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First published by Kendall Ryan Books 2014

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Kendall Ryan 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover photographs © Gallerystock

Kendall Ryan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781500648053

Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780008133856

Version 2015-01-30

Praise for Filthy Beautiful Lies

‘Provocative and filthy…I. Love. This. Book.’ – Roxy Sloane, #1 bestselling erotica author

‘Every Kendall Ryan book should come with a fan and some batteries because they are that hot.’ – Lauren Blakely, New York Times & USA Today bestselling author

‘Compelling characters in a wicked hot story. Kendall Ryan is a goddess.’ – Lexi Ryan, New York Times & USA Today bestselling author

‘Intense, consuming, and ridiculously sexy…Kendall Ryan has outdone herself yet again.’ – Emma Hart, New York Times bestselling author

‘Sinfully enticing, sexually charged and lust driven! Filthy Beautiful Lies is Kendall Ryan at her devastatingly best.’ – Rachel Brookes, author of the bestselling Breathe series

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Filthy Beautiful Lies

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgements

KR Page Love

KR Page Lust

KR Page Forever

KR Page When I Break

About the Author

Tell Me Your Favorite Part!

Connect With Kendall Ryan:

Also by Kendall Ryan

W6 Book Cafe

About the Publisher

Prologue

Tonight I will be sold to the highest bidder. As I stand here in this quiet room, I try to find that little voice of reason telling me I’m doing the right thing. She’s nowhere to be found. Traitorous whore.

I meet my dim blue gaze in the mirror and remind myself that I’m entering into this arrangement knowingly, and by choice. Not the choice I want to make, certainly not my life’s ambition, but it’s a choice I have to make in order to save someone I love.

In another hour I will belong to someone – a man with sick needs and fetishes that propel him to purchase his companion rather than date a normal girl. Heaven help me.

Chapter One

Sophie

I’ve been told that I could go for more than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and maybe more given that I’m still a virgin. The money will mean the difference between life and death for my twin sister and best friend in the whole world. It will mean I can pay the fees to get her into the experimental treatment program for advance stage ovarian cancer. We’re both just twenty-one years old and have barely lived. When she got cancer at age nineteen and had a hysterectomy, I promised her I’d carry her babies someday, a promise I intended to keep. And now she’s facing death in a matter of months if I don’t intervene, which is why I’m standing in the dimly lit dressing room applying my third coat of mascara and dressed only in a pair of panties.

I’d found out about this place completely by coincidence. A few weeks ago, I would have never believed places like this existed. I’d been searching online for money making schemes – something, anything, that could help me raise the three hundred thousand dollars we needed. My parents made ends meet, but just barely. So I knew it was up to me. My job searches turned out to be a joke. My skills could earn me minimum wage waiting tables. That’s when my internet searches got more interesting and my attitude bolder.

I agreed to an interview at a local strip club. As if the interview itself wasn’t embarrassing enough – being asked to undress in front of the club’s owner and prove my non-existent dancing abilities – when he’d asked how much money I hoped to make dancing and I said three hundred thousand dollars in the next few months, he’d laughed in my face and told me to get dressed. It was obvious to us both that based on my dancing skills, I’d never earn that kind of money. Let alone in my small Northern California town.

When he saw the tears swimming in my eyes and inquired about why I needed the money, I’d given him, a complete stranger, the entire sad story. Once I was dressed, he brought me into his office and made me promise that what he was about to say would stay only between us. The shifty way his eyes danced around the room told me whatever it was, it probably wasn’t legal. I didn’t care. I’d never so much as run a red light, but I was willing to do anything – go to any extreme to save Becca. I promised him complete secrecy. He asked how serious I was about saving my sister and warned that I wouldn’t like what he was about to tell me. That was how I learned about tonight’s auction.

Bill, the strip club owner, entered me into tonight’s bids. He’d arranged everything for a ten percent cut in my earnings. I’d seen a doctor, who tested me for pregnancy and STDs, and verified my virginity. Bill had also made me an appointment at a local salon for full body waxing and a makeover – a haircut with long layers and caramel highlights in my otherwise chestnut brown hair, along with a manicure and a pedicure. All of which would come out of my earnings too. If I didn’t sell, I would be responsible for paying him back. But Bill all but guaranteed I’d sell. He said that virgins were very rare and that someone so natural and beautiful would go for a high price. I just hope to keep my nerves under control so that I can actually follow through with this. I feel like throwing up and I haven’t even eaten all day.

I turn to the sound of a light tapping on my door and Bill pokes his head in. My arms fly over my chest as I try to cover my breasts. My modesty is pointless and a hysterical giggle bubbles up in my throat. All too soon I’ll be exposed to a roomful of men and expected to give my body to one of them, but I focus on maintaining my innocence while I still can. Bill raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Are you ready?’

I glance in the mirror one last time and draw a steadying breath. I look down at my toned legs, thanks to hours spent jogging – my only form of stress relief – to my stomach that is a bit softer than I would like, to my breasts that jiggle when I move. The eyes looking back at me are harder than before. Good. I will need that hard exterior to survive the next six months.

I hadn’t known this side of the world existed and now I was entering into it. I’m doing this for Becca, I remind myself. Drawing every ounce of strength I can, I uncross my arms from over my breasts and nod to Bill. ‘I’m ready.’

His eyes give me a cursory once over. I’m grateful he doesn’t leer. ‘You look great. Very natural. That should work in your favor,’ he remarks, leading me from the safety of the dressing room.

I see what he means as we progressed down the hallway. There are a few other women ranging from early twenties to late thirties and each of them seemed to have embraced the stripper look – big hair and layers of thick makeup, red stained lips, fishnet stockings and sky high heels. All of them are wearing g-strings. I’d been told the only article of clothing allowed was a pair of panties so I’d chosen my most modest pair – light blue briefs with lace along the hem. They’re cute and feminine and comfortable. It had never occurred to me to try and make myself look sexier. Regret churns in my stomach. What if no one wants me? I’ll have done all this for nothing, plus owe Bill for the expensive makeover he provided. The concrete floor against my bare feet sends an icy chill up my body, pebbling my nipples into hardened points. My arms once again cross over my chest as I clutch my breasts.

I might be more covered than the other women, but somehow I feel more exposed. Completely ripped open for the world to see. I’m dressed as me, not some sexified version of myself that I can portray to the men waiting on the other side of that door. Suddenly I don’t want them to see the real me. I wanted to be caked in makeup with perhaps a long blonde wig and tassels hanging from my nipples. I could be whoever they wanted me to be. Instead I’m just Sophie and that seems much more dangerous to me. I can’t let my new owner get inside my head. He might be buying the rights to my body, but he’ll certainly never have the real me. I need to remember that.

When we stop outside a steel door, panic courses through my veins and my throat constricts, my gag reflex threatening to send bile shooting up my throat. I draw a deep breath through my nose and open my mouth to tell Bill I’ve changed my mind when his hand suddenly reaches out and twists the doorknob.

The door swings open to reveal a large, dimly lit room. The only light comes from a bare bulb that hangs directly above a platform-like stage in the center of the room. Men sit in lounge chairs facing the small round stage, their faces completely hidden in the shadows. I’m unable to distinguish a single feature, which I know is the point. The nature of tonight’s activities means they want their anonymity. And the kind of money that would be spent tonight bought you that right.

Bill gives me a gentle shove forward and whispers something of encouragement, but the blood pounding in my ears garbles the message.

My feet move across the room, my arms still crossed in a death grip across my breasts. The faint smell of cigar smoke assaults my senses as I move toward the platform. I keep my eyes trained on the floor, letting the swath of light from the single bulb hanging overhead draw me forward. My knees shake as I walk the final few steps.

Finally I step onto the raised platform and face the small group of men. Keeping my eyes downcast, I know in this moment I would have never been brave enough to strip for a whole audience. I can barely stand here without my knees knocking together and just remembering to pull air into my lungs and release it again seems beyond my abilities. But a spike of determination rips through me. I am here to save Becca.

A man standing in the shadows at the side of the room clears his throat. ‘I give you the ninth and final girl of the evening. And trust me when I tell you, gentlemen, that we’ve saved the best for last. She’s as pure and untouched as they come. She comes to us as a virgin, willing and fully in agreement with the six-month terms. Now, who’d like to start the bidding?’

It’s quiet for just a heartbeat and I wait for something to happen.

‘Move your hands off your tits, angel,’ a man in the crowd says.

I raise my eyes toward the sound of the voice, but my hands stay where they are. A streak of defiance I didn’t know I had rears its head. No one owns me yet. Not a single bid had been placed. I still control my destiny.

I shift my weight, feeling that tingling sensation that means my foot is falling asleep and clutch my chest tighter as though I’m hanging on for dear life. My heart races in my chest and little beads of sweat form under my arms despite the cool temperature in the room. I can do this. I have to do this.

‘Two hundred.’ The man’s voice who’d ordered me to uncover myself places the first bid. I hope that’s two hundred thousand and not two hundred dollars. It never occurred to me that I needed to have a minimum established before this began. I was not sleeping with some weird old man for two hundred dollars. But then I recalled Bill saying something about six figure minimums, and I relax the tiniest bit.

‘Two fifty,’ another voice says. He sounds younger and has a slight Spanish accent.

‘Three hundred,’ a third voice croaks.

Soon the price is up to five-seventy five and I feel dizzy listening to the whole exchange. I need to get off this stage before I pass out or throw up, or do something equally as terrifying, like go home with one of these sick men.

Be strong, Soph.

‘Six hundred thousand,’ my tit-loving admirer counters. I don’t want to go to the man who I’ve already defied by refusing to show my chest. Knowing my luck, his first order of business will be to punish me for that act of disobedience.

‘Greedy tonight. He already has one and now he wants a second,’ the announcer chuckles.

The man who is currently driving up my price has apparently already purchased one girl tonight and now he wants me too. Call me old fashioned, but I always assumed I’d be the only slave in this type of arrangement. I thought I was signing up for the typical one man–one woman experience. This wasn’t how I imagined losing my virginity, but I certainly never pictured being part of an orgy, or whatever he had planned. It disturbs me to think that he could buy us like cattle and force us to do things to each other and him. This whole process is going from bad to worse.

I look up and to the center of the room – to the one man who’s remained completely silent so far. He crosses his ankle over his knee and leans back further in his chair, concealing his face entirely in the shadows. His casual, aloof behavior strikes something in me. I have a roomful of men bidding on my virginity, but somehow I don’t like the idea that this one man isn’t interested. Is there something wrong with me? It’s self-conscious and stupid, but something about being mostly nude in a roomful of strangers puts bizarre thoughts in your head.

No one has countered the man to my left – the one who’d called me angel and wanted to see my breasts and my stomach churns in knots. He’s offered five hundred and seventy five thousand dollars – more than enough to pay for my sister’s medical treatment, give Bill his ten percent and the money he spent on me at the salon. I should feel happy and relieved. This is what I wanted, right? But the idea of actually leaving with him and the other girl he’s bought tonight sets off a gnawing feeling inside my chest.

‘If there are no other bids…’ the announcer begins.

My windpipe threatens to close. It can’t end like this…

‘Seven hundred,’ the man directly in front of me says. His voice is smooth and rich. Deep and hypnotic somehow. I lean forward on my toes trying to see his face. The foot he’s crossed over his ankle bounces as he fidgets, the only sign he’s now engaged in this bidding war. My heart leaps in my chest, doubling its pace as I wait nervously to see what will happen.

Not being able to discern anything else in the room, I focus on his shoe. It is large, a black shiny leather, and expensive-looking dress shoe. But I suppose you have to be insanely wealthy to buy another human being for the prices these men are offering. His foot twitches again and my eyes shoot up to where I imagine his face is.

The other man grumbles something under his breath, and I catch the word overpriced. Then he barks out another bid. ‘Seven twenty-five.’

Crap. I don’t want to be part of this weirdo’s threesome fetish and I have no idea if going with Mr. Shiny Dress Shoes will be any better, but I stare straight ahead, silently pleading with him to up the bid. A dose of raw willpower keeps me steady on my feet.

‘One million dollars,’ he says after what feels like an eternity.

My head spins and I feel faint. A million dollars? For me? There is no way I’m worth that as a sex slave. Once he realizes how inexperienced I am–not just at sex, but at everything–he’ll have buyer’s remorse, and maybe even try and return me. Yet still, I hold my breath, praying that no one will outbid him. Something inside me–woman’s intuition, a gut feeling, tells me that out of all these men here tonight, I am supposed to go home with him, but the thought of actually giving myself over to one of these monsters for six months is terrifying.

I have nothing to go on but a clean, sleek, black leather shoe… but he gives off a good vibe. Maybe at the very least I’d be well taken care of. Panic threatens to overwhelm me. Breath, Soph.

‘She’s yours. No pussy’s worth that much,’ the other man bites out, shifting in his seat.

My lungs fill with oxygen as I pull in a much needed breath, filling my chest cavity.

‘Our final object up for auction has been sold. Gentlemen, thank you for your participation tonight. If you would kindly make your way to the lounge area through the rear door to finalize payments and collect your earlier purchases. Drinks are available and some in-house entertainment if you’re in the mood.’

The announcer’s voice buzzes in my head.

I’ve been sold.

Men rise from their chairs and I hear footsteps retreat as they exit the room. A door closes in the distance, leaving just my new master and me alone in the silent room.

I want to step down off the humiliating stage I’ve been made to stand on. I want my clothes. But I remain rooted in place, realizing for the first time that my actions are no longer my own.

‘Come forward,’ he commands.

I swallow and step down off the platform, my legs heavy from remaining in one spot for so long. I take slow strides across the room like I’m approaching a dangerous animal. Maybe I am. What kind of man buys a woman?

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he encourages and I take another tentative step closer, stopping directly in front of his chair. ‘Lights,’ he says to no one in particular and the overhead lights all flick on at once. Blinking several times against the sudden rush of light, my eyes remain downcast as they struggle to adjust.

Disoriented, I continue looking down, studying his shoes, which are now both resting squarely on the floor. ‘Look at me,’ he says.

I lift my chin and take in the man seated before me. Black suit. White crisp shirt. Thin black tie knotted loosely at his neck.

I inhale again, forcing another breath into my lungs and finally look into the eyes of the man who has just spent one million dollars to purchase me. Sky blue eyes fringed in heavy black lashes stare back at me, stealing the breath from my lungs. He is stunning. Tall, fit, and attractive. Confusion washes over me. What is a man like this doing here? He could walk into any bar in America and pick up a girl easily enough. My stomach twists in recognition. That can only mean that his tastes are peculiar enough that he requires complete obedience. He’ll want things no normal girl would do. Oh god, I feel like I’m going to pass out. I can’t let this attractive monster lure me in.

‘Just breathe,’ he says, calming my fears.

I obey like a good little slave, opening my mouth and sucking in air greedily.

‘That’s it,’ he says soothingly, his own posture relaxing just slightly. ‘What should I call you?’

It’s an interesting way to phrase the question. He didn’t ask me for my name. Maybe he’s assuming I’ll give him a fake identity. And I probably would have if I’d been thinking clearly. Instead I whisper, ‘Sophie.’ As soon as it’s off my lips, I momentarily regret giving him my real name. But then I realize I’ll be living with him for six months and I don’t think I can keep up with the lie of a fake identity that entire time. I’ll already be lying to my family and friends about where I am. No sense making this even more difficult on myself.

He tilts his head to the side, continuing to study me. ‘Call me Drake,’ he says finally. I wonder if Drake is his real name.

Just when I’m beginning to think he’s going to make me stand here all night, he rises from the chair. Having his full height in front of me is daunting. I’m average height, and he’s at least a foot taller than me, well over six feet. I stagger back a step.

‘Come with me.’ He turns and heads toward the exit and like an obedient pet, I follow closely behind him.

When we reach the steel door I entered through just thirty minutes before, it feels like I’m exiting as a whole different person. Drake turns to face me before opening the door. ‘Would you like my jacket?’

I look down at myself – at my pale blue panties that now feel childish and my hands which haven’t strayed from my breasts. I nod weakly.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he’s even more muscular than I first realized. His tailored dress shirt clings to his broad shoulders and defined chest. It sends a ripple of fear through my gut. Yes, he’s attractive, but he’s also strong. Which means I’ll stand zero chance of defending myself against him if he gets too rough.

Ignoring my visual inspection of his body, he places the jacket over my shoulders, closing the lapels over my chest and buttoning the first button. I thought he might demand to see me – to inspect me for himself, but he only seems concerned with getting us the hell out of here. Which is fine by me.

Once I’m covered by the jacket, I let my hands fall away and lower my arms, my stiff joints crying out from being in the same position for so long. My arms hang uselessly at my sides and I follow him out into the hall. As grateful as I am for his jacket, I can’t mistake this first bit of kindness from him for more than it is. He doesn’t want other men’s eyes on something he’s just purchased for himself.

We pass several others on the way out and I keep my eyes on Drake’s shoes as I follow him down the hall, a false sense of security settling over me.

Chapter Two

Sophie

He stops outside the dressing room I used earlier. ‘Are your clothes in there?’

I nod and mumble an unintelligible reply.

‘Get dressed,’ he commands, his tone smooth.

I duck my head and push my way inside the small changing room. Once inside, I cannot keep my eyes from darting toward the mirror where I stood applying mascara just a short time ago. I can already see that the girl looking back at me is someone different. The black suit coat swallows me up, proclaiming me to belong to someone other than myself.

I shrug it off my shoulders, but not before taking a second to appreciate the fine feel of the feather light wool between my fingers and the crisp scent of cologne lightly permeating the fabric. There’s something masculine and evocative about the jacket and I can’t help but think about his deeper meaning behind dressing me in it. Like a dog marking his territory with his scent.

Shaking the thought away, I fold the jacket neatly and step into my clothes – a pair of jeans, and a long sleeved cotton top, paired with ballet flats. I feel marginally better once I’m back in my old clothes. Stuffing my makeup bag into my purse, I loop it across my body and turn toward the mirror. I take one last look in the mirror, mentally preparing myself to face him again, and say a silent goodbye to the girl standing before me.

I pause at the doorway, my hand resting on the knob. It’s now or never. I can either go and find Bill, beg to be let out of this contract, and deal with the consequences, or I can walk out of this room, and accept what I have to do. Either way, I know my life is going to change.

Straightening my spine and stealing an anxious breath into my lungs, I push open the door.

I meet Drake in the hall where he’s standing waiting for me with a bored expression.

I feel his eyes quickly survey my new ensemble and I suddenly feel underdressed next to this wealthy and powerful man with his expensive suit and shiny shoes. He takes the jacket from me and begins walking toward the exit without a word. I’m expected to follow, so I do.

Once in the parking lot behind the building, I scan the few cars left in the lot, trying to memorize their license plates just in case he turns out to be a psycho – at least I’ll have some piece of information to go to the police with, since I’m pretty sure his real name’s not Drake.

The motorcycle he stops beside is unexpected and causes a little ripple of fear to cascade through me.

Drake puts his suit coat in the compartment under the seat and removes an extra helmet for me. His thumb smoothes away the worry line etched across my forehead. ‘You’ll be safe,’ he says, and places the helmet on my head. The weight of it against my scalp is foreign. This will be my first time on a motorcycle. Apparently I’m in for a lot of firsts tonight.

After securing his own helmet, he climbs on the bike and holds out his hand to help me. The warmth of his large palm against my own startles me. I swallow a wave of nerves, then I swing one leg over the seat and position myself behind him. The angle of the narrow seat causes me to slide forward until my chest is pressed against his back. There’s no room for anything but close contact between us. The intimacy is unsettling.

I briefly wonder if he’s designed it this way – bringing his bike rather than a car to show me right from the beginning that I have no control and to get used to close physical contact. Because surely a man who could spend one million dollars owns a car – if not several. Something in his quiet and serious nature tells me everything he does is deliberate and my mind is cataloging all of these things to piece together the puzzle of the man to whom I now belong to.

He kick starts the bike and my arms fly around his middle. I feel his chest rumble and I’m pretty sure he just chuckled at my response.

We pick up speed as he takes the on-ramp for the highway and the chilly night air rushing past my face cools the heat that lingers between our two bodies. I squeeze my eyes closed in an attempt to escape the panicky feeling rising in my chest, but all it does is make my motion sickness kick in and I open my eyes once again. He accelerates and I cling to him desperately, linking my fingers in front of his abdomen.

Just as I’m praying we don’t have a long trip on this bike, he begins to slow and I look up to see that we’re on a service drive in the middle of a dark field. My senses are on high alert as I wonder what we’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere.

I never imagined we’d fly somewhere, so when we pull up alongside a small private jet parked on an abandoned airstrip, bitter acid burns its way up my throat.

Panic zips through my veins at the thought of leaving everything I know behind. Even my zip code, which had never really meant that much to me, suddenly feels like something that defines me, is being ripped away.

Without so much as a carry-on bag, I follow him up the narrow set of stairs leading into the belly of the plane. It’s a small private jet with a sleek, sophisticated interior. A cluster of four leather captain’s chairs flank the center and Drake slides down into one near the window. Unsure of where to sit, I sit down in the chair across from him. The leather is inviting and supple under my fingers and I relax just a little into the seat and take in my surroundings. Night has fallen quickly and it’s almost completely dark outside. The interior of the jet is illuminated by little LED lights lining the pathway on the carpeting giving off a faint glow.

Drake lifts a glass decanter from a nearby table and pours a few measures of amber liquor into a crystal tumbler, then takes a long sip. He licks his full lower lip and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the plush leather seat.

There’s no overhead announcement, no safety demonstration, and no warning. All of a sudden the jet’s engines roar to life and we’re barreling down the runway. I fumble with the buckle on my seatbelt, latching it just as we take flight. I can feel Drake’s eyes on me, watching me curiously, but I don’t dare lift my gaze.

When I finally look up, Drake’s poured a glass of the alcohol for me and is holding it toward me. ‘It might help.’

I’m not much of a drinker – and especially straight liquor – but I know he’s right. I have no idea what he has planned for me, and this will probably be the only opportunity I have for pain management if I’m going to lose my virginity later.

He seems so calm and in control, it makes me wonder what might be lurking under the surface of that composed demeanor and expensive suit. A warm shiver races through me and I take a long sip of the drink, welcoming the burning path the liquor creates down my throat.

Colton

Tonight has been an absolute fucking debacle. One million dollars was more than I’d wanted to spend and more importantly, I didn’t want a virgin. I’d wanted one of the older, more independent girls who’d done this type of thing before. Not someone I’d have to handhold and train every step of the way. Something tells me Sophie is going to take more time and work than I’ve bargained for.

I release a heavy sigh, and take a long swallow of bourbon, letting it warm a path down my throat. The dull roar of the jet engine is giving me a headache and I pour another measure into my glass.

I glance over at the girl, she’s finished her drink, and the way she’s huddled into the leather chair – her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around them –screams of her discomfort. Her eyes are closed as though she’s trying to summon her inner strength for whatever is about to come her way. I can already tell this isn’t going to go well. Fuck.

I’d only outbid that asshole who wanted her because he’d gotten the girl I had picked out. She was closer to my own age – twenty eight, and this was her third time entering into this type of relationship. She was tried and tested and would have made a good drama-free companion. But that prick had been the one to take her home, so when he started bidding on Sophie, outbidding him was my way of giving the asshole a taste of his own medicine. Plus, he just seemed like a dirt-bag and I didn’t want him to have her. The little boy inside me wanted to take his toy and go home. Of course, the terrified, timid girl sitting across from me is now mine to deal with, so maybe I hadn’t exactly thought that plan through.

And a virgin too…would she even be capable of handling me? I hadn’t wanted a project – someone to babysit and go slow with. But shit, I’m the one in control. There’s no real reason to go slow. I can set the pace of this. And I will.

As I continue studying her, my cock perks up in interest. She’s petite, but with all the rounded curves a woman’s body should have. Soft moldable tits and an ass meant for grabbing onto. Or spanking. Her skin is creamy and pale, except for the apples of her cheeks which are flushed pink. Long dark hair hangs loose over one shoulder. My gaze travels north and I realize her blue eyes have lifted to mine. She’s watching me expectantly, obviously wondering what will happen next. Good fucking question.

I have no idea why I told her to call me Drake. Actually, I do. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that my employees call me Mr. Drake and hearing her call me Colton would feel too familiar. Too intimate. That isn’t what this connection is about. It’s business. Pure and simple. The business of my dick getting some much overdue attention and having a steady female companion without the hassle of navigating the dating scene. Get your head in the fucking game, Colt.

Sophie

The plane safely touches down after only about thirty minutes or so, and once again, we climb on Drake’s motorcycle, which I learn has been stored in the bulk luggage compartment underneath the plane. Darkness has fallen all around us, which fits my slightly buzzed and melancholy mood. I want to hide in the night shadows and pretend that none of this is real.

While I hold on to him for dear life, he expertly navigates us down the highway, the single headlight illuminating our path. I pay close attention to the passing signs. We are near Los Angeles – a place I’ve never been. Soon he takes an exit for Malibu and once we’re on the surface streets, my heart begins pounding. We’re nearing our destination and I have no idea what’s in store for me.

When we pull up to the gated drive, Drake stops the bike to punch some buttons on the key pad, and I peer around his shoulder, eager for a look at what will be my new home for the next six months. It can’t really be described as a home…it’s a full on mansion, complete with a stone drive leading up to a sprawling estate.

Little twinkling lights illuminate our path and provide me with just enough light to make my jaw drop open at what I can see. The house is stucco in the color of warm honey and two huge columns flank the rich mahogany front door. Drake cruises right on past the front of the house and parks beside a six-stall garage before cutting the ignition.

Here we go.

Butterflies take flight in my belly as he leads me toward the house. We navigate a winding stone path lit with landscape lighting toward a side entrance. I suppose it makes sense we aren’t going all the way around to the massive front doors. That entrance is probably only used for guests, yet it’s too strange to think that I live here now, that I’m not just a visiting guest.

I wonder if he’s just going to leave his bike parked outside all night, but then realize he probably has someone on staff to pull it into the garage. I can’t imagine he’d have a home this large and not have people hired to help him take care of it. I doubt he personally dusts the knick-knacks in the one hundred rooms, or however many this monstrosity has.

We enter through the glass-covered side door into what appears to be the world’s finest mud-room. Tall pale wood lockers reach from floor to ceiling, a wire basket of umbrellas, a large tufted bench with a few pillows artfully arranged and a large area rug to cover the marble floors.

He tosses his suit coat and the helmets onto the bench and continues toward the hall. My eyes scan everything as I trail behind him.

‘Front entry,’ he says, pointing to the darkened foyer that’s even more impressive than I imagined. Dual winding staircases meet at the base of the foyer where there’s a round table sporting a huge vase of pink peony blossoms. They smell incredible. Like sunshine and happiness. It seems like a girly touch, but I shrug off the thought. Again, I’m sure it wasn’t chosen by him. Then again, I can’t imagine anything in his world that he doesn’t exercise complete control over.

‘Formal living room,’ he points to the left, not even bothering to turn on a light or enter the room he’s indicated. It looks cavernous and anything but welcoming with stiff, modern furniture. I struggle to take in every detail as he continues moving.

I realize he’s giving me a tour, but it’s rushed and impersonal. For someone who owns such a spectacular mansion, it seems like he’d take a little more pride in showing it off. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on what.

He points out several more rooms, a cold dining room with a humongous table, a darkened library filled with books I get the sense he doesn’t care about, and rarely bothers to read. ‘It’s a beautiful library,’ I murmur. I want to run my fingertips along the dusty spines and go hunting for a treasure to read.

A look of dark emotion flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away, his carefully composed mask safely returning, before leading me away.

‘Where do you spend your time?’

My question stops him in his tracks and he turns to face me, his eyes focused on mine. He studies me for a moment as if trying to decide why I want this information. Call me crazy, but knowing a few details about the man I’m now living with and expected to service might be a teensy bit helpful, and so far this tour and his home have revealed nothing. He tips his head toward a far corridor. ‘This way.’

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so nosy, because now as he leads me further into the belly of the house, all my fears rush to the surface. Does he have some weird sex room like Christian Grey’s red room of pain?

He opens the door to a large office, complete with an executive style mahogany desk, black leather chair, charcoal gray sofa, and a mini bar built into the far wall. This room has a cozy feel to it with its rich wood furniture, plush carpeting and the subtle scent of his cologne that I smelled earlier. A set of glass doors lead out to a balcony. ‘Out here.’ He motions me forward as he crosses the room.

He opens the glass door and steps out onto a large deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean and I am stunned into speechlessness. The soft whoosh of waves in the background and the gentle breeze blowing my hair back from my face are immediately calming.

I can see why the opulent rooms of the house don’t interest him. This is like a private oasis out here. Two wooden lounge chairs outfitted with comfy looking cushions and a small round table nesting between them are the only pieces of furniture, but it’s perfect. Anything more would clutter the space.

He lets me take in the peaceful setting, and when he breaks the silence a moment later, it temporarily startles me. ‘You’ll probably discover I work too much.’ He points toward the office. ‘And I come out here to unwind.’

I nod in silent acknowledgment. It might not be much, but he’s exposed a small piece of himself, and I tuck the knowledge away. He’s a workaholic and perhaps a contemplative man, spending his time alone with the sounds of the water to keep him company.

We head back inside and Drake completes the tour – there’s an outdoor swimming pool and garden that I only peek at through the window, as well as a home gym one level down.

Finally he leads me into a den with huge windows that overlook the ocean and has a sectional couch and large flat screen TV mounted above a fireplace.

‘This is it,’ he says, somberly.

All this just for him? It must get lonely.

He stands in silence studying me for what feels like too long. Realizing that the tour is over, my eyes fall to the floor. Are we going to have sex now? Here in the den? I imagined it’d be in his bedroom, but I suppose this is better than a weird sex dungeon or some other strange alternative. I have no idea what his interests and preferences are, but I suppose I’m about to learn. My heart thuds dully in my chest.

‘Eyes up,’ he orders again.

There’s something he dislikes about my refusal to meet his eyes. Is he ashamed he bought me? It’s as though he wants to pretend all this is normal. I’ll play along. For now. I don’t know what he is capable of, and I don’t want to anger him. I meet his gaze. What I see is an intense man – his dark eyes speak of pain and past trauma, and someone fighting to practice restraint - if the tick in his jaw is any evidence.

‘You don’t have to be so skittish around me. I’m not going to hurt you, sweetness.’

I draw a fortifying breath. I want to believe him. His tone is sincere, as is the nickname, and the way he’s gazing over at me feels non-threatening, but still, all my senses are on high alert. I need to keep myself on guard until I have my bearings.

‘Come sit down.’ He crosses the room and sits in the center of the large gray sectional sofa.

I sit down in the spot next to him, my breathing erratic. I should thank him for the money but I don’t know his intentions. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just new to this whole sex slave thing,’ I say instead.

He runs one hand through his hair, looking deep in thought. ‘Yeah, me too.’

‘I’m your first?’

‘Something like that.’ He grins at me and my belly flips.

‘I’m not sure how it works…or what to expect,’ I admit.

‘Would it put you at ease if I explained some things to you?’

I nod, and fold my hands in my lap.

‘I’m a busy man, Sophie. I run two companies and have little time to pursue extra- curricular activities. You’re here to satisfy my physical cravings – to take care of my needs. I will satisfy your financial needs. Half of the money is being transferred into your account tonight and as long as you remain with me and comply to the contract, you will receive the remaining balance at the end of the six months. Your discretion is very important to me. I know you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement, but I need your word that you’ll tell no one about our arrangement.’ His eyes lift to mine. ‘Not even your best friend. No one.’

The thought of telling Becca the truth about what I’ve done never even crossed my mind. ‘I won’t. I don’t want anyone knowing about this either.’ I knew I’d need to explain the money somehow, but I figured I could tell my family it was from an anonymous donor at the hospital. The first installment – five hundred thousand, minus what I owed Bill, will be in my account tomorrow. It’s more than enough to pay for Becca’s treatment. The fleeting idea of ditching him once I have the money crosses through my brain. But realizing there’ll be no way I could ever pay him back, I know I need to fulfill my end of the contract.

‘Good. We’ll need to craft a story for the public, friends and families about why you’re here, but as long as you prove to be trustworthy, there’s no reason I can’t give you some of the freedoms of a normal life. In the meantime, you’re free to use the house as your own – the pool, gardens, and gym are all open to you.’

I nod again. I wonder if I’d be free to leave the premises and go for a jog, but for now I keep my lips sealed. I don’t want to push my luck the first night. Besides, if he is the vindictive type, once he knows that’s important to me, he could hold it over my head as punishment. I look up at the giant television screen in front of us and wonder what he intends for the rest of the night.

‘What do you want?’ I murmur, gathering my courage. It’s better to know what’s coming at me, so I have a chance to mentally prepare.

His eyes wander over to mine and he smirks. ‘I want what all men want when they spend a cool mil for a virgin.’

Oh god. It’s happening tonight. I hadn’t even had time to prepare. I’m still tender from my waxing. I wonder if he’ll give me an extra day or two if I tell him.

‘I want a cold beer and to watch the sports highlights,’ he finishes.

All the air rushes from my lungs in a whoosh. ‘That’s all?’

Still watching my reaction, he lifts one dark brow. ‘Honestly, I’d love a blowjob, but considering the mistrust in your eyes, I’m not sure having your teeth that close to my dick would be the wisest decision.’

‘I wouldn’t…’

‘You wouldn’t what? Blow me? That’s part of the agreement, sweetness, and if you tell me you don’t like sucking cock, we’re going to have a problem.’

‘No, I meant I wouldn’t bite you.’ I’m not a violent person.

He smiles at me, his full lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. Apparently that news has made him happy. He looks friendly and relaxed when he smiles at me like that and I imagine him being a regular guy – someone I’d meet out at a bar and flirt with. I’d let him buy me a drink and fantasize about kissing those soft lips as we spoke. Blinking several times, I realize I’ve been watching his mouth for too long and my eyes dart back up to his.

His smile fades and his hands go to his belt buckle, unlatching the silver clasp with a soft click and sliding it free. Seeing the thick leather belt in his hands makes me nervous. I don’t know his sexual tastes – will he want to restrain and whip me? But he drops the belt to the floor and pops open the button on his pants, then slides down the zipper, all the while keeping those intense blue eyes on mine.

My heart hammers in my chest. Holy shit. This is really going to happen. I’m going to give a blowjob to a complete stranger.

‘On your knees.’ His voice is rough and filled with an edge of desire.

With my pulse thrumming wildly at the base of my throat, my body obeys his command, moving from the couch to the floor to kneel between his feet. Having removed his shoes, I notice his feet are long and narrow and encased in black silk socks.

Pushing his dress pants down his hips, his hand disappears under the fabric of his black boxer briefs. His stormy blue eyes hold mine while he strokes the growing bulge, as he seems to wordlessly inquire if this is okay.

What choice do I have? I can’t have him returning me. I give him an imperceptible nod. And god, the truth is, I’m curious. What is wrong with me that I want to know if his cock is as glorious as the rest of him?

Placing one palm against my cheek, he guides me closer and bends his head to mine, letting our lips touch just briefly. The gesture is unexpectedly tender. I draw a shuddering breath and part my lips, wetting them with my tongue and he presses forward again, tasting the moisture I’ve left on my bottom lip. His lips are soft and generous, and he pulls my bottom lip slightly into his mouth and sucks gently before sliding his tongue against mine.

His kiss is cautious and slow, like he’s testing me – checking for my reaction. I remain still, letting him explore, and carefully return his kiss, my tongue reaching out to lick against his.

I’d be lying if I said having his hot mouth on mine didn’t affect me. I’m warm and flustered knowing his hand remains tucked inside his boxers stroking himself while his tongue strokes mine. My entire body feels alive with energy.

Just when I’m ready for more he breaks away from the kiss, leaving my lips damp and swollen. The hand cupping my cheek moves to pull his boxers down and he lifts his cock free from the material, letting it rest against his belly. I venture a glance down.

Sacred mother of everything holy, that is one giant cock.

It reaches all the way to his belly button, and is as thick as my arm. I can’t possibly be expected to fit that in my mouth. Suddenly his fears about me biting him seem a very real possibility. I’ll need to unhinge my jaw to accommodate that thing. He remains still, letting me take my fill. I open my mouth to protest, but his hand moves to the back of my neck, guiding me closer.

‘Come here, Sophie,’ he breathes my name, the sound of it on his lips both foreign and enticing. The warm weight of his palm on my nape sends little fractures of heat spiraling down the back of my neck and spine. Still holding me close, he adjusts himself, freeing his balls from the briefs next so all of him is exposed. They are large, round and smooth. Everything about him is so intensely male and perfect, it’s hard not to react.

My body pulses with electric heat, as feelings I never imagined I’d have course through me. Interest. Desire. Lust.

He’s attractive, fit and intelligent. There’s nothing about him, at least physically, not to like, but he bought me for heaven’s sake. I should feel repulsed, not excited and slightly turned on.

He watches me expectantly and I lift his heavy cock away from where it rests against his tight abdominal muscles and lower my head to his lap, my tongue darting out to taste the tip of him. He releases a small grunt of satisfaction and tightens his grip against the back of my neck, urging me closer.

Curling my fist around the base of him, I work my tongue up and down his length, coating him in my saliva so my hand can easily slide up and down. I’ll never be able to fit all of him in my mouth, so using my hands too is a necessity.

A softly murmured curse urges me on. My free hand reaches beneath to gently cup and massage his balls. A warm drop of fluid escapes him and I swipe my tongue against his tip, capturing the bead of salty fluid and swallow it down. Drake’s murmured grunt urges me on.

Keeping up my suction around the head of his cock, I ease open my jaw, trying to fit as much of him as I can into my mouth. While my mouth takes him in, I use both hands to firmly stroke the neglected half of his generous length.

‘Oh fuck,’ Drake growls. ‘That’s it, just like that,’ his deep voice rumbles in his chest. Warmth and moisture flood my panties and I commit myself fully, sucking, licking and stroking to the best of my ability.

Confusion snaps to the forefront of my brain. No part of me should be enjoying this, but I feel powerful and desirable making this gorgeous man come apart.

His hand tightens in my hair, causing my scalp to tingle and he pulls my mouth away, taking his enormous cock in his hand and stroking it in short, uneven strokes. My core clenches at the sight of him.

‘Open your mouth,’ he moans. I do as I’m told, opening wide for him. ‘Let me see your tongue.’ I stick out my tongue and he places the head of his cock against it as his fist continues pumping. His eyes fall closed and his head drops back against the sofa. ‘Oh fuck, sweetness,’ he growls as a low rumble vibrates in his chest. ‘That feels so fucking good.’ Watching us once again, he keeps stroking himself, his pace erratic and his eyes dark with lust. ‘Your mouth looks so pretty on my cock.’

I fight the urge to close my mouth around him and suck, but instead remain kneeling before him, my mouth open, waiting to catch his come. Seconds later, warm drops of semen spurt onto my outstretched tongue.

He watches as the last of his release lands in my waiting mouth. I swallow and sit back on my heels while he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls up the zipper. ‘I’d say you passed your first test.’ His tone is one of pleasant surprise.

Some strange part of me feels proud. I tell myself it was only because I want to make sure he doesn’t return me and request a refund. But our shared erotic experience has left me shaken and feeling vulnerable. There’s no denying that a part of me enjoyed that – enjoyed his fist tightening in my hair and hearing him voice his pleasure when he climaxed. And my damp panties and pounding heart signal that I’m not ready for the night to be over. Feelings of shame slam against me. I shouldn’t have enjoyed any part of that. God, what was wrong with me?

Drake rises from the couch and strides from the room without a backward glance, leaving me sitting alone on the carpeting.

Several moments later I hear sounds coming from a nearby room and since I know it’s just me and him in the house, I go to investigate.

I find him in the kitchen, a bottle of beer lifted to his lips and the thick column of his throat moving as he swallows long gulps of the icy liquid.

The kitchen is immaculate. My eyes wander from the elegant white and grey marbled countertops to the rich wood cabinets to the state of the art stainless steel appliances gleaming all shiny and new. A large basket sits atop the island overflowing with baguettes, heads of garlic, lemons and what I assume are pomegranates. I wonder if he likes to cook.

‘You want anything to eat?’ he asks, lowering the bottle, but still not turning to face me.

‘No thanks.’ I haven’t eaten, but food is the last thing on my mind. ‘Maybe just some water,’ I answer.

He shoots me a knowing grin and my cheeks heat. Yes, I need to wash the taste of his semen from my mouth and apparently we are both thinking it. He grabs a bottle of water from the large commercial grade double door stainless steel refrigerator and twists off the cap before handing it to me.

‘Thanks,’ I murmur, taking a long sip. I feel the cool water sink to the bottom of my empty belly. It’s refreshing and crisp. My first bit of peace since this whole evening started. I drain half of the bottle while gazing around the kitchen.

I spot a block of knives near the eight-burner gas stove and an errant thought passes through my brain. I could hurt him and escape. But why would I do that? He’s given me exactly what I wanted. Instead I finish my water in silence while he continues to watch me curiously.

Colton

This wasn’t a first date – there wasn’t an order to adhere to. There was no need to round first base and kiss her like that before she sucked my cock. She is mine to do with what I please. I could have fucked her in the ass on the kitchen table if I’d wanted. And believe me, the thought crossed my mind. When I’d watched her bend over my bike and set the helmet on the seat, I wanted to bite into her ass like an apple. Then take her plump cheeks into my hands and drive forward into the center of them, maybe smack her ass too for making me have such depraved thoughts. Instead I’d acted like a concerned boyfriend, kissing her lips and making sure she was in the right frame of mind before using her for my pleasure. And fuck, her mouth had been perfect. Warm and soft and eager to please. I guess knowing someone had just paid a small fortune for your company ensured good service.

Coming on her tongue wasn’t enough. After, I’d wanted to strip her naked and fuck her hard, ending by jerking off on her tits to mark her and show her she was mine. But there’ll be time for that later.

I want to know her story. She seems like a nice, normal girl – too nice for the sick shit I’m pulling her into. But her reasons for being here aren’t my concern. Just like my reasons for obtaining her aren’t any of hers. She doesn’t need to know my past, the only things she needs to know are that I like my cock sucked regularly, I have a healthy appetite for sex and not to disturb me when I’m working. And I need to remember she’s here for one purpose. If so, this arrangement will work out fine, and leave us both satisfied.

‘Let’s go to bed, tomorrow will be a long day and you’ll need your rest.’

Her skittish blue eyes dart to mine again and she nods tentatively. She wants to know when I’m going to fuck her. I guess she’ll have to wait and see.

Chapter Three

Sophie

Once upstairs we pass by several doors and continue on down the long hall. When we reach the master bedroom, I grow quiet, taking it all in. The room is huge, with a king sized bed and an upholstered headboard, tables with lamps, and a chaise lounge chair in front of a gas fireplace. The décor is contemporary and simple in tones of light gray and cream with splashes of blue as accents. Everything looks brand new.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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