"I'm gonna fuck you till you pass out," he said. "Turn around."
I did as I was told and reached up onto all fours, facing the faded floral wallpaper. With baited breath, I waited for him to enter me and he wasn't gentle. Thrusting himself into me as he roared.
"Shut the hell up!" I hissed over my shoulder and he bit down on his lip as he moved into a steady, ever quickening rhythm.
It felt good. A little too good. I found myself focusing on the pattern of the wallpaper to distract myself from the impending orgasm that was ripping through me. Coming always came so easy to me but I liked to hold off, liked to wait until the critical moment when I couldn't take it any longer.
"Harder," I whispered.
He didn't hear me and I pushed myself onto him, reaching through my legs to grab his balls.
"Harder!"
Leaning forward to grab my arms, he pulled my wrists tight like handles and fucked me until I was nothing but a surrendered body, a ragdoll that belonged to him.
His thighs shook as he came, his fingers clenching around me so tight I felt my hands begin to tingle from the loss of blood.
"Let me go," I said.
"Why? Are you scared?"
"No. I wanna make myself come."
He let go, throwing my arms to my sides and I immediately pushed my fingers between my legs and rubbed furiously at my clitoris, reaching a hard, intense orgasm with my face pushed into the pillow and my ass in the air.
When it was over, I fell exhausted onto the bed with my heart hammering in my chest. The smell of alcohol and cigars returned and I sat up. Now seeing the room for what it was, the magic was over.
"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen," he said, zipping up his pants. "Here, have another fifty."
He dragged his hand over his sweaty brow and sighed.
"I can always find you at the docks, right?"
"Always," I nodded as I reached for the money. "Mind if I get a cigarette off you?"
"Sure thing."
He handed one over and I stared at it, not sure what the black skinny stick was.
"Gauloise," he said. "They're French."
"Huh... You travel to France a lot?"
"Only for pleasure."
As he pulled on his jacket, he looked around the room as though it was some dismal sort of exhibit.
"You live here," he said with a touch too much derision.
"Yup," I sighed, breathing out a plume of blue smoke. "Although hopefully not for long."
"You deserve better. I mean, Jesus. A cockroach deserved better."
I lay down and scanned my eyes across the cracked plaster of the ceiling knowing he was right.
Chapter Five
Etta
I couldn’t face the house and I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I felt unnerved, maybe even stupid for returning to the place I'd escaped. Maybe I was even scared of Phaedra, terrified even. The closer I got to the house, the more I knew she kept secrets, ones that pulled Lincoln and Jet into their orbit, ones that put diamond rings on teenage girls' fingers.
It was dark now and I'd spent most of the day walking through the neighborhood trying to pluck up the courage to knock on that rusted door. I just couldn't do it. Not yet.
Sitting at the window of the diner, I looked into my coffee. A plate of discarded pie lay beside it untouched. I knew I had to eat but my stomach was tying itself in knots. I imagined it inside me twisted up like a poodle shaped balloon.
"You okay honey?"
I looked up and saw the waitress from the last time. Her hair was bigger today, more dried and frazzled like she'd bleached it into oblivion.
"I'm fine," I said although I obviously didn't feel it.
"You were here with the doc, weren't you? Bosworth’s his name isn’t it?."
I nodded, my lips stuck together with nerves.
There was a hungry glint in her eyes which she flicked up toward the clock before looking behind her.
"Supposed to be finishing in ten minutes," she said as she topped up my cup. "But there's no harm in quitting a little early. It's dead in here anyway."
Untying her apron, she wrapped it up around her hand and slid into the seat across from me. I wasn't looking for company but it didn't seem as though I had any choice. The look in her eyes was now hungrier, her hands reaching across the table with a lighter clenched between her wrinkled fingers.
"Shouldn't be smoking in here either but what the hell. Boss can go kiss my ass."
I laughed, anxiously.
"So," she began, pointing her cigarette in my direction. "You Bosworth's girl?"
For a moment, I thought about what that meant. Was I his? I felt like it. It felt official... Whatever that meant. And of course, I was living in his house. Looking over at the clock, I saw it wouldn't be long until he'd return home and expect to see me there.
"His girl..." I said to myself.
I looked up and my eyes met hers. They were old, dark things that could see through you and it looked like she'd seen a lot of things.
"You're name's Sandra, right?"
"That's right," she said, blowing smoke out the side of her puckered lips.
Her eyes narrowed, questions sprouting on her mind.
"So areyou?"
"Am I...
"Bosworth's girlfriend."
"Erm..."
I scrunched a napkin in my hand.
"Kinda... It's early days."
Or the end of days, I thought. I didn't know what was happening between us.
"He sure looked smitten," she said.
"Really?"
Despite my anger with him, my heart still jumped.
"Yeah, Really. Never seen him with a girl before. Never seen him with a smile so wide either."
She was telling the truth. I could see it in the jealousy on her face.
"That's nice," I said. "He's a nice guy."
She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another one.
"You meet him at the Waters House?"
My back stiffened at the thought of the place. I found myself looking over in its direction as though its ominous presence was looming low over the horizon.
"Yeah. I was there for a little while but I'm not like the other girls!" I insisted. "I mean not that there's anything wrong with them," I corrected myself. "Shit, that must have sounded terrible of me."
Sandra smiled, warmly and patted my hand. Her skin was like sandpaper, her fingers wrinkled and stained.
"Ain't no shame in saying what you think," she laughed. "Besides, I didn't think you were one of them either. You haven't got the look... or the uniform."
"The look?" I asked although I knew what she meant.
"Healthy," she replied. "You look healthy. Well, besides that."
She pointed toward the monstrous bruise along the length of my forearm.
"Car crash," I said.
She raised her tattooed eyebrows.
"Wow, you sure have an eventful life."
"A little too eventful. Anyway, what did you mean by uniform?"
A door slammed behind her and a stocky man with a thin mustache walked out, a ragged dirty tea towel slung over his shoulder and a cigarette behind his ear.
"Sandy! Where have you been?" he shouted.
She pointed an elbow at the clock.
"Hey, my shift ended a minute and a half ago."
He sighed and threw the towel on the counter.
"Well what are you doing here, then?" he asked.
She ignored him and turned back to me.
"You know, the uniform," she said. "Those weird little red things."
I blinked at her, having no idea what she meant.
"The red bracelets," she prompted.
I still didn't know what she was talking about.
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed them?" she gasped.
"Seriously, I haven't. I swear!"
Grabbing her apron and cigarettes she stood up and patted me on the back.
"It's not all of them," she said. "I think they're just reserved for the queen's drones."
"Eh?"
"Oh come on. That old witch. She's in that big house all day and night and has, how do I put it, recruits."
"Recruits?"
She was beginning to sound mental and all I could do was laugh and shake my head.
"The old thing. Fay is it?"
"Phaedra," I said.
"Yeah, that's it. Weird name. Anyway, you ever noticed she has, like, her inner circle. I see them around town with those red bracelets running her errands."
I cast my mind back to all the girls I'd met but came up blank.
"Maybe it's like a friendship bracelet thing," I suggested.
Sandra laughed but I didn't get the joke.
"You'll find out," she said. "I'm surprised you haven't heard the rumors yet."
My breath quickened.
"I've heard... things."
The bell above the door jingled and we both looked over to see a group of old men enter with the smell of booze coming off them.
"Anyway I'm outta here," Sandra said and made her way toward the staff room. "Otherwise I'll be roped into serving these guys and I have a hot date with a bottle of white wine."
She laughed again but not before leaning down low until her pink lips grazed the top of my ear.
"You're a good girl for staying away from that place. Don't go back."
And she walked away, her curvy frame slinking in amongst the busy tables.
I watched her, stunned, before making a quick escape out into the street. It seemed everyone knew things about the house. Everyone but me.
Chapter Six
Lincoln
I tore the bedsheets off, ripping them to shreds until they were little more than bandages that lay around my ankles. Next, I looked under the bed. There was nothing there but a small gathering of dust but I dived under anyway, running my hands over and over the floorboards hoping against odds I'd hear the crackle of the Ziploc.
"Fuck," I held my head in my hands. "Fuck!"
Climbing back out, I glanced around the room. Maybe it was in another jacket but I knew at the back of my mind it wasn't. Flinging open the wardrobe door, I found myself thrusting my hands into every pocket of every blazer and finding nothing but loose change and lint balls.
"Fuck...no... no."
There was no sign of it anywhere. I must have been mistaken. I must have placed it in the lab but I wasn't down there last night. Etta and I came straight up here then we made love. It was beautiful and we went out onto the balcony and looked out over the valley with our skin cooling beneath the stars.
Then I told her everything.
Like an angel, she'd kissed me and made me feel normal, made me feel like a regular human who was capable of being loved. She even ventured inside to make me coffee. She kept asking if I needed anything, kept wanting to make me feel better but all I wanted was to hold her, or rather for her to hold me. I was fed up if being the dominant one, of being the king. I needed to be nurtured, held in the palm of someone's hand like a wounded animal until I was brought back from the brink of death.
I'd spent so long feeling as though I was drowning in my memories, sinking under their darkness, but last night she made me feel.... okay. She made me feel okay. Like for once in my life, there was nothing to worry about. I'd slept like a baby with the heat of her body pressed against my back and I'd woken up to her perfect face looking down at me.
Although she was quiet, so quiet, but I was so happy I never thought to mention it, never thought to ask why she wasn't saying anything. I'd slipped in and out of the shower in a post euphoric haze and she'd just watched me, her face blank and neutral, her thoughts a mystery but, having been so consumed by my happiness, I'd never stopped to ask why.
Why?
My mind flittered back to last night as I scanned every inch of the floor, running down to the laboratory hoping to God my mind had made a mistake.
"Of course I was down here last night. I must have brought those panties down here at some point, must have... must have... must have... asked her to get my phone from my jacket..."
My feet stopped before my mind did as though my body shut down with the shock.
"She has them," I said to myself. "She must have found them."
My heart began to race so fast it hurt and I clapped a hand to my chest and leaned against the wall hoping I was being terribly dramatic and getting everything wrong but I knew I was right. She found them.
I ran a hand down my face and felt that it was inexplicably damp. Seeing my reflection in a window, I saw how drenched in sweat I was, how wet the front of my shirt was.
"Pull yourself together."
I didn't know what I feared the most, the idea that she thought I was sleeping with Jet or the thought that she' hand them into the police. But why would she do such a thing? My brain was running away with itself, creating fantastical situations that would never happen.
"Jesus, fucking Christ."
I slapped my forehead.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into the kitchen where the note lay on the table. It had seemed so impersonal when I first found it. Why didn’t she meet me at the hospital? Why didn’t she call? A note seemed so… cold.
Visiting mom, be back tonight. Have a great day.
Bending down to focus on the handwriting, I caught sight of a slight shakiness on the loops of the vowels. Taking a step back, I felt something crunch beneath my foot. Looking down, I saw the pen she must have used. Holding it up close to my face, I saw how chewed the end was, the plastic bitten until it had lost all of its original shape. She was stressed when she wrote this. She was also lying.
Now she was out there with my DNA sample with only the worst conclusion on her mind.
"Shit!"
I leaned against the counter and drew in a sharp inhale. I needed her back but where was she?
"That bitch Jet. That absolute fucking bitch Jet."
She was always trouble. I didn't know why I had to pick her next. It could have so easily been one of the others. And of course, she had to have diamonds. Diamonds! Not money or drugs. After looking up how much I was worth she specifically asked for diamonds and sapphires but if things were as bad as they seemed, the jewels were the least I would pay.
Splashing my face with cold water and switching on the espresso machine, I tried to gather my thoughts. Etta must be mad when ironically, I hadn't touched another woman, never would as long as I was with her. Still, it would be almost impossible to make her believe otherwise.
As I listened to the sound of the machine and breathed in the scent of Arabica beans, I wondered where she would have gone. She wouldn't have gone back to Craig. She made it clear she'd rather die than see him again. Her mother. She could be with her but that whole note was bullshit. Wasn't the reason she had nowhere to live because her mother was travelling with her boyfriend.
No... She'd be looking for answers and who would have them?
"She'll be looking for Jet," I said to myself, staring off into the distance as the darkness settled over the house.
"She'll be back at Broadwood. She'll be back at that God damn house!"
Chapter Seven
Jet
I pulled up my panties and felt the inside of them grow wet as they pressed against my hot, swollen lips. Without knowing why I pushed two fingers down between them and felt how full of cum they were.
Sensing him over my shoulder, I didn’t look round.
"I can smell myself on you," he said, his voice moist against my ear.
My heart began to race again with the anticipation of him touching me.
Why do I feel like this? I never feel this way with a client.
But his voice was intoxicating, luring me closer to him until I turned round and kissed him, for fun this time, just because I wanted to.
He kissed me back and pulled me into a hug. Laying my head on his shoulder, I felt his warmth, felt the way he cradled me.
Why aren't they all like this? Why don't they all just want to hold me?
"You're one of the best," he said. "It's a shame you're holed up in this place."
"A terrible shame," I agreed.
"You never want to get outta here?"
I swallowed as a deep sadness swept over me.
"Of course I've thought about it."
"A girl like you shouldn't be in here."
He pulled my hand into his and kissed my fingers, the tips tingling beneath his lips. Sliding my thumb into his mouth, he groaned slightly before opening his eyes, my thumb still pressed against his tongue.
Then he noticed it, the red band around my wrist.
"You know what that is?" I asked.
He blinked and pulled my hand away, his cheeks flushing red as he hooked his fingers inside the band as though he had to touch it to believe it was real.
"Are you one of them?" he asked, almost scared to hear the answer.
"One of who?"
He blinked again and ran a hand through his hair.
"One of those girls, the ones who can get you anything you want."
He curled his fingers around my shoulders and pressed himself close to me. Something came between us and I realized he was hard again, his erection pushing into my stomach.
"You really are. I've heard about you girls. Knew you operated around here but I've never met one of you before. Lord knows I've been trying."
"You haven't been trying hard enough."
He began pacing the room, flipping open his wallet and looking through the leather folds.
"How much do you need? How much is it? How much!"
His voice was reaching an excited crescendo, his face looking as though it was on the cusp of exploding.
"Shhh...."
I gripped his arm and pulled him toward the door.
"Outside," I said. "Come on. Can't risk the normal girls hearing."
Our feet flew down the stairs as I yanked him out into the blustery night. Somewhere upstairs, a bed creaked as we roused a light sleeper but I knew it wasn't Phaedra. Her bed groaned as though it was being strangled.
Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 13