by Shelly Bell
“I told you, I don’t have the money. You saw it yourself. I own nothing. There’s no way I can repay you.” She took a deep breath, trying not to let his nearness affect her.
His hands framed her face. “I don’t want money. There are other, more pleasurable ways to collect on the debt you owe me.”
“What are you suggesting?” she asked, afraid of his answer.
“Seven nights. Same soft and hard limits as before.”
Her heart sped up, making her breathless. Out of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. “So if I make love to you for seven nights, you’ll grant me a divorce and forgive the debt I owe you?”
He laughed. “What we’ll do could never be classified as ‘making love.’ We’ll fuck. I set the scenes. And you can do what you do best.” His expression turned cold once more, while his eyes seared into her. “Pretend.”
It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Like Sawyer had reached inside her chest cavity and squeezed her heart in his hand.
She could barely get the words off her tongue. “Role play. If you hate me so much, why do you want to fuck me again?” she asked. “I would think a divorce is exactly what you’d want. At Benediction, you have an entire sex club of women at your disposal.”
The idea of him with another woman twisted her insides, but it would be much harder to take him inside her body again and not show him how much she loved him.
She wasn’t that good of an actress.
“I already have an entire sex club of women at my disposal. Didn’t Rachel and Logan tell you about their time at Paradise Found?”
Rachel had mentioned she and Logan had hid at Paradise Found, Logan’s friend’s club in Las Vegas, and Rachel had described to her at length the sinful things she’d seen there. “You own a sex club?”
“Why does that surprise you? You know better than anyone how much I enjoy a good fuck. Once you left, I considered myself a free agent.” His lips tightened into a straight line, his eyes flat. “You didn’t actually think I’d wait for you, did you?”
“No,” she whispered. “Why would you? You were right. Our marriage vows meant nothing. You had every right to sleep with as many women as you wanted.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “And I had the right to sleep with anyone I wanted, as well.”
He didn’t give her a warning before slamming her up against the bookshelf. If there had been any change in his eyes, anything other than the coldness still lingering, she would’ve believed he was jealous.
His scent and heat wrapped her in an embrace even as she tried to resist the spell he held over her.
She thought about what Rachel had told her about Paradise Found. She’d mentioned that Logan’s friends were into ménage. Did that include Sawyer? While she had remained faithful, had he been indulging in wild sex parties and threesomes?
Sawyer braced a hand over her head, looming over her as he boxed her in. “For the next seven nights, you belong to me. You don’t fuck anyone else. You don’t even think about fucking someone else. Your nights are mine. Your body is mine. Do it, and I’ll grant you a divorce and forgive your debt. You won’t ever have to worry about me again.”
Seven nights. It wouldn’t be that easy to get him out of her system. Despite what he thought, she’d worry about him for the rest of her life. For the next week, the pleasure he’d bestow would be a living hell for her. It was punishment for her sins. It was no less than what she deserved.
She gave a sigh of resignation. “It’s a deal.”
A flash of heat banked in his eyes before it disappeared. “What’s your name?”
Puzzled, she frowned. Why was he asking her name when he already knew it?
As she stared up at the man who haunted her dreams, the memory of their first night together slammed into her. Did he want to pretend they were strangers again?
She almost laughed. If only they could be.
“No names,” she said, waiting for his response to see if she was correct.
He pressed himself against her, letting her feel his erection. Thank God he wasn’t as immune to her as he appeared. She wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was. Then again, it was just sex, wasn’t it? And for a man who owned a sex club and had been with multiple women since she’d left him, sex meant nothing. She couldn’t forget that. She couldn’t allow herself to become confused about what this was.
This was Sawyer’s revenge. Other than to remind her of all she’d lost, she didn’t know exactly what he hoped to accomplish by bending her to his will for seven nights. But if it was the only way to save him, she’d do it.
“Have you ever fucked a stranger before?” he asked huskily.
She shook her head, her throat suddenly dry.
“You like that idea?” he continued. “Does it make you wet?”
The idea of fucking a stranger didn’t make her wet. It was the idea of fucking Sawyer that had soaked her thighs.
He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Show me. Lift up the hem of your dress and check.”
Without thought, she clenched the fabric of her dress in her fists, raising it up her legs inch by inch and exposing her pussy.
“Dirty girl. You’re not wearing any panties. You were waiting to be fucked, weren’t you?”
Assuming it was a rhetorical question, she didn’t bother answering, keeping the fantasy alive rather than explaining she had gone without because of fashion. Visible panty lines would’ve killed the look of the dress.
Keeping the fabric bunched up at the waist with one hand, she used the other to stroke over her folds. She was drenched.
It didn’t surprise her. Not only had she gone without sex for more than four years, this was Sawyer. How many times had she brought herself to climax over the years by replaying their time together?
But her memories had nothing on the real thing.
He shocked her by dropping to his knees in front of her and holding her dress up so she could free her other hand. “Keep going. I want to see you touch yourself.”
Her shyness took a backseat to the deep throbbing need that had her circling her clit with two fingers and gathering her wetness with two others. The sight of a strong man like Sawyer on his knees in front of her made her feel powerful in this powerless situation.
What was wrong with indulging in the fantasy that they were strangers? That they didn’t have a past hanging over them like a storm cloud. Right now they were strangers, not a wife in love with a husband who despised her.
He grabbed her wrist and brought her soaked fingers to his closed mouth, smearing her arousal over his lips and making them glossy. Then, emitting a rumble of approval, he slowly and methodically glided his tongue along the plumpness of his lips, like her taste was a treat to be savored. The fingers on her clit were a pale comparison to the visual, and she shook from the heat that flooded her body.
Sawyer lowered his face between her curls and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily and strands of his blond hair tickling the inside of her thighs. She was desperate to feel his mouth on her, aching for his touch.
And then she didn’t have to wait anymore.
He parted her labia, and his head descended, his hot tongue running up her slit before lapping at her clitoris with the precision of an expert.
She threw her head back against the books and covered her lips with her hand, muffling her cries of ecstasy.
He stopped his ministrations, lifting his face from her pussy to look up at her. “Take that hand away from your fuckable mouth. Those noises you’re holding inside belong to me, and goddamn it, I want to hear them. Let me hear how much you like my tongue.”
She gasped as he pushed a thick finger inside her and returned his tongue to the exact spot where she needed it. “Oh God. Yes.” Her muscles clenched as she approached climax. “I don’t like your tongue. I fucking love it.”
“So tight,” he murmured against her folds. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you haven’t been
fucked in a while.”
“I haven’t,” she whispered, too far gone to think about what she had admitted.
He stilled. “How long? How long has it been since you’ve had anyone inside of you?”
Panic clouded her thoughts. “I don’t—”
“How long?” he asked gruffly.
“Four years.” She held his gaze, marveling at the intensity burning in them. “It’s been four years since I’ve had anyone or anything inside of me. No fingers. No tongue. No vibrator. No cock. No one since my husband.”
He blew out a breath. “You’ve stayed faithful.”
His body slackened. The lines of tension on his face disappeared, replaced by a slight grin. There was something dangerous about the way he looked at her, a spark of light in his eyes as if he had hope.
Did he still love her? Or was he hoping to use her love for him against her?
Either way, she couldn’t let him know how deeply she cared for him or what lengths she’d go to in order to keep him safe.
“I’ve stayed faithful only because the opportunity never presented itself.”
A crease between his brows formed. “If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead and believe it. But you and I both know if you had wanted to get laid, you could’ve walked into any bar and picked someone up for the night.”
She didn’t know how to respond. He was right. Sex had never been something she had to work hard at getting. That’s one of the reasons she had been successful as a con. She’d attracted both men and women since she first began using her sexuality as a tool at eighteen.
“You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Tonight we’re two strangers without a past.” Unable to stop herself, she raked her fingers through his hair. “Please. Just let it go for one night.”
He shuddered as if he was affected by her touch. “Just for tonight. But this conversation is far from over.” Shooting to his feet, he snatched her wrist away from his head and turned her around to face to bookcase. He snaked an arm around her middle and pushed on her back with his other until she was bent over, her hands braced on the shelves.
A hard smack on her bare ass sent ripples of heat darting through her as she remembered the first time he’d spanked her. The way he’d bent her over the sink. The way he’d thrust into her from behind. He was truly re-creating that night.
But for what purpose?
She trembled at the telltale sound of the condom wrapper ripping and waited impatiently for his next move.
“Sorry.” Sawyer leaned over her, his cock nudging her opening. He still wore his clothes, the fabric of his dress shirt rubbing against her back. “This is going to be hard and fast.”
He entered her, the burning invasion stretching her just beyond comfortable. But she didn’t care. It had been so long since she’d had anyone filling her, and the fact that it was Sawyer almost brought tears to her eyes.
Sex had never been their problem. Even while engaging in role play, it had been the one honest thing between them. They’d silently bared their souls completely each and every time they’d made love. But as soon as they were done, the guilt over her lies had nearly shredded her.
And she was still lying.
Sawyer groaned as his cock slid deeper inside of her, eased by her slippery arousal. He curled his hand under her and played with her clit as he slammed into her over and over again, pushing her onto the balls of her feet with every thrust.
It was all too much—the sensation of him filling her, the scraping of his fingernail on her clit, the scratch of his slacks on her thighs—she couldn’t hold back even if she wanted to.
What started out as a flutter in her lower belly grew into a full-out body quake. Her muscles tensed and her eyes flew shut as her pussy clenched and released relentlessly. Heat spread throughout her core, and the waves of bliss shattered her, leaving her breathless and broken.
Before she recovered, a silent Sawyer stilled behind her, the only movement that of his cock twitching inside her as his come jetted into the condom.
Reality of the situation crept its way into her consciousness like a fifty-pound weight sitting on her chest.
How could she handle six more nights with him when already a part of her clamored to tell him the truth about why she left?
But the truth could get him killed. She couldn’t forget that for a second.
Sawyer’s heat disappeared, leaving her chilled and confused. He slid her dress back over her thighs before issuing his gravelly command. “Clear your schedule for the week, Annaliese. Starting tomorrow, you’re mine.”
Chapter Five
KEYS IN HAND, Lisa climbed the stairs up to her condo. The night of Cole and Danielle’s wedding turned out to be the longest night of Lisa’s life.
After Sawyer had ordered her to be available to him for the week, he’d stormed out of the room. In a fog and questioning whether she’d really made love to her husband or imagined it, she found her way to the guest bathroom, where one look in the mirror gave her confirmation. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy. Anyone who looked at her would know she’d just been fucked hard and good.
She’d spent a few minutes setting herself back to rights and returned to the reception, where she stayed busy, both to avoid Rachel’s questions and to keep her mind off the deal she’d made with Sawyer. What she couldn’t avoid was the sensation of Sawyer’s gaze on her. Even as the night cooled the air, it had made her hot and kept her painfully aware of the delicious soreness between her legs.
At least he’d had the decency to leave the party right after dinner.
With sunrise on the horizon, all she wanted to do right now was slide into bed and sleep for the next eight hours. She needed a clear head to figure out how she could get out of her arrangement with Sawyer. There was no way in hell she could go through with it.
Her first instinct was to run. After having spent most of her life doing just that, the compunction about packing up her belongings and making a fresh start under a new identity pressed hard on her. As Sawyer’s presence suggested, her past was catching up with her.
Who else might have recognized her from the photograph? If Sawyer found her, could the rest be far behind?
But if she ran now, she’d miss the life she’d built for herself these past few years. There was nothing like getting paid to manipulate and orchestrate. She’d been born for public relations. Or maybe if she’d had a different set of parents, she would’ve ended up as an attorney. As she’d observed working at the law firm, lawyers did plenty of manipulation and orchestration in their jobs.
Barely able to keep her eyes open, she leaned against the doorframe as she stuck the key into the lock. But before she turned it, the door moved inward as if it had already been unlocked and opened. She pinched the bridge of her nose and thought back to the prior day. She’d been in a rush to get to Benediction, carrying multiple bags with her as she left.
Was it possible she’d forgotten to shut the door?
She pushed it open, the porch lamp throwing a sliver of light into her condo’s entryway. A streak of crimson on the carpet caught her eye.
Was that blood?
Her hands began to tremble, and her heart pounded.
Suddenly, she was wide awake.
She inched inside, leaving the door open, and flicked on the lights. Like she’d been punched in the chest, all the breath left her lungs as she took in the mess of her condo.
Splashes of blood-red paint stained the white walls and beige carpeting, its cloying scent obvious now that she stepped inside.
She continued farther into her home, stopping at the kitchen, where garbage had been strewn everywhere. Flies buzzed around the pile of rotten food covering her kitchen table. Gagging on the rancid smell, she covered her mouth and hurried out of the room.
Her couch cushions had been sliced, pieces of foam and cotton littering the room, and her television had been shattered as if hit with a baseball bat. Her bookshelves
were now bare, her beloved books ripped apart and covered with the red paint.
Thank goodness she hadn’t hidden her black list on those shelves. Perhaps it was time for her to put it in a safe deposit box at the bank.
But what if she had to leave suddenly?
No, she had to keep it accessible. For now, it was safe.
She briefly closed her eyes, terrified of what she’d find in her bedroom, but she had to see. Had to know. Whatever had been done couldn’t be any worse than the images playing through her mind right then, the worst of it being that the intruder was still in there.
This was no ordinary break-in. There was rage behind the chaos.
Since there was no sign of forced entry, whoever did it either knew how to pick her lock or had gotten her key.
Determined to stay calm, she held her breath and strode into her private sanctuary.
All her clothes were piled onto her bed and had been slashed and covered with paint. She inched closer, sensing something different about the mound of soiled fabric. It almost seemed alive, as if the fabric itself was stirring.
Breathing.
A piece of paper floated down onto the floor.
Although her instincts screamed for her to flee, she wouldn’t crumble. Whatever this was, she would handle it. Alone. Just as she always did.
She commanded her feet to move and stretched out her arm, snatching the paper. The intruder left her a message written in block print.
Gotcha.
She’d been found.
But why had he or she gone through all this trouble, rather than call the police on her or kill her?
This felt like a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Whoever it was wanted to play with her before he finished her off.
Something caught her eye from the heap of clothes. Something black that appeared and disappeared before she could blink.
Clutching the letter in one hand, she gingerly lifted a couple pieces of fabric with the other, praying she wouldn’t find anything. Her wrist tickling, she scratched it, but the irritation persisted. Not seeing anything on the bed, she continued to move her clothes. A black blob crawled and spread.