by Skye Warren
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to him, no line I wouldn’t cross in this moment. My anger takes an unholy shape, rearing back with all the fury and fear of a wild horse ready to trample his enemy. “And God help me, I’m going to ruin you. The way you did my father. I’m going to break you.”
He nudges my chin higher, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat. His mouth drops to the tender skin, a whisper of a kiss. “Do you want to make me bleed, little virgin?”
The violence takes me by surprise. My swing is wild, aimed straight for his face with all my strength. He catches my wrist midmotion, the abrupt stop shooting pain down my arm. We’re frozen that way, him holding me, breathing each other’s air.
“Don’t call me that,” I say between clenched teeth.
“Little virgin.”
“I’m not. You saw the proof of it. You paid a million dollars for it.”
“Actually,” he says, voice deceptively mild. “I paid a million dollars to use you for a month. And as that month isn’t over yet, I think I’d like to collect.”
Shock courses through me, singeing every angry intention. “No.”
“And as for your virginity, there are a hundred ways you haven’t been taken. A thousand ways you haven’t been fucked. A million dollars left to earn.”
“That money’s mine. You sent me away.”
“And yet,” he says, echoing his earlier words, “here you fucking are. This is what you wanted. This is what you came for. Did you really think you’d see me and walk away without my come inside you?”
My gasp sounds virginal even to myself. “Of course I did.”
He uses the hold on my wrist to drag me closer, off balance, almost falling into him. His warmth surrounds me, along with a musk my body remembers. Alarm bells ring more than they did this morning. A strange man could hurt me, but Gabriel—he’s worse. My own kryptonite.
“Here’s the thing about fucking a virgin,” he whispers, breath a caress on my temple. “You gave me your pretty little hymen, the small spill of blood. The first feel of those walls squeezing my cock. And there’s no way to get it back, not ever. No matter who else you fuck. Even if you settle down with some prep-school fucker and let him climb on top of you every single night, I’ll always be your first. You will always be my little virgin.”
The show of possession does something strange to me. It should be offensive. It’s meant to be offensive, but the humiliation turns liquid and hot inside my body. And the worst part is, I can’t even deny the truth. He left an imprint inside me. I can still remember the stretch of him, the burn. The very shape of that heavy thickness I can feel against my stomach now. And anyone who comes after him, they’ll never quite fill the space he carved inside of me.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, soothing now that I’ve acquiesced. “I’ve got you.”
“No, we can’t—”
He releases my wrist only to run a finger along my cheek. “So young. You look so young like this.”
“It’s the makeup,” I say with difficulty. And the hair. And the clothes. In a thousand ways I was different before, the society princess. What am I now? Almost homeless. Definitely scared.
His eyes gentle, more brown than they’ve been before. “You didn’t think you were getting fucked today. You got dressed and took the bus and came up the elevator having no idea.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me.”
A slight smile. “Not enough to stop. Take off those clothes. Let’s see what you look like when you’re just a sweet, innocent college girl and not the toy I bought at auction.”
And I find myself undoing my jeans, pushing them down my hips. I could fight him, but what’s the point? He holds my future in his large, capable hands—the escrow account, my family’s home. And impossibly he holds my sexual desire, a sudden fire that he lit with his words.
The sound of denim crumbling to the floor is loud in the wide-open room. Then I take off my shirt, dropping the soft fabric from my fingertips.
The Den is the old city building converted into a kind of meeting place for the rich, dangerous men of the city. Men like Gabriel Miller. That was where I went to ask for a loan. And it was where I auctioned myself instead. A woman named Candy prepared me that night, with waxing strips and lotions and powders. She dressed me in lingerie.
Now I’m standing in my plain white bra and plain white panties.
And underneath, the flaxen hair has started to grow back in my most private place.
Young, he called me. He meant to dismiss me, to demean me with those words, but that’s not how he looks at me. His golden eyes give him away. Desire burns there, molten and pure. And the flames that burn between us feel hotter without powder and wax, without lace lingerie. They race over my skin, leaving goose bumps, tightening my nipples beneath the cotton fabric.
“The desk,” he says, voice guttural. “Sit.”
“Should I—” My finger hooks into the elastic waist of my panties, a nervous gesture. A question. And then, inexplicably, I blush. Red heat sweeps up my chest and scalds my cheeks. Should I take this off? A simple question considering what we’ve done together, what we’ll do in the future. Somehow everything hinges on this one question.
His groan is pure agony. “I’m one breath away from bending you over the desk and fucking you raw. But I want to taste you first, so sit on the fucking desk. Fast. Now. Before I give in.”
Taste me. He doesn’t mean my mouth or anywhere else. He means down there. The private place that already has springy hair growing in, short but present.
The blush burns hotter. “I haven’t… I mean, I’m not…”
His expression turns darker. “Let me see.”
I push down the panties and step out of them. My eyes can’t meet his, but I hear the catch of his breath. He steps close, his touch light on my stomach, my hip. Calloused fingers smoothing over bare skin. And then playing over the trim hair between my legs.
He groans a wordless denial. “You thought I wouldn’t like this?”
Embarrassment turns into hot tears, more uncertainty than sadness. “Candy waxed me the night of the auction. She knows what men like.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, little virgin. There’s nothing you could do to your body that would make me turn away, definitely nothing as natural as this. I want you in every way and place and time. I want you so fucking bad I wish I could stop, because it goddamn hurts.”
It’s the closest this man has ever come to admitting weakness. The closest he’ll ever come to admitting he cares about me. And it’s enough to give me strength. I take a step back and perch on the edge of his desk, knees together, hands awkwardly stacked on my lap. I can let him have me, but I don’t know enough to be seductive.
It seems to work anyway, sharpening his gaze on the line between my legs, the faint attempt at modesty. He slides his palm into the divide, making space for himself, grasping my thigh in a gentle hold. “So pretty,” he says, almost to himself.
A shiver runs through me, currents of heat that center at his hand.
He pushes my legs open, exposing me to the cool office air. And then his body looms in front of me, nudging me wider, the crisp wool of his suit shocking against my bare skin. I’m naked and he’s completely covered. I’m defenseless and he’s made of walls.
One hand cradles my cheek, lifting me for a kiss. The other moves around me to unhook my bra. My nipples tighten against his chest, aching for his touch—his pinch. He’s relentlessly gentle as he slides a hand down my neck, between my breasts—as he lays me back on the desk. Cold wood makes me gasp.
There’s something dreamlike about this experience. Wasn’t I going to fight him? Except his caresses on the insides of my thighs feel too good, painfully soft, and I don’t want him to stop. It would be like fighting myself, and for once—for once I want to give in. No more taking care of my father, no more virgin auctions. No more desperate struggles in a war I can’t win. Just his mouth on my stomach and lower, lower, lowe
r.
Then his tongue touches my clit, and I arch off the desk with a cry.
“Gabriel!”
“Again,” he mutters, lips glancing my clit. Then he scrapes my raw flesh with his teeth, and I can’t help but obey, whispering his name again and again, in time with his tongue, a beat that exists in my temple, in my throat, in the hungry clench of my inner sex where I want him to be.
The stubble on his chin glances my slick skin. It’s too much. Too much sensation, too much pleasure. I squirm away, but his large hands capture my legs. He presses me down against the smooth wood, merciless and intent. This is what surrender feels like, helpless and writhing, begging him to stop but hoping he won’t.
He circles my clit, once. Twice. A third time, and my body tightens on the head of a pin. I exist as nothing but the nerves against his tongue, the starburst behind my eyes, the anguished sob that fills the room.
And even then, there’s no peace. No rest from his mouth. No surcease from the hoarse demand he murmurs against my clit: “Again. Fucking again, little virgin. Until you’re dripping down my chin.”
He draws me tight again, and I explode into light and sound, into every hope I’ve ever had.
As I come down, the shadows of the room settle into place.
Behind him, the largest canvas is slashed not with color—but with black swaths. Angels and demons. Death and sex. A riot of emotion in an otherwise sterile room. “I’m going to get my house back,” I say into the void.
Gabriel rests his cheek against the inside of my knee, expression stark. He looks tired, as if the weight is too much, as if I’m the only thing holding him up. It’s the most intimate moment we’ve ever shared, the most honest. “No,” he says softly, almost sadly. “You’re not.”
Chapter Five
I comfort myself with the reminder that he didn’t climax.
I left after his raw denial, shaken and hurt. He’d been hard beneath the placket of his trousers, intensely turned on, but he didn’t try to stop me. And why should he? He’d proven his point. He could have me anytime he wanted. He’d paid for the right. He didn’t get an orgasm, but he got everything else.
On the bus I consider where to go next. Uncle Landon’s office?
I know we need to talk. He has to explain how the house left my trust, something he promised wouldn’t happen. And even if we’re not on good terms, I need his help to get it back.
Except I’m too vulnerable, so soon after Gabriel’s lips made me come. I touch my cheeks as the bus rumbles through the city. Hot. Probably pink. Anyone who looks at me would know I’d been touched recently. Uncle Landon would know.
So when the stop comes for the motel, I pull the wire on the window.
The bus screeches to a halt.
There’s a bakery in the strip mall near the stop. The smell of yeast and sugar greets me inside. The sweet chocolate treats catch my eye, but I can’t afford them. Not when I need to make my money stretch.
It’s a huge relief to know that my father is taken care of—and well taken care of. The facility has both state-of-the-art medical care and luxury accommodations. In other words my father’s a lot better off than I am right now. I don’t begrudge him that. After the painful months of trial and the horrible beating, he deserves the kind of care I could never give him, even working to feed and bathe him from morning to night. And the truth is, I am grateful to Gabriel Miller for that. And maybe that’s the reason I gave in to him; maybe that’s the excuse for why my body still hums with lingering pleasure.
I buy two sausage kolaches, cheap and filling. The paper bag warms my hands on the short walk to the Rose and Crown, my mouth watering from the smell.
A large figure looms to the side of my door. My heart skips a beat before I recognize the man from this morning. Will. I’m not sure why that reassures me. He could be dangerous, but somehow I trust him.
He doesn’t move as I approach, but I know he’s aware of me. You’d have to be, to survive in this neighborhood. The fact that he’s built like a professional linebacker doesn’t hurt.
I stop in front of him. “Hi, Will.”
A grunt.
“I’m Avery.”
“I remember.”
“Now I remember who you remind me of. Snuffleupagus.”
There’s a beat of surprise, then slow incredulity. “I remind you of an elephant?”
“I think he’s a woolly mammoth. And yes.”
Another pause, emotion flickering behind his mask. Annoyance. And maybe reluctant amusement. “If I had to be anyone, I’m the green fucker in the trash can.”
“Oscar the Grouch, but I think you’re more hairy than grouchy.”
He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Well, this isn’t Sesame Street. It’s a long way from there, so what’s a girl like you doing here?”
“A girl like me?”
His gaze feels clinical as he takes me in, head to toe. “A nice girl.”
“Hey,” I say, mildly affronted. “The other girls here are probably nice.”
He snorts, looking sideways at the row of doors. “You’re defending Chastity? She’d knock out your teeth just to get rid of the competition.”
“You don’t know that. We could be friends.” But I make a mental note to err on the side of caution and avoid my neighbor. I’m pretty sure in a street fight I’d be on the losing side.
He glances at my bag, long lashes over dirt-darkened cheeks. “What you got?”
My stomach churns, scraping the sides for any trace of yesterday’s meal. “Pigs in a blanket.” My hand tightens on the waxy paper. “I got one for you.”
Blue eyes meet mine, narrowing. “No, you didn’t.”
“Do you want it or not?” Without waiting for him to answer, I open the door to my room.
I push inside, holding the door open without looking. After a beat I feel his large presence behind me, the weight of the door leaving my fingertips as he comes inside. My stomach pitches with uncertainty. What if I made a mistake inviting him in? But anyone who remembers Sesame Street can’t be all bad. Gabriel would probably mock me for being that naive, but I already have a lion after me. It can’t hurt to have a woolly mammoth on my side.
When he’s inside I realize that there’s only one chair at the small table. Will solves that problem by leaning against the wall, arms folded, chin down. I sit on the opposite side. I serve the pigs on a blanket on top of napkins from yesterday’s fast-food lunch. It’s a far cry from the Michelin-star restaurants my father took me to, but the spice and salt on my tongue couldn’t taste better.
I swallow the first bite, savoring the hint of smoke.
When I open my eyes, I see Will down his entire kolache in a single bite. Then it’s gone, and I realize how hungry he must get, how much food it must take to sustain his frame. He’s not fat; in fact I suspect he’s painfully lean under the layers of jackets. A man that tall and broad shouldered is meant to be hearty.
“Stop,” he snaps at me.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. I’m not going to take your food too.”
I glance down at the rest of the kolache in my hand. He could use this more than me. And I do have some money to get more. Maybe there’s another way to make it stretch. Maybe—
“Christ,” he says, voice tinged with frustration. “I told you this wasn’t fucking Sesame Street. The people here will take as much as you give them, and then take more than that.”
Anger strengthens my resolve. It’s one thing to share my food, another thing to be lectured by him about it. “If that were true, you could have taken the bag when I first got here.”
“Hey, just trying to help. The sooner you get out of here the better.”
Lord save me from men trying to help. They’re the reason I’m in this mess.
“Excuse me if my trust fund suddenly disappeared, but this is all I can afford right now.” The sarcasm in my voice covers up the fact that I actually did have a trust fund. And
it actually did suddenly disappear.
He shakes his head. “You want to end up like Chastity? Go right ahead.”
Sunlight punctuates his words as he opens the door. Then he’s gone, leaving me in darkness.
Chastity. I wonder if it’s her real name. If so, it’s a cruel irony. It might just be pretend, a stage name, meant to entice men with faux innocence. That’s what men like, isn’t it? Youth and naivete. A blank slate to impress themselves upon.
I remember the men at the auction for my virginity. God, I can never forget their rabid expressions, their hungry eyes. What is it about inexperience that drives them crazy?
Why does being untouched matter so much?
I’ve been touched. Between my legs I can still feel the echo of Gabriel’s tongue. But it’s a long way from the sexual experience of Chastity. Multiple men, night after night. My stomach clenches, threatening to throw up the single bite. I close my eyes, fighting the reaction. Will may be an asshole, but he’s right. The sooner I get out of here, the better.
Chapter Six
The sounds of moaning, of grunting, of cursing follow me into my dreams. They turn into demons and angels, pleasure and pain—into a man with golden-brown eyes and sharp words.
The next morning I take a little extra time doing my hair and makeup. A strong woman looks back at me, pretty and confident—like the portrait of my mother that hung over the fireplace. Except at my age she had been in college and wearing a promise ring from my father. Today I’m going to visit Uncle Landon to find out what happened to my house, on the outside looking in to my own life.
Shoving the key and cash into my back pocket, I head out the door.
And stop in my tracks.
A sleek black limo idles in the center of the parking lot, the gleaming black stark against the backdrop of cracked concrete and cigarette-littered gravel. It’s not for me, I tell myself. It can’t be.
It’s probably one of Chastity’s customers.