by Dark Angel
He told me about it and I wasn’t interested. I didn’t come across outraged. I didn’t even judge him.
I was just…whatever about it.
I’ve never needed to buy women. You know that about me for sure if you know who I am.
My body makes any woman wet.
Including you.
My 8-pack abs cut with diamonds and sculpted with granite.
My bedroom eyes.
My rugged face.
My 12-inch cock.
My billions of dollars.
I am the epitome of fuckability.
Taking Sarah had been an offer I’d taken up on instantly, determining that my next move would be decided later.
When it got complicated, I asked Trevor to make sense of it. It was an intuitive move because I knew he could handle making the decision.
But I thought my solution to getting Sarah out of my mind was selling her to Trevor. Trevor even pushed me to sell her on the Virgin Market.
Yet, I couldn’t handle the thought of her belonging to anyone else but Trevor. I shared her with Trevor once, and that was fucking hot. We were selling her at the Virgin Market despite the fact that she was not a virgin. Which was fine…because Trevor was buying her and that was fine on his part. And no one would fucking know she wasn’t a virgin. Ironically, this was a business of some kind of twisted honor. At least an honor system that the girls for sale were virgins.
And then Trevor disappears before he can buy Sarah. What the fuck? I just can’t fucking bring myself to sell her to anyone else, and I didn’t think this was going to happen.
After everything, Sarah’s parents are here, suffering from seeing what's going to happen to her. Now I’m here and I can’t buy Sarah because I'm selling her…and I just want to leave.
I've already placed her up for order. I thought Trevor was running late, and would show. Now three minutes remain and in these three minutes, I'm dying a thousand deaths.
I can't satisfy the Market’s demands for a virgin without offering a replacement girl that buyers can purchase, and even if I had one, it's too goddamn late.
I face the very real risk that I'm here now, selling Sarah as a virgin to someone else, and that she will be truly lost to me, and Trevor, forever.
This is all my goddamn fault. Because what fucking mattered to me? The wrong goddamn things. I never, ever should've done any of this shit.
Trevor couldn’t possibly have forgotten or decided against buying Sarah, yet he isn’t fucking here. Isn’t answering his texts. Isn’t picking up his phone. Fuck.
I don’t want to deal with this shit right now. I want to deal with comforting Sarah.
She's terrified. She doesn’t know that we weren’t just planning to sell her anymore. She thinks we’ve abandoned her. And now … I'm being forced to do just that.
I have everything to lose; if I lose Sarah, she is everything to me.
I see her eyes shine with tears that won’t fall. Her gaze is full of enough pain that it feels like screaming in my already harried mind. I want to answer those screams, kiss those tears before they can be cried. That’s when I know. I feel the pit of my stomach ring out with the impact of the truth.
I will blow everything up in my entire goddamn life and anyone who comes at me before I let this happen.
I look at Sarah. She’s hurt, betrayed, confused. Of course she is. Sarah doesn’t know how to feel about feeling betrayed when she shouldn’t have discerned any loyalty at all.
But that loyalty is fucking there. No matter how much I've fought it.
Now, before I can tell her, the light on her auction block goes off, and I realize that I didn’t fucking act quickly enough.
I’m going to lose her forever.
What kind of fucking monster am I? I decide to run with her, save her, hide her, but seconds too late before I can?
No.
Sarah’s time has ran out.
Sarah
The wood is always my favorite part.
A crackling fire on the hearth, a warm cup of cocoa, and a cozy sweater makes Christmas feel like a miracle after the stresses of a tough college semester. I'm home for Christmas at my parents' house, but something is different this year.
I think my parents aren’t telling the truth. I have a work-study job at school. They say a clerical error is why the school thinks I need one. But I don’t push. I took on a job at my college as soon as the school notified me that I needed to. I'm in school; I'm costing my parents a lot of money. My mother makes no qualms about the fact that she wishes I would simply marry some rich man and not worry about going to school until after I snag a husband. If I consider school at all. My father indulges me, but only to a point. I can tell they are frustrated. I know they must have money problems.
Now, my father is holed up in his study, going on several hours now, instead of us even having a family dinner. Christmas is in two days and I'm stuck upstairs while he deals with some jerk who won't hold off their business until after the holidays? What's so bad? Who's being so rude?
I figure that I should trot my own butt downstairs. Get my own hot cocoa. I have the cozy sweater—check—and I will curl up with a novel after I procure the desired chocolate. Thanks to my dorm mate, I’m reading a saucy romance that heats up these cold winter nights. Better, at least, than the cozy mysteries I usually read.
Now, I swear, I have no intention of bothering my father. But when I hear raised voices, my attention is grabbed. Particularly, the voice I don’t recognize grabs me. A deep, masculine voice that gives me chills the instant I hear it.
"Damien!" I hear my father shout at him, sounding frazzled.
This Damien continues to say something about how it would be in my father's best interest to do as he was told.
Who is this jerk? He bothers us, interrupting our family time during the holidays, and works my father up to the point that he sounds frantic. Tells him what to do. I can’t help but lean in closer, and my mug slips out of my hand. Uh oh. Both male voices stop. I yelp.
"Sarah?" my father says, with a hint of ... hopefulness? Something odd colors his voice. I want to think that he's just happy to see me, but that seems like a foolish thought, even for an introvert like me. I don’t pick up much in social cues, but that’s due mainly just my naïveté to new surroundings. Something burns in my stomach. That heat pools deep in my belly when I hear that Damien man repeat my name in his delicious, dark voice.
It sounds like Damien tastes my name rather than just says it, and I'm covered in chills again, despite the thick cable knit sweater I'd made between classes this year to keep me warm. All the sweaters in the world won’t sheath me from the chills Damien’s voice creates all over my body. I am painfully aware that I'm not wearing much more than this sweater. Nothing can cover me up enough if I'm in the same room as Damien.
"Come in, won't you?" my father says. He sounds like the cat who ate the canary. Why? I think he must be mad that I'm spying, and that I'd probably just broke one of my mother's mugs. Mom will bitch about it, and then in turn my father will have to hear that bitching and he'll bitch to me about it. Still, I have no real reason to think ill of my father's intentions. I step inside, wishing I had more than the thin pajama pants on I thought wouldn't be seen by anyone. I didn't even have any panties on, not that I should be thinking about that, but I feel naked.
When I see this Damien, sitting in my father's desk chair while my father stands behind one of the chairs in front of his desk usually reserved for guests, I want to run away. I'm frozen in place. Damien is tall, taller than any man I've ever seen before. His shoulders are broad and frame an impressive barrel chest and a chiseled set of abs I can see through the cotton of his shirt, it fits so tightly. He has tattoos, intricate designs that are striking. But nothing is as striking as the power he seems to emanate. While his face is the very image of classically handsome prince charming, there is a rugged danger about him that screams villain more than savior. That danger doesn’t mar the definite
sophistication he has, but it's the final touch of a devil's food cake of a decadently hot man.
I've upgraded from thinking about drinking hot chocolate. This incredibly hot man makes me think about wanting to drink him in, eat him up, even though I wouldn't know the first thing about that. A man like him couldn’t be attracted to a nerd like me. All I do is read and study. I've never even had a boyfriend. Until seeing him, I hadn't had much of an interest in one.
But nothing about him is ‘boy’—Damien is one hundred percent male, a grown man. I hug my arms to myself.
"Hi, dad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drop the mug, I was just going to make some hot cocoa--" I stop stammering when I follow my father’s gaze to see that now he’s looking at Damien.
Damien looks at me. I feel something in my core pulse when Damien's hot gaze meets mine. I know this look, though not usually do I see this look in my direction. Or so intensely. Damien is looking at me the way a man looks at a woman that he wants. On Damien's face, looking at me, it's so intense that the temperature of the room heats to a suffering boiling point. I want to tear off my sweater. I gulp. My palms sweat. My stomach swirls.
"Sarah, honey," my father says, putting on a sweeter voice than he normally does with me. I can’t figure out why.
I can’t pull myself from this spell Damien cast on me with just his wicked eyes.
"Yes, daddy?" I don’t understand what my father is doing. I can’t linger to think about it because my heart is racing so much I can barely listen to my father’s words.
"Why don't you sit on Damien's lap, you could help with this decision we're trying to come to?" My father phrases and inflects it like a question. But it is a request. I think I must be hearing him incorrectly. What?
I can't breathe. Damien's eyes blaze in my direction, and a smirk plays over one corner of his mouth. It eggs me on, annoys me a little even. It's like he's saying that I won't do it, and for some reason, I'm unable to accept that. Sure, he's right, it's the sort of thing I would never do.
But I want to.
The reptilian part of my brain wants it. Hungers for this man.
I will do anything for this man. Just looking at him, somehow I know this.
I waltz right behind my father's desk. My legs move me, my brain able to get the message to them even though I feel like I'm made of jelly and can’t think straight. I sit on Damien's lap. Internally, I'm screaming.
Damien pulls me further back on his lap, not allowing me to sit on the edge of his knee tentatively. I feel the full length of the undeniable form of Damien’s cock in his trousers. I nearly yelp out loud but contain the screaming to my mind. A small gasp escapes. I hope no one notices. I can’t hear anything other than the rushing of my blood, blasting through my ears, as if it's playing through speakers.
Damien
I came here to collect. That's all I should care about. You steal from me, I will collect from you.
When her pale thighs catch my eye, I should see an asset. Sarah strolls in with her porcelain doll face and her creamy skin, and I'm thinking with my cock.
My cock doesn't get a say in business affairs, not normally.
Sarah's father tells her to come in, and my cock wants to make all the decisions.
A cracking sound of porcelain hitting tile interrupts the whiny grumblings. I rub my temples, wondering if his petulant wife decides now is a good time to speak on her husband's behalf. When I open my eyes, however, there's no washed up screech owl covered in makeup and plastic. No nouveau riche skank. Instead, it's a young, striking woman that has all my thoughts leaning toward hope that she'll bend over in my view to pick up the mug she dropped.
Her father stops bemoaning his own plight and calls her in. His daughter, Sarah, he says her name. It isn't right for him to be involved in this. If he cared about her, he'd tell her to go. For a moment, anger flares beneath my business casual surface. He isn't just a degenerate; he is that kind of degenerate.
It's unlucky for Sarah that her father sees the opportunity and he takes it. Tells her to sit on my lap.
But what do you expect from a man who swindled millions of dollars from my company when by providing shoddy building materials for my buildings?
A man who cut corners and whose negligence put my employees at risk. At first I thought he was just lay and I would have to fire him.
But then I found out that he wasn’t actually lazy - but manipulative and cunning. He was far from lazy - rather, he was quite busy stealing from me.
In the past, with other dealings, I knew there was something I didn’t like.
So I trapped him. Threatened to involve the police.
And now, to get out of this, he offers me his daughter.
Now I'll find out what kind of girl she is. Those innocent eyes could be a facade, and I'll know by her approach if she has been used. It irks me that Sarah is willing to do it. She seems tentative but makes her way toward me, her eyes the size of the moon when she starts drinking me in.
Poor girl. Sarah knows to be afraid, but she doesn't understand. It isn't too surprising; she doesn't know about her father's dealings, surely. That graceful, timid set of steps toward me tells me, no, he's never used her before. Not to close a business deal. Fuck, she's so innocent, she perches her tiny round ass on the edge of my knee like I'm a mall Santa. I pull her back against me and I feel the heat radiating from her pussy.
Of course she fucking likes what she sees. If she's this turned on though, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe her father is her pimp and he has me come here to show me the goods he has. It sickens me. I can't help but feel every soft inch of this girl, and I don't want her to be like her scummy mother. Her mother once offered to fuck me to close another business deal in the past … as if I'd want that.
“You can refuse to accept,” I tell Sarah. “No way will I drag someone against their will.”
But she’s silent. If she objected in the slightest, then fuck the father - I’d be out.
If Sarah offers...I will want it, but fucking doing it is not payment alone. I cannot think about her soft curves. I need to think about business. Still, I pull her tight against me because that edge-of-my-knee stuff isn't going to work.
It wouldn’t work for anyone. You know this.
Her heart is beating furiously and her palms are sweating. This is no act or stage jitters. Fuck, she's just some little girl whose father has decided that he can't pay his debts so his daughter's pussy should do it. Sickening, but I fucking want this girl. Her innocence isn't fake, and I want to taste her. Her trembling limbs need soothing. I want to soothe her, and then I want to fuck her so hard her creamy white skin is flushed pink and red like she's made of strawberries. And now I wonder why I'm being such a little bitch about this. I can't accept the offer that this slime ball is currently extending. Sarah doesn't even fucking know what it means.
Goddamn it, I'm taking this deal. I am. Part of me just wants to get her away from men like her father.
But what kind of man am I? I want to take the deal. And I can tell myself that I'm saving her, but when I can feel how damp my thigh is getting on my slacks because of her pussy—fear never stems back arousal—I can think I want to save her all I want but really I'm justifying this erection that I'm pressing into her back. Yeah, I'm no savior. Sarah needs saving, and I'm not the one to do it.
Still, I agree. I'll take her. I know I won't be able to think straight unless I get her out of this house. I'll send a car for her and bring her to the condo I always intended to rent but end up staying in most nights. I have a mansion, but it's so fucking empty. I like that penthouse so much more.
I accept the deal. This is what slipping into the darkness of your soul feels like. I don't think I can resist the way this girl enraptures me.
“I’m fine with this arrangement,” she says softly.
Then she stands up and looks at me, and I see fear. There's the thick coating of it from her not understanding what has just transpired. And there's the moment when she realizes h
er panties got so wet that she soaked through to my trousers. Oh, I don't mind, little girl. I don't mind at all. I want to tear off those pants right now and impale her on the painfully erect cock tenting my pants.
It doesn't change an ounce of my disgust for her scumbag father. Accepting this deal is not a wise move for me, but I couldn't have it any other way.
I have to have her.
How has she cast this spell on me? I can see her eyes flickering to the stairs, to go hide in her room.
Dream of me, little girl. I know I'll be fisting my cock when I'm alone and don't have to worry about thinking about everything I shouldn't do to you. Even if you want it. She has no idea what I have in mind.
I have to punish her father. Both her parents, really. They deserve to suffer. Unfortunately, Sarah is how I'm going to do that. She's going to be my slave. A mind as innocent and fragile as hers won't take much to break. I'm excited to have the opportunity, twisted and cruel as I am.
Sarah is a sweet girl. I'm going to savor that sweetness as I break her.
Sarah
I gasp. No, no, this can't be real.
Except I can tell it's real. I don't have to pinch myself because Damien's hard cock jabbing my ass is doing that just fine. I can’t breathe. I'm caught up in the reality of what’s transpiring. A hot, sinful, dangerous man is pressing his very hard cock against my delicate ass cheeks.
And I want it. I want him. I've never been with a man, and now the idea of being with Damien is all I can think about. His body feels so incredible against mine; I can't summon any sane thoughts. Can’t think about anything good or proper. I can’t bring myself to think about how insane this is. What would I even do with a monster like that? A dark thought inside me whispers that Damien knows what to do with it. He’d know what to do with me. That’s so taboo. So wrong. Why can’t I stop thinking it?
I find something downright naughty within me because my thighs are sticky and at the juncture of my thighs, my pajama pants are so wet. Wet enough that I realize I've soaked through this thin fabric and onto Damien's trousers. Oh God, he must feel it. Damien is a real man and he knows what that means. I'm screaming internally. My blood is rushing to my core, making me feel every breath he takes. I'm trembling against him.