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  “If that’s what you want to call it,” I hissed, but her eyes remained wide in their gratitude.

  “I know these sixty days are whatever you want them to be, and I don’t care. I just want you to know that I’m grateful. Grateful you came for me.” She paused. “I’m really surprised you were there… that you cared… I thought I was alone…”

  Oh, how hard I pinched her face in my fingers, puffing up her teary cheeks like a desperate little chipmunk as I leaned in close.

  She flinched as I laughed.

  “I care about my investment, nothing more. You’re a product and I’m the owner. Don’t for a second make the mistake of thinking I’m a man who cares a shit for the dirty little girls on his payroll.”

  She couldn’t disguise the hurt. It burned through her eyes. “Thank you anyway, sir,” she said, and there was that fucking softness in her tone again.

  There was no softness in mine as I barked out the orders.

  “Strip out of those filthy fucking clothes and show me the damage.” I let go of her cheeks with a shove, eye contact broken.

  Her fingers were dithery as she wrestled to tug her dress up and over her head from her kneeling position. She cast it to the side without a sound, then tugged her bra up and over her head without even reaching for the clasp.

  Those perky little tits were a delight, rising and falling with her breaths as she squirmed to pull her leggings down and off along with her shoes. Her knickers came with them, and she adjusted herself, rising higher on her scuffed knees and dropping the rest of the scrappy clothing onto the pile.

  How I admired that battered little body kneeling naked for me.

  Her eyes tried to follow mine as I circled her. My mouth watered at the yellowing bruises on her thighs and ass, belt come good.

  “If you want to help your sister, you’ll do as you’re fucking told,” I told her. “I don’t want to hear another peep out of your pretty little mouth about her until your days are done, understand me?”

  She twisted just enough to feast on my stare, unable to hold back the horror. I didn’t give her time to think.

  “Understand?” I barked. “You want the money to help the skanky bitch out of shit, then you’d better get earning it.”

  “But, sir…” she began and I cursed over her.

  “Under fucking stand?”

  A tiny nod. Finally. “Yes, sir.”

  “Hands behind your head,” I said, and she did as she was told, her fingers clasped daintily at her nape, thighs straining to hold her high. “This is how you wait for me, always.” I kicked out at her feet and nudged them wider. She shuffled her knees apart, and the outline of her puffy pussy lips was a welcome sight. “You always offer me that hungry little cunt,” I said. “No matter how much I make it hurt.”

  Another tiny nod. “Yes, sir.”

  She dared to look around her, taking in the space, and I noticed the setup of the room along with her.

  I had jackets hung up on the wardrobe door and a row of shoes at the bottom of the four poster. I had toiletries on the dresser and an empty suitcase standing in the corner beyond.

  This was no room for dirty little bitches in for sixty days of filth. This wasn’t a caged-in playpen with a wall of cameras waiting to feast on pain. This was me. My space. My personal quarters.

  And she knew it.

  It was written all over her face, like childish wonder. The unspoken knowing that she was out of place here. A witness to a world she had no business being a part of.

  Time to remedy that as quickly as fucking possible.

  I grabbed a pen from the dresser and pulled the freshly printed paperwork from my inside pocket.

  She didn’t attempt to move her hands as I held page one up for her viewing. I watched her eyes scanning the text until she reached the bottom, then switched the pages.

  If she was taken aback at the strength of the contract she didn’t show it. She was silent as she read through the agreement, taking just a short, sharp breath as the signatory page appeared.

  “Once you sign this contract, you’re all in for sixty days,” I reiterated. “No safe words, no rethinking, no asking for release.”

  “I understand, sir,” she said.

  I offered her the pen and she took it in shaking fingers.

  They didn’t stop her signing. Her signature was a sweeping flourish on the dotted line. Signed, sealed and delivered.

  I couldn’t hold back the smile as I slipped the completed document back in my jacket pocket.

  She was mine.

  Mine to tease. Mine to torture. Mine to push through every fucking boundary she’d ever know.

  The glint in my eyes reflected back at me in the dresser mirror as I pulled her to her feet and slammed her into the bottom bedpost. Her whimpers were raspy as I pressed up behind her and breathed hard into her ear.

  “Welcome to your sixty days, little girl,” I hissed. “Let’s get fucking started.”

  Chapter Three

  Paige

  I was out of options. Shuddering as he pinned me to the bedpost.

  I felt battered and bruised, both inside and out. Wobbly legs and a wobbly spine, fighting the urge to break down and sob for mercy.

  Yet my skin burned for more of him. More of his weight, more of his heat, more of his punishment.

  Because it was true. In the pit of me. Deep enough that it hurt.

  I wanted whatever he had to give.

  “Girls around me earn their money,” he said. “They always think it comes easy, so much money for two short months. But it doesn’t. Fuck, how it doesn’t. Nothing around me ever does.”

  I nodded, conveying understanding, even though his words were unnecessary.

  The details on the contract were still blurring and tumbling through my brain. Non-disclosure. No opt out. No physical boundaries bar the guarantee of long-term health at the end of it.

  His arm wrapped around my stomach and his fingers slipped downward. I shuffled my legs apart on instinct as he curled his fingers between them, taking a breath as two pushed their way in deep.

  “Did those druggie cunts dare to touch you?” he asked, and I nodded. “Did any of them fuck one of your pretty little holes?”

  This time I shook my head. “No, sir,” I managed. “You came in time. Just in time.”

  “Just as well I made a fucking appearance then, isn’t it?” he whispered and ground his fingers in circles. “Tell me, slut, is it me or them that made your filthy pussy so nice and fucking wet this evening?”

  I hated myself.

  Hated my messed up desires, even in the face of devastation.

  Hated how my entire body was racked with shame as he worked the right spot with his thumb and sent me reeling.

  “I asked you a fucking question,” he said, and I fought back the prick of fresh tears.

  “You,” I said. “I’m wet for you, sir.”

  “Hungry for pleasure, little girl?” His breath was against my ear, fingers working too hard for me to fight the thrill.

  I tried to shake my head. Tried to defend the dregs of my goodness and hold onto the ray of light of my better nature. But it was pointless.

  My body was a traitor. The darkness in my soul was seeping through every crack in me.

  I whimpered as he dragged his tongue up my cheek. “I love the taste of guilty want,” he said. “And believe me, you dirty little slut, I’ll be feasting on plenty of it before your time here is done.”

  I groaned as he pushed a third finger inside me, pushing back against the weight of him. He didn’t move an inch.

  “I could make you come in an instant,” he told me. “I could drag the pleasure right out of you here and now, kicking and screaming against your pounding little good-girl heart.”

  My breaths picked up in pace. His thumb was just too good. His fingers curled to stretch me, pressing tight enough to hit the tender spot. And it hurt. It fucking hurt.

  I could feel the length of him against my bar
e ass through his suit trousers. A monster with a monster. The swell of him big enough to give me palpitations.

  “Is that what you want, little girl? Do you want to come for me?”

  My body answered for me. I couldn’t stop the way I moved for him, lips parting for more as I pushed against his pistoning fingers.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, sir.”

  And just like that, in one single beat, he was out of me. He twisted me in one movement and my back pressed against the pole of the bedpost so hard it thumped my spine. His face was close enough that I was breathing his breaths, his grip savage as his fingers wrapped around my throat.

  “Good girls always say please,” he said, but didn’t leave me time to recover my manners.

  I tried to take a breath but it was nothing more than a rasp, my eyes widening on his. My hands rose but stopped before they landed on his, dithering in mid-air as he tightened his grip.

  “Don’t even think about fighting me,” he said, and against my survival instinct I forced my hands back to my sides.

  I expected panic there. A rush of adrenaline, driving me to burst away. But there was nothing.

  Nothing but defeat.

  Only it wasn’t defeat. Not really.

  It was acceptance.

  Calm.

  Freedom.

  My mouth dropped open as my eyes held firm on his, my shoulders slumping and the rest of my body following suit as I gave the bedpost my full weight.

  “That’s better,” he hissed, and his voice was so far away.

  Until it wasn’t.

  My lungs knew his grip was gone before my brain did. I sucked in breath in one long burst, and the oxygen pulsed behind my eyes.

  I was still gulping in breath when he thrust two fingers in my open mouth and forced them deep. My retch was right from my gut.

  “You’ll learn soon enough that submission is the only option,” he told me, but I didn’t have a response. I gagged on his fingers, eyes watering as he thrust them down my throat again and again. “Fucking take it,” he said, and I tried. I really tried.

  I was a slobbering mess, spit dribbling from my open mouth as my tears flowed down my cheeks. I tried to suck but managed nothing but choked gargles, fighting the urge to spew all over my bare tits and his posh suit.

  “Your slut mouth has a fuck ton to learn,” he said, and the embarrassment burned through me.

  There was nowhere much to move for a better position, but I tried anyway, straightening taller as he kept his fingers deep.

  “I said fucking take it,” he told me, and I strained to relax my throat. His fingers were hot, thick. My mouth made horrible wet noises.

  I retched all over again as he pulled his hand away, spilling spit and bile over his hand and down my tits.

  “You have quite a gag reflex,” he said, wiping his hand across my face. I managed a nod. “That is something we shall soon be remedying.”

  I didn’t doubt it. Had no doubt whatsoever that a man with such power would surpass my wildest expectations for pushing my soul beyond its limits and my body along with it.

  I was tired. Aching. Shaking before him. Vulnerable in my nakedness.

  I was nothing like the girl who prided herself as being so closed down to the outside world around the college campus. Nothing like the girl who’d sworn to herself to stand strong in the face of whatever life may throw her way.

  His dark smile told me he knew it.

  “Knees,” he said, and I didn’t struggle, just dropped heavily down to the carpet with my face level with his swollen crotch.

  I wondered if this would be it. The moment I’d taste him. The moment my throat would choke down a whole new challenge and my gag reflex would take its next pounding.

  But no.

  His hand landed on my head and brushed my straggled hair back from my damp forehead with surprising tenderness. My eyes flicked up to his, face tipped high.

  “It always pays to be a good girl around me,” he told me, and brushed his thumb across my bottom lip.

  I wanted to buckle against his bulk and beg him to show me what being a good girl meant. Beg him to take my all in exchange for saving my sister.

  Beg him all over again to let me call her.

  But he stepped away.

  “This is a position you’ll do well to learn,” he said. “You stay right here, on your knees, hands clasped neatly behind your back until I come for you.” He paused. “You do nothing without my permission. Not one fucking thing in this space. Do you understand?”

  I managed a little nod. “Yes, sir.”

  My voice sounded weird and thick. My throat vibrating like his fingers were still deep.

  “From this point on, you only exist in my presence. The rest of the time you are nothing. A servant without a cause. A slave awaiting their fate. There is only me from here on in. You speak when spoken to and not before. You don’t even look at another fucking soul without my express permission. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said again.

  “You are nothing but my little fuck-slut. Do you understand?’

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me!”

  “I’m nothing but your little fuck-slut, sir.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, if you move so much as a fucking inch before I return, I’ll punish you so hard you’ll remember my wrath for a lifetime.”

  My belly lurched as I nodded. “I won’t move, sir.”

  I didn’t know how it was possible to stare at someone’s shoes with such a mix of emotions as I did right then.

  Awe and hate. Gratitude and revulsion.

  Love.

  Fear.

  Want.

  “Not so much as a fucking inch,” he repeated, and even though my eyes were still on his shiny shoes, I could hear the smile on his face.

  I shivered all over again as the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Four

  Brandon

  The anger was still ripe in me as I took the stairs down two at a time. The slickness of my operation was in chaos, and Miss Emmerson would pay dearly, but still my growing pool of poor business decisions darkened around me.

  This wasn’t me.

  I was business. Good business decisions made up the very fabric of me. Of my life. Of my filthy fucking soul.

  Why the fuck I was deviating from the well-trodden path I’d ingrained so thoroughly over the years was evading me, but my dick was still hard in my pants as I stepped onto the front porch and awaited the headlights of Lance’s truck.

  I wasn’t waiting long.

  The rumble came first, loud and low up the driveway. The lights swung broad against the parked cars as he pulled to a stop down the steps from me. I didn’t head down to join him, holding my position strong and tall as he cast a look in my direction and wrenched his acquisition from the back of his truck.

  The acquisition was everything I expected her to be. Hunched and fearful, shrinking from the firmness of his grip on his arm. Her voice was cutting and shrill, eyes flashing up at the building as she struggled to take in her surroundings.

  “Let go of me!” she shrieked. “Where’s my fucking sister? Where is she?! Take me to her!”

  It wasn’t a request I’d be answering anytime soon.

  Lance didn’t waste any time in jolting the needling girl back into line and shunting her up the steps toward me. She’d clearly recently taken a battering at the hands of some cunts out there in drugville, but the scuffing and bruising didn’t take away from the familiarity.

  I recognised the family pitch of her cheekbones and the pretty pout of her lips. Her eyes were sunken and wild, not in any way as beautiful as the younger Emmerson sister I’d taken such pleasure in. Her hair was a thick tumble and not nearly so elfin, and she looked as though she’d need an ocean of sleep just to keep from trembling.

  An ocean of sleep and sixty days of cold fucking turkey, of course.

  Luckily for her there was a strange alien generosity t
hrumming in the very pit of me. I was poking it for curiosity and nothing more.

  “Your sister is safe,” I told her, surprised at the easiness in my tone. “Please mind your manners and keep your voice down. I don’t want the whole building racing to a feral girl’s cries.”

  If she disagreed with my assessment of her, she didn’t show it. She stared up through those same wild eyes, but this time they landed on mine and held.

  “Drop her,” I said to Lance, and he loosed her with a grunt.

  “She was a fucking nightmare,” he hissed, and headed up and on by. “Next time send one of the knuckleheads to do your muscle work.”

  I waited until the front door closed behind him before I pulled a cigarette from my pocket.

  Phoebe Emmerson’s eyes were still on mine as I offered her one.

  “Purely tobacco, I’m afraid,” I said as she reached out her grubby fingers. “I know you usually scrape the barrel to its bitter fucking dregs with your addiction requirements.”

  If she took offence, she didn’t show it. Fingers rattling around the cigarette, she stepped close enough that I could light it for her. I lit mine up and took a drag right after.

  It was her that spoke next, only this time her words had a world more calm about them.

  “Where is my sister? He said she was here. He promised she was here.”

  “Your sister is safe and well,” I informed her. “As will you be if you act decently enough.”

  “You’re the one who’s paying her, aren’t you? The guy she met on the beach? The guy who… did things to her…” Her voice was very accusing considering she was happily enjoying one of my cigarettes.

  Again, against my usual preferences, I let it slide.

  “I have a mutually beneficial agreement in place with your sister. The details are not your concern.”

  “She’s my sister,” she hissed. “Of course she’s my concern!” And then came the victim tears, welling up in those sunken eyes as her lower lip blubbed.

  I’d never had any time for the siren cries from needy little girls, happy to stare on from the side-lines as the wallowing bitches drowned alone in their misery.