by EM BROWN
He lets the vibrations go for several minutes, letting them build my arousal toward my climax. Yes! This is going to be so worth it.
He spanks me with the paddle while the vibrations are going. Yes, yes!
But then the vibrations stop.
"May I come, Sir?" I remember.
"Not yet. We haven't gotten to the stinging sensations."
I hear him set aside the paddle. A whip cracks the air. I clench my hands and brace my body. To my surprise, it doesn’t sting as much as I'd feared. Back and forth, it smacks one buttock, then the other. In the same manner, the whip travels down my thighs, slapping one side, then the other.
But that was just the warm-up.
There's a break in action, an ominous pause before the whip slices across my bruised and battered bottom. I shriek. He whips me again. God Almighty!
The vibrations return, making the next several falls of the whip more bearable. But I wonder how much more I can take?
The whipping stops. A minute later, I feel his legs behind mine. His cock is at my opening. Before I can remind him about the vibrator thing inside of me, he pushes into me.
O. M. G.
I’m beside myself with both the vibrations and his cock filling my pussy. He thrusts gently, but it’s enough to send me into another galaxy. I can’t not come.
“Pl-Unh! Pl-Sir—”
What falls from my lips is a garble of pleas and grunts as he thrusts harder, shoving me into the pillory. It rattles continuously as he pumps into me, smacking his pelvis into my rump, renewing every ache and every sting. I begin to rethink the possibility of suffocating in the hood. It’s so damn hot and humid, and the air becomes thinner with every gasp and groan.
But what matters most is the pressure cooker inside of me. I think he must have a hand on the pillory because he finds more leverage with which to slam himself into me. His other arm holds me up, preventing me from crumbling. I’ve got to come, but I can’t get the words out.
“Not yet,” he warns.
I actually choose to focus on the pain, of him ramming into the pillory, of how much my ass smarts, of how much I hate the hood.
“Come, Virginia.”
His words are heaven-sent as I shatter into a thousand pieces. Euphoria sings through every pore, every vein. It’s more than I can take. I’ve devolved into a bundle of nerves, and I don’t know that I can be put back together.
God Almighty.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask as I curl into Tony on the mattress.
Somehow my body is intact, in one piece. I’m sore between the legs, and I won’t want to sit down for a while, but I feel surprisingly invigorated.
“Your BW2T app,” he replies, his arm wrapped warmly about me.
“But how—did you use the app to spy on me?” I try to imagine how that is possible.
“You had your location services enabled in that app, and hacking into BW2T wasn’t that hard.”
“You hacked into BW2T?”
“Not me personally, but the tech firm we invest in employs hackers to test their security.”
“It’s kind of creepy that you would hack into my phone.”
I make a mental note to either disable location services in that app or delete it altogether.
“How else was I supposed to find you? I went to The Montclair looking for you, but Mrs. Ruiz told me you had quit. Why did you quit?”
I hesitate before answering, “It seemed awkward to work there given—you know. And I violated hotel policy.”
“I violated the policy. You didn’t initiate anything.”
“I don’t think that matters.”
Tony lets out a long breath. “Do you want your job? I can get it back for you.”
“I’m sure you could, but I can find another.”
“You won’t need a paycheck for the time being. I’ll have the full twenty thousand wired to you. It should show in your account tomorrow.”
So his offer was for real? He’s not lying like Dan did?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Why the fuck are you sorry?”
“If I had finished the week, you wouldn’t have had to pay. Eric would have.”
“I don’t want that connard to have anything to do with you.”
“I don’t either,” I murmur with lowered lashes.
Tony cups my jaw and turns my gaze toward him. “Why did you not just tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What happened with you and him.”
Wait, is he assuming Eric and I...? Did Eric lie and maybe say I came onto him?
“Nothing was going on between me and Eric,” I insist, disgusted with the idea that I would want to come within ten feet of Eric if I had the choice.
“I know it was not that. But you thought I could not sense something was wrong?”
“I didn’t want to mess up your business goals with him. And I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Tony puts his hand to his head and looks up at the ceiling. “Well, ma petite, you did ‘mess up’ the plans.”
I frown and bite my lower lip. “I did?”
“I can’t work with the salaud after what he did.”
“How do you know what he did?”
“I confronted him when I returned to find you gone.”
“Maybe he’s different in business. And his dad could become the next president of the United States.”
“Baise-le. Fuck Eric. Fuck his dad. You think a man could lack integrity in one area of his life but be honest and good in another? You told me how you do one thing is how you do everything.”
“But...” I furrow my brow. “...does it really matter to you?”
“It shouldn’t,” he replies with surprising emphasis. He shakes his head. “I feared I would ruin you, but you’re the one who’s ruined me.”
“I didn’t mean to! Is there anything I can do—I’m not going to bring charges or anything against Eric. I don’t think anything would come of it if I tried. You could still do the deal with him.”
“He’s lucky that all I did was tell him to go fuck himself. Nobody touches what is mine.”
“Oh. So that’s it. It’s not that what Eric did was wrong. It’s that he did something to you.”
Tony stares at me with that familiar intensity of his. “Yes.”
I stare back at him. It’s like he’s daring me to be angry, which I should be if I truly believed my own words.
“You want me to believe the worst in you,” I realize, sitting up so that I can see him more fully.
“I’m no good for someone like you.”
I think for moment. “You could have just let me believe you were engaged to Carmen.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Is that what Sierra told you?”
“She said she didn’t know why you left except that you mentioned you had to study.”
“I didn’t want to be ‘the other woman.’ I mean, what kind of person would I be if I knowingly had an affair with another woman’s man?”
“But that’s what happened, no? You don’t believe that I broke off the engagement. And maybe you’re right: maybe I didn’t. Maybe I lied. I lied so I could fuck you one last time.”
I shake my head. For some reason, I feel more confident in my intuition. “You’re not as bad as you think you are or want to be. I couldn’t like you as much as I do if you were.”
A corner of his mouth curls. “You like me, do you?”
I flush. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Je suis baisée,” he murmurs.
“What does that mean?”
“My father and brother are going to be—what is the best word—pissed?”
I don’t think he’s really answered my question. I’m convinced his words in French were more about me than his family, but I let it go. “I won’t be upset if you changed your mind about working with Eric.”
His face darkens. “It’s done,
Virginia. If I see him again, it’s to break his nose.”
I look away. “I’m sorry—”
He sits up in a quick, fluid motion. Clearly his core muscles are in much better shape than mine. He cups the back of my head and draws me to him till our foreheads touch.
“If you say ‘sorry’ one more time, your punishment is going to hurt so badly—”
I suck in my breath and blurt, “Sorry—”
With a groan, he crushes his mouth to mine. The world spins, as it always does when he kisses me. I know, even without the twenty thousand dollar enticement, that I would choose to be with him. I may not be the brightest or the most sophisticated woman, but I trust my instincts when it comes to Tony. There’s still a lot for me to learn about him, but for now, I am his to ruin.
His For A Week: BOUGHT
CHAPTER ONE
Is he fucking serious? Ben communicated via a stare to his cousin. But Jason Lee, having thrown down a few shots of scotch from a bottle of Macallan Rare Cask, was too intoxicated for nonverbal communication.
“It’s the best, dude,” seconded Derek, who sat across the booth from Ben in the latest of many trendy restaurants to open up in San Francisco’s SOMA district.
With a frown, Ben turned his gaze back to Jake Whitehurst, who sported a salacious grin as he swirled the scotch in his shot glass. Almost immediately, Ben hadn’t liked Jake. Something in the guy’s smug expression and the need to comment about the price of his Rolex watch ($12,000) and his shades from Cartier ($1,700) had left Ben less than impressed. Not that Ben begrudged the guy his haute couture when he himself had recently dropped two thousand for Louis Vuitton shades and gifted his mother a Tiffany bracelet that cost more than most mid-sized cars, but he never felt the need to brag about it.
If it weren’t for the fact that Jake was Jason’s friend and former college roommate, and Ben’s father wanted Jake’s business connections, Ben would have called it a night. He had tried to be cordial most of the evening, but Jake’s most recent revelation pushed his tolerance to the brink.
“You so hard up to get a date you have to buy one?” he asked Jake.
“Getting a date the old-fashioned way is too much fucking work,” Jake scoffed.
Ben was incredulous. Jake was a good-looking guy in his mid-twenties. And, thanks to the successful sports agency his dad had founded, the bastard was rich. That took a man further than even his looks. A man could be as ugly as a naked mole rat, but money made him pretty.
“Women these days think they’re so special,” Jack continued. “But at the Scarlet Auction, you see what you like, you make a bid, an hour later, the girl’s yours.”
Ben raised his brows. “Girl?”
“You know what I mean. They’re not underage or anything. Just single, hot, and ready to get banged.”
“But some of them look like they could be, you know, teens,” Derek chortled.
“That’s gross,” Ben replied, referring to both the idea of going out with jailbait and the way Derek practically giggled.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you don’t fantasize about banging a high school cheerleader, with their short little skirts and cute little pom-poms.”
“I’ve been with high school cheerleaders—in high school. So no, I don’t fantasize about them anymore.”
The other three broke into guffaws. Jason clapped Ben on the back and slurred, “’Cause you’re an old man now.” Jason lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He turned thirty last year.”
“I turned thirty and I still fantasize about high school cheerleaders,” Derek said.
Because you never got within ten feet of one, Ben couldn’t resist thinking.
Jason patted Ben’s shoulder. “Just messin’ with you, cuz.” He looked across the table at Derek and Jake. “Honestly, there isn’t a chick this guy couldn’t get. Even in kindergarten, Ben was the man.”
“Bet having the Lee family name didn’t hurt,” Jake said, unable to keep the envy out of his tone.
“Hey, dude, you related to Bruce Lee?” Derek asked.
An accomplished martial artist, Ben could have said he had that in common with the kung-fu legend, but there were no family ties that he was aware of. Instead, Ben replied, “Your last name’s Nixon. Does that mean you’re related to Richard Nixon?”
“The Scarlet Auction only happens once a month. Bidding starts at midnight tonight,” Jake said. “We can all get dates for our week at the lake.”
Ben’s jaw tightened at the thought of spending the next several days at Jake’s cabin, but Jason had assured him the best way to do business with Jake was to socialize with him.
“I don’t need an auction to get a date,” Ben said.
Jake shook his head. “I don’t want yours to be the odd girl out. Either get a girl at the Scarlet Auction or come stag.”
“Don’t worry. They’re not ugly chicks,” Derek added. “The women who run the auction are very selective, so you’re guaranteed to walk away with a hot one, dude.”
Ben stared at Derek and briefly wondered if a kick to the guy’s head would stop him from talking like a surfer out of an ’80s beach flick.
Jason put an arm around Ben. “Come on, cuz. You don’t want to be the only one at the lake without female companionship.”
“Yeah, ‘companionship,’” snickered Jake as he threw back a shot and motioned for the server to bring the tab.
Ben made no reply at first. He didn’t want to “buy” a date at this Scarlet Auction. Hell, he couldn’t imagine bringing any woman, bought or otherwise, to hang out with these wankers for a week in a remote lakeside cabin.
On the other hand, due to his rigorous traveling schedule on behalf of expanding the family’s real estate empire, he hadn’t had female companionship in more than three weeks. There was the waitress in Berlin and the singer in Phuket, but the sex had been vanilla and barely enough to keep his balls from going blue.
As if reading his mind, Derek said, “And at the auction, you get girls who are into the kinky stuff.”
Ben couldn’t help but perk up.
“Yeah, ever since Fifty Shades of Grey, all girls are into that shit,” Jake said. “I don’t even bother with girls who aren’t.”
“How does the Scarlet Auction work?” Ben asked.
“You make a bid, you sign a contract, and the girl’s yours for a week. At the end of the week, you part ways. No strings, no emotional bullshit. It’s a business transaction. The girl walks away with a part of the proceeds, and everybody gets what they want.”
“And this is legal?”
“Sure. It’s gotta be. The whole thing’s consensual. No one’s getting forced to do anything. These girls want to sell their virginity.”
Ben started. “They’re virgins?”
“Not all of them, but if you want a virgin, you got to bid higher. I always bid high.” He clinked glasses with Derek.
Ben lowered his eyelids to hide his emotions. “Why do you want to fuck around with virgins?”
“Because it’s fun popping their cherries. Girls always remember their first time, and I live on in the memories of so many girls, I’ve lost count.”
Ben helped himself to another shot to wash away the revolting image of Jake pounding away at some poor young woman. He looked Jake square in the eyes. “Not man enough to take on a woman of more experience?”
Though Ben’s tone and following smile could have been mistaken for a casual ribbing, Jake stiffened and frowned. He replied seriously, “Virgins are...cleaner. I like knowing that some other guy’s gunk hasn’t been inside her.”
“But all the chicks at the Scarlet Auction have been tested, so you don’t have to worry about disease and shit,” Derek said. “You wouldn’t know that, just getting to know a chick by dating. The Scarlet Auction makes sex much more...efficient.”
Jason leaned in closer. “So whaddya say, Ben? You gonna come with tonight?”
CHAPTER TWO
With trembling hands, Kimani Taylor a
djusted her simple black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps as she waited behind the stage where the auction was to be held. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But she had made it this far, though at various points, she had thought to back out. There were the legal documents she’d had to sign with four different attorneys watching; the invasive questionnaire asking when she had lost her virginity and how many sexual partners she’d had in her life; the physical exam; and finally an interview with a woman asking about her sexual habits and preferences, such as whether or not she engaged in any hardcore BDSM.
“The more amenable you are, the more likely you will get bid on,” the woman had told her. “Should I put you down for hardcore?”
“Sure, why not,” Kimani had replied, reminding herself that her answers didn’t ultimately matter. Her plan was to get bid on, get to know her “buyer” and the other participants of the Scarlet Auction, pull out before any sex actually happened, then write the scoop that would land her a job with the San Francisco Tribune.
“It’s too risky for our paper to take on,” the Tribune’s editor, Sam Green, had told her. He had seemed very intrigued when she had first pitched the story but had since consulted the in-house attorney.
“But as a freelancer, I can take it on,” Kimani had replied. “I’ll get the story and you can decide afterwards if it’s worth printing.”
“We could use an exposé. Our paper hasn’t had anything like this before. If you can hit a homerun with your story, there’ll be a job here for you.”
Kimani had hardly been able to contain her glee at such an opportunity. Newspapers across the country were downsizing, and competition for reporting positions were at an all time high with many seasoned journalists having a hard time landing a job. Given she was only a year out of journalism school, she needed an edge, a scoop worthy of being noticed.