasted forever. He didn’t pull off the vibrator, holding it against me until I remembered to choke out ‘yellow.’ Then he moved it away instantly and removed my blindfold.

  I panted as my body slowly cooled from that sensory overload. My eyes slowly focused on Alexander, who was surveying me with a little smile on his face. “Thank you,” I breathed out.

  He grinned openly at that. “Do you think we are done?” he asked. “After just one orgasm? No, no. Take a moment to recover, and we’ll get going again. Do you want a drink of water?”

  “Yes please,” I said gratefully. He went to a small refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a bottle of spring water, opening it and holding it at my lips for me to drink. I took a long sip before nodding at him.

  My orgasm had relaxed me. I beamed at him as I waited for what he had in store for me next. If it involved another all-encompassing orgasm, I was game.

  He brushed another kiss at my lips and ran his fingers through my hair. “More water?” he asked.

  “I’m good,” I replied. “What now?”

  “Fewer questions, cherie,” he rebuked lightly. He freed me from my restraints and helped me over to a narrow padded bench. He positioned me so that I was draped over it. My legs were once again spread and bound, this time to the legs of the bench.

  My breath caught. Perhaps he would fuck me now. Or perhaps he would let me suck his dick. I’d never yet been allowed that and I craved it. Denial had stoked the flames of desire in me even higher.

  He approached me with a pair of nipple clamps. “Have you had these on you before?”

  I nodded silently.

  “If you want them, you’ll have to ask,” he instructed.

  Did I want this? At Madame Lorraine, the clamps had pinched, but each tug sent a wave of lust through my body. It had been the most pleasurable kind of pain.

  When William and Karen had evaluated me just prior to Madame Lorraine’s auction, I’d imagined Alexander’s hands on me when they’d fastened the clamps on my breasts. I’d transported myself into a fantasy where his voice was urging me to behave. Encouraging me. Telling me how desirable he found me.

  Now, he was actually here. The clamps dangled from his fingertips and I was ready for this. “Please put them on me,” I beseeched f
rom my bent-over position.

  “Such a good girl,” he praised me. My nipples were tugged, then the tweezers bit at them.

  There was a throbbing ache in my core, as if there was a direct line connecting my nipples to my pussy. “Tell me when this is too painful,” he instructed, tightening the clamps until I whimpered. He loosened them slightly. “Very pretty,” he said. The tip of his finger glided over the swollen nub. The lightest of touches, but I felt it so keenly. I stirred restlessly, trying to shuffle my legs.

  “Already, I find myself addicted to the taste of you, cherie.” Through the corner of my eye, I saw him sink to his knees behind me, then his lips, tongue and mouth were at my pussy, sucking, biting and licking. Swiftly sending my arousal sky high again.

  “Sir,” I groaned. “Fuck me. Please.”

  “One more orgasm, Jenny, and I will,” he promised me.

  Not that I needed the extra incentive to orgasm again. Each tug of his lips on my labia had me moaning and arching my back. Each slow swipe of his tongue over my clitoris had me writhing. When he parted my ass cheeks with his big hands and swiped his tongue to that forbidden place, I groaned loudly at the delicious sin of that act. “May I come, Sir?” I remembered to ask.

  “Of course Jenny,” he said into my pussy. He sucked my nub right into his mouth and I exploded. I heard the sound of a condom wrapper tear and he plunged into me. My vagina pulsed as he thrust and my climax kept on going. His grip on my hips tightened as he stroked in and out.

  “I’m going to come,” he ground out.

  I tightened my muscles automatically and he groaned. “That’s so good. Ah fuck.”

  He was large; he swelled up even more. His hips thrust into mine and he grunted as he came.

  I clung to him once he untied me. “You okay?” he asked me, pulling me towards the couch. He put his arm around me and I leaned on his shoulder. “First time in the playroom. Nothing too scary?”