101 Nights Box Set: Volume One

by SE Reign

  “Have her arrested,” I reply.

  “Yes, sir.” Jamil moves away.

  I watch him, calming as I mentally review the information George supplied as well as what I know of Jamil. If it was the press or someone unimportant, Jamil would never bother me with it. Who, then, rates my attention?

  “Who is it, Jamil?” I ask.

  “Her mother, sir.”

  A housewife caring for a disabled husband, I know from Natalie’s file. I don’t know how much contact Natalie has had with her parents the past week, and her words about them being good people returns to me.

  I know what she thinks of her family. Is there a way I can use them to influence her?

  If nothing else, being able to control those she might confide in is always a good course of action.

  “Send her up, Jamil,” I decide.

  I’m not in the most patient of moods today, but I’m curious to see more into Natalie’s life, to find any additional pressure points, in case I need them.

  Jamil brings up a small, slender woman with completely white hair and the same blue eye as Natalie. She’s older, probably in her late fifties, simply dressed in jeans and a sweater, and bearing the signs of exhaustion.

  She’s also looking at me as if she suspects I’m blackmailing her daughter to be there. I don’t think Natalie is stupid enough to tell anyone about our deal, but I’m not going to assume anything at this point.

  “You must be Elijah,” she starts. “I’m Molly Hanover, Natalie’s mother.” She holds out her hand.

  I shake, not surprised to feel her firm grip. She strikes me as a tough woman, like my aunt. Unfortunately, I really don’t care for my aunt, though there are much deeper reasons than because of her handshake and intent gaze.

  “Is Natalie here?” Molly asks.

  I clasp my hands behind my back, resisting the urge to assert myself. I should at least pretend to be polite, before dropping the hammer. This is my territory, my temporary home, and Natalie is another of my possessions for three months.

  “She’s occupied at the moment,” I reply.

  I can see Molly doesn’t like that response. But is it so bad to be waited on by a prince?

  “Should I send your regards? A specific message?” I ask pointedly.

  “I’d like to see my daughter. She’s been locked away here for a week.”

  “Right now she’s getting ready for our evening event. It’s an intensive process, one I won’t interrupt, or we’ll be late.” And no one tells me what to do in my home.

  Molly crosses her arms. She sighs and shakes her head, a familiar behavior I’ve seen Natalie do when she’s exasperated with me. Despite a bravado similar to her daughter’s, I sense a frailty about her. I can’t tell if it’s innate or caused by exhaustion from a hard life.

  “Would you care to sit down?” I ask.

  She hesitates then takes a seat.

  “Her father’s in the hospital. I hoped to talk to her in person about his condition,” she says, eyeing me. “You’re not going to let me see her, are you?”

  “As I said, she’s busy.”

  “Too busy for her own family?”

  “Right now, yes,” I reply, recalling what Natalie’s file said. “Her father suffers from spinal injuries, I believe? Worksite accident?”

  “She told you that?” Molly appears surprised.

  I nod.

  “She tell you about his bad heart and kidneys?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s in need of surgery, a kidney transplant. One has been removed and the other is expected to fail this week, which means he won’t be able to return home until he gets the surgery. It’s taxing his heart as well. The doctors think he’ll need a bypass soon after the kidney transplant,” she explains. “I hoped to tell Natty.”

  “And what? Ask her for money, because she’s with me?” I ask, suspicious of even Natalie’s mother’s reason for visiting instead of calling. I despise every member of my family, and I can’t believe that there are families out there as good as Natalie says hers is. I’m not protective by nature, but right now, Natalie is mine, and nothing is going to stand in the way of our agreement. No one is going to use her, so long as she’s mine, either.

  “Of course not!” Molly’s face flares red, her blue eyes glittering. “I’d definitely never ask someone like you for charity!”

  “Someone like me,” I repeat. “Wealthy and well-connected?”

  “The papers are right. You’re the snake oil salesman they say you are!”

  Snake oil salesman. It’s another American idiom I haven’t learned yet, and I make a mental note to look it up and write it down later. I don’t know what it means, but I’m assuming it’s not good.

  “I’m not understanding why you’d go through the effort to tell your newly engaged daughter about her father being ill, when we’re coming to visit you tomorrow at the hospital,” I reply. “Why not call or email? Why not wait until tomorrow, if you don’t want something?”

  Molly is staring at me hard, her face growing redder. She doesn’t speak.

  I’m pretty sure some part of her, however tiny it might be, is here for that reason. To ask her daughter for help. I don’t want family, friends, strangers, anyone getting the idea into their heads that Natalie is fair game now because of her newfound fame and position. I especially don’t want her big heart to make her a target for people who want to use her.

  I know how this game works. I know how money can corrupt families and friends irreparably, and I’m not about to let Natalie get drawn in, even by her own parents.

  “I am willing to help you out,” I add. “I don’t want Natalie worried about something as trivial as this. I can’t imagine these surgeries cost much. If you’ll agree not to drop by unannounced to ask her for money again, I’ll gladly pay for the surgeries.”

  Molly’s mouth opens then snaps closed. She stands and glares down at me. I wait for her to speak.

  She doesn’t. She turns and marches out of the penthouse, trailed by Jamil.

  I’m not terribly satisfied by the exchange. I don’t know where to send the money or where Natalie’s family is, or even if Molly is willing to stay away. I’m debating not paying, just to see what happens, until I recall Natalie’s concern earlier.

  She’s worried about her father, and we’re supposed to visit tomorrow.

  This shouldn’t be that difficult. Just take the money and leave us alone. I stand and motion my assistant, Issa, over.

  “Find out what hospital it is. Have George arrange a detail for our visit and tell Patel to wire money over for whatever surgeries,” I say with some impatience. “I need to get ready for tonight.”

  Issa bows and hurries away.

  This afternoon has been irritating. I’m hoping that tonight is better.

  *

  Three hours later, I’m calm once again, ready and waiting by the elevator for Natalie, but still dwelling on the exchange with her mother. Not entirely satisfied with it, I’m about to become less happy, if Natalie makes us late.

  “Welllllll …” she says softly from behind me.

  I turn and stare. While I knew her potential, seeing it is a completely different thing. Natalie’s make-up is flawless and complements her delicate features, rendering her earthy beauty ethereal. Her eyes appear larger, her hair darker and pulled away from her face to highlight her high cheekbones and plump lips. Her breasts are full and ripe in the simple dress I chose for her. Its color matches her eyes, with a simple halter-style top that skims her breasts, ruched midriff and long, feathery skirt that falls in thin layers, to her knee on one side and down to her ankle on the other.

  As always when I’m near her, I need to touch her.

  I circle her first though, eyes lingering on the ass that looks just as fantastic as her breasts in the dress, and pause before her.

  Natalie gazes up at me. I can feel how nervous she is. Her breathing is quick, her face lightly flushed beneath the flawless makeup. She’
s wearing a huge tanzanite gemstone necklace at her neck and matching earrings and a small tiara, too, passed down in my family that pull her look together in a way that screams her new position.

  “Beautiful,” I say and reach out, sliding a finger over a nipple.

  It grows taut and hard beneath my touch, and Natalie’s breathing becomes faster. I take her in my arms.

  “I can’t wait to take it off you,” I add, wanting to feel the heat of her bare skin.

  “We can stay here,” she whispers, her lips moving against my freshly shaven jaw. Her hands are on my chest, her hips pressed to mine.

  “This is a necessary evil,” I reply. “One you’ll get used to. When we get back, I’ll show you something new tonight.”

  She offers a small sigh and leans into me, her large eyes on my lips.

  If I kiss her now, I won’t be able to stop. I rest my cheek against hers and whisper,

  “Tonight I’m going to fuck you in the ass until you come so hard, you pass out again.”

  Her breath catches, her breasts pressed against my chest. My hands are on her hips, and one of her palms stretches down to rub my dick.

  “You sure we can’t just stay here?” she murmurs, stroking me hard.

  “Nice try, my little farasha,” I say. “But no. Remember whose world this is?”

  “Yours.”

  The note in her voice mirrors the look on her face whenever she tells me what she thinks I want to hear. I know she doesn’t believe it yet, but she will soon. She’ll have no choice but to acknowledge what she already knows, deep down inside.

  I am her world. I am her master. There’s nothing beyond me.

  “Let’s go, farasha,” I say and kiss her temple.

  Stepping aside, I motion her towards the elevator. She goes, and I slap her ass. Hard. I want to do so much more right now.

  With a dirty look over her shapely shoulder, Natalie gets into the elevator.

  We ride down the building to the underground garage, where the limo waits. Natalie grips her evening purse like it’s a shield, her nervous gaze going between me and everywhere else.

  She’s too unpolished to know how vulnerable she appears, a trait I’m counting on endearing her even more with the press and world. Everyone has been waiting with baited breath for a shot at her, more so since my publicist confirmed earlier today that we’d both be in attendance this evening.

  It’s a trait I love as well, because I know the truth about her: she’s tougher than she looks, and she’s vulnerable only to me. I own her, from the sexy gown I want to rip off her body right now to the pillowy lips I want to feel wrapped around my dick.

  We get into the limo, and I sit across from her, so I can see the long length of her lashes and keep an eye on her mood.

  “Stop fidgeting, farasha,” I tell her.

  Her gaze settles on me.

  “Spread your legs a bit. Give me a peek.”

  A small smile crosses her lips. She obeys, shifting to part her knees. It’s too dark for me to see into the depths of the shadows beneath her dress.

  “What next?” she asks.

  I almost laugh, realizing my plan is going better than I expected. She’s not only falling in line, but she’s started to rely on me to steady her when she’s nervous. It’s a sign that I’m wearing down that will of hers, that she’s accepting her place as one of my possessions.

  “If I touch you, I’ll mess up the three hours of work that went into your look,” I tell her. “Touch yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Do it.” I don’t need to see her face to know she’s blushing.

  After a brief hesitation, she shifts again, this time tugging up her dress to reach her pussy. I can hear her fingers slide into the wet depths.

  “Good,” I whisper. “In, out, in, out. Rub your thumb against your clit.”

  She gives a small moan, a sign she’s doing as I say.

  “Keep it up,” I tell her.

  Natalie’s head drops back, and her knees spread wider as she starts to relax, masturbating in front of me.

  I can smell her arousal. It drives me crazy, makes me want to be a part of what she’s doing.

  Instead, I watch, loving the way her breathing grows faster, the sound of her juicy cunt around her fingers.

  “Stop,” I order her.

  She obeys, her head lifting from the back of the seat.

  “Dip your other forefinger and middle finger into your pussy. Get them nice and wet,” I tell her. My imagination is going wild with what she’s doing. “Now, slide them both into your ass.”

  “Okay.” Her breathless whisper reaches me.

  “Now, fuck yourself good and hard, Natalie.”

  Her breathing is soon erratic, and the sounds of her juicy pussy grow louder, faster, as she gets closer to her climax.

  “I want to hear you cry out when you come,” I tell her.

  Seconds later, she does so, her body shaking and her breathing hard.

  “Good girl,” I say. I stretch forward to grab wet wipes from a small drawer where I keep my toys and sex supplies.

  I kneel before her, my hands resting on her thighs. I push them a part and take a wet wipe.

  “Elijah …” she sounds puzzled.

  Gently, I run the cold, wet cloth along her pussy.

  She shudders beneath the chilly touch.

  “Lie back. I’ll clean you up,” I say.

  “That’s kind of weird.”

  “The sooner you accept that every part of you belongs to me, the better. I own you. I touch you how and where I please.”

  At my stern tone, she rests back against the backseat.

  “Brazilian?” I ask, running the back of a finger against the smooth skin of her pussy. “Let me guess – Mario talked you into it.” Mario is one of the five I hired to take her looks to the next level. I’ve used him before, and he has an odd obsession with getting rid of body hair.

  “Yeah,” she says with a nervous laugh.

  “Love it,” I say, my thoughts already twisting with what I want to do to her after the gala. Right now, I just want to slip my tongue between her swollen netherlips and drink her sweet juices, flick her clit then nibble on it before just drowning myself in her scent and taste. I know better than that. We’ve got somewhere to be. “But next time, ask for my permission. You do nothing to your body that I don’t approve of.”

  She says nothing. I have a feeling she’s silently rebelling. Again.

  Her netherlips are swollen, the scent of her arousal in the air. She’s slick, dripping with moisture after coming. I tease the area around her anus and gently wipe away the traces of her orgasm, pausing to twirl the wet towelette around her clit until she gasps.

  I do it again and again, until her pussy is mostly dry, then I take care of her hands. Tossing the wipes, I straighten her underwear and dress.

  “Every part of you, Natalie,” I repeat. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She sounds calmer.

  When I sit down once more, she straightens, no longer jittery.

  “Next time, we’ll do it where I can see everything,” I say.

  The limo slows then stops, and I glance out the window. The red carpet is out for the celebrities and socialites arriving to the gala. On either side are a sea of people, the paparazzi, press and onlookers.

  My vehicle is third in line, and I can see the celebrity couples queued up, waiting until the current couple on the red carpet has given ample opportunity for the press to get their pictures before the next couple starts down.

  The light from the scene outside the museum penetrates the car, and Natalie’s face is lit up. Her attention is riveted to the scene, her features flushed from her climax and stunning with the careful makeup touches.

  She’s worried. I can see it in the tightness around her eyes and the way she clamps her lips together.

  The limo parks, and a footman opens the door.

  Natalie’s gaze flies to mine, and I can see her fea
r before she ducks her head.

  I get out first then offer her a hand. She takes it, and I wait for her to get out.

  Thus far, the press is focused on those in the spotlight and those on deck to prance down the red carpet next. We’re a solid third in line, in the dark still.

  Natalie is trembling. I understand how stressful this is, but I know for her, it’s worse. The last time she was surrounded by this many press members, she barely survived a mob.

  I take her warm body in my arms, not liking how fragile my farasha seems. It’s only the first night we’re making an appearance. There are many, many more to come.

  We step up to second to walk, and I tip her chin up. There’s enough light for me to see into her eyes.

  She’s not just scared – she’s terrified.

  I trace my thumb across her lips and tighten my grip around her. I have the urge to possess her again, to take away her fear and replace it with a smile, to wrap her in my arms and not let go until she’s calm. I don’t want anything near her that upsets her.

  I don’t like my own emotions being effected by someone else’s. It never happens to me. I never feel myself falling into her blue eyes or considering cancelling official meetings so I can return home early and fuck her until I’m lost to everything but the scent of our bodies.

  Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know what, and for the life of me, I still can’t figure out how this simple woman intrigues me.

  Chapter Four: Natalie

  I can’t stop shaking. I know I shouldn’t be. I know this is nothing like the other day when I was mobbed by the press.

  But I can’t help the panic building inside me once again, the memories of being trapped beneath bodies and being kicked. I thought I was going to die that day, and I can’t escape the feeling it might happen again.

  Elijah’s dark eyes steady me, his intensity comforting, like a cocoon around me that I’m clinging to desperately. The pad of his thumb slides across my lips and rests beside my mouth while his index finger beneath my chin keeps me from ducking my head like I want to.

  “I am the master of our world,” his velvety whisper is soft. “Do you understand?”

  I nod.