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  That’s why I told myself I wasn’t racing upstairs to salvage some dregs of the business relationship between me and the man who’d put me on this dark road in the first place.

  “No,” I told Eric. “I’m not.”

  His next sigh was louder than the one previous. The shake of his head nothing short of disbelief.

  “You could do it. Make it good. The viewers will get the notification. Be able to watch at their leisure. At least it would be new material, right?”

  “No,” I said again. “I’m not putting on a performance in some half-assed fucking bid to save the day.” I paused. “I’m especially not putting up a performance because my prick of a kid brother tells me it will do me a fucking favour.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m just a prick then. Always just a prick. Ignore me.”

  “Oh, I will,” I replied. “Don’t you fucking worry.”

  Finally, he left me to it. Ploughing on back inside with a grunt of expletives and hunched shoulders.

  He was right. He was always just a prick. Just a fucking shame he was still treating it as some unfair revelation rather than a common fucking truth.

  I gave one last look at the incoming dawn before I turned tail on the porch myself.

  Eric wasn’t back in the office when I entered. His station was clear and monitor black when I took up my own seat and faced the inevitable Drake stream of insults through the message portal.

  Four messages.

  Are you out of your fucking mind? Get that fucking show started before I take it over.

  Call me. Just fucking call me.

  No more words. I’m through with words. You will be too soon enough. Get the fucking Fisher girl uploaded or I’ll finish her stint off my fucking self.

  And the last.

  The threat wouldn’t sound nearly so ominous if it wasn’t from the fingers of a guy born to be fucking ominous.

  You’ll pay for this.

  I could imagine him typing it, feeling so damned sure of himself as he doled out the threats. But I wasn’t some kid on his payroll anymore. Wasn’t some friend’s gangly son looking for any helpful opportunity coming his way.

  This was different.

  We were different.

  I was different.

  And I was going to be doing things my fucking way. The way I fucking liked them.

  The regular crew were done for the night when I took those stairs back up. There was only me and the crack of dawn on the landing when I stepped into Annabel Fisher’s room and switched on the light.

  She blinked. Started. Pulled into the corner of the bed when she registered it was me at this ungodly hour – even for ungodly me.

  I didn’t hesitate to join her, only this time my jaw wasn’t tight and firm and my hands weren’t waiting to punish her.

  They were waiting to set her free.

  “You’re done,” I told her as I took her wrist and pulled her towards me. “Your contract is finished.”

  “It is?! But…” she began. “But I thought you said…”

  “I know what I said, sweetheart, but you’re done here. Time duly served.”

  Her face was a half-finished puzzle, struggling for composure. Her eyes were pools of what the fuck barely daring to believe.

  I pulled a mini suitcase from under the bed as I dragged her to the edge of the mattress. I unloaded some vaguely passable clothes from the collection and threw them at her bare chest for her to cover her modesty in the great outdoors.

  She was shaking as she pulled her pants up her legs.

  “The money…” she said. “Will I still get the money? Some money?”

  “You’ll still get your contracted payment,” I told her, still doubting the words were leaving my mouth. “Since it was me who terminated the agreement. The funds will find your listed bank account in due course, I assure you.”

  A fairylike nod was all I got from her. It amazed me that after everything I’d done to her body, mind and soul too, even in just a few short days of sixty, she was still able to trust me with such weighty affairs.

  But she did.

  She got to her feet on bandy legs when she’d tugged the simple lace top on over her bare little tits.

  “You’re taking me home?” she asked when I headed to the bedroom door and threw a cursory glance at the landing.

  “I won’t be taking you anywhere,” I responded when I saw Eric heading up the main staircase.

  If his face had been a picture earlier on the porch, it was nothing compared to the shock in his jaw when I walked out of that bedroom with Annabel Fisher’s shaking fingers gripped in mine.

  “I need you to do something for me,” I told him, before he could say a word. He looked from the girl to me and back again, as though she was a mirage. “You’ll be driving Miss Fisher back to the pier,” I continued. “Her time here is done.”

  “But her time here is…” he began, until my steps in his direction put paid to his words.

  “Her time here is done,” I repeated, “finished,” I told him as I handed her over.

  Her eyes were wide and wild as his fingers clenched around hers.

  It was instinct that saw him lead her in my wake down the staircase with her scrappy suitcase in his spare hand. Instinct that saw him raise an eyebrow and ask me to repeat my request anew to be certain.

  “The pier,” I said, with a scowl of impatience. “Take Miss Fisher to the fucking pier and report back for duty. Our next project is going to require every little scrap of your sodding input, so be fucking quick.”

  The girl edged to the front door, maintaining her grip on his fingers.

  She was still nervous. Still edgy. Still a whole fucking host of different from the girl who’d rocked up to take her fill just a few short days earlier.

  I waved goodbye to the decent payday in my mind.

  “You really want me to drop her back at the fucking pier?” he asked again, both of them staring like I was an organ grinder with a crazy monkey on my head.

  “Go,” I said. “Get her the fuck out of here and get yourself back for the next round.”

  He didn’t bother shrugging this time. No shrug and no grunt, just a good little brother doing what big brother told him the fuck to do. Finally, after an ocean more patience than I could normally even pretend to have, he led my previous sixty-day pretty girl out of our building and on towards his little sporty number.

  I watched her take a seat in the passenger seat from the office window, smirking to myself at how rigid she looked alongside him, even going back to her normal life.

  I watched with interest as he fired up the motor and flicked on the headlights, rumbling from the drive with nothing less than his foot flat to the floor in a final bid at impressing the creature next to him.

  I watched until he was gone. His car nothing more than a flicker of light on the road ahead as he turned the corner at the bottom of the driveway.

  Good. Fucking. Riddance.

  And then I headed back upstairs to prepare Annabel Fisher’s slutty webcam haven for its brand new resident.

  Chapter Seven

  Paige

  I woke slowly, blinking against the light. I was so snug and warm. More comfortable than I’d ever been in my life. A cocoon of fabric around tired limbs.

  I didn’t want to move.

  Dreams were calling me back for more, and I’d have gone with them happily if my consciousness hadn’t spiked just a little too close to the surface. My fluttery eyes found focus as I chanced a look around myself.

  And there he was.

  Brandon Grant.

  The still-suited god of my dreams and nightmares combined, resting easily atop the covers to my right. He was slumped. A pillow behind his head. His eyes were closed. His breaths steady. Legs crossed at the ankle, poised just so, even in slumber.

  It felt strange to watch him sleeping. Strange to see him in any way vulnerable to events outside his control, even for just a moment.

  I felt like I sho
uldn’t be looking at him. Shouldn’t dare the boldness of feasting on him with eager eyes while his were closed, but I couldn’t stop. For the very life of me I couldn’t stop.

  I shifted in bed as carefully as I could, rolling under the covers to face him. The bedroom window was beyond and the curtains weren’t fully closed. The slash of morning light was severe through the drapes. It picked out the fan of his dark eyelashes, the perfect heaviness of his stubble.

  “It’s rude to stare.”

  His voice was gruff, but not malicious. My belly did a sickly flip as he turned his face in my direction with the beginnings of a smile.

  I knew the sixty days were ongoing and I should be falling at his feet like a good girl and calling him sir. I knew I should be super aware of giving him every little scrap of obedience he wanted from me, and apologise for daring to look at him in the first place.

  But I couldn’t.

  The atmosphere was strange.

  Murky in the half light.

  Complicated.

  Surreal.

  I decided saying nothing at all was the safest option. I let out a breath as I relaxed back under the covers and forced my gaze to the ceiling.

  His eyes burned. Staring.

  I felt that in my belly too.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Did you enjoy the bed?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, then paused. “Sir.”

  I felt him stiffen.

  “I could have made you sleep on the bathroom floor like a dirty little slut. You didn’t deserve my generosity.”

  Another breath, and I wasn’t ready for this. I so wanted more sleep. More comfort.

  My sister.

  “Thank you for the bed, sir,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. “It was very comfortable.”

  I shifted again, but this time it was away from him a little. My eyes scoured the room all over again, wondering if this was my space now. If I really could be the kind of girl he wanted me to be. As good as the others. Worthy of his reward.

  Worthy of his mercy in letting my sister know I was ok.

  “Today it begins,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “You are reticent for a girl who has willingly sold her very soul for sixty days straight. That will be changing soon enough, sweetheart. Savour the moment.”

  With that he got to his feet. I watched him rise. I followed his movements as he paced to his jacket and pulled his cigarettes from his inside pocket. His stance was menacing as he pulled back the curtains and opened the window to its widest. I blinked against the onrush of light, barely able to make him out as he sparked up his lighter and took his first drag.

  He leaned into the windowsill, elbows propped, shoulders strong.

  The cool breeze danced across my face, the scent of tobacco along with it.

  That’s when I took my chance.

  “Please, sir,” I said. “Please let me call my sister. I need her to know I’m ok. I need her to be ok.” I paused as he shot me a glare over his shoulder, but I couldn’t stop. “Please, sir, I can’t give you my all if I don’t make sure she’s going to be ok without me. I won’t be able to give myself to you if part of me is going crazy for her.”

  And that’s when I knew I’d made a mistake.

  A fatal one.

  His cigarette was still in his fingers as he charged back to the bed and tore the covers from my naked body. My legs rose to my chest on instinct, but it made no difference. He lunged and grabbed my wrist, dragging me across the mattress to his side while I shrieked in terror.

  I wasn’t expecting the firmness of his grip on my hair, wasn’t expecting the way he yanked and twisted me until my face was up at his and he was blowing cigarette smoke in my open mouth.

  “You’ll give me your fucking all,” he hissed. “I bought it, I’m fucking taking it. Every single fucking bit of you. However the fuck I want you. Whenever I fucking want you.”

  I couldn’t fight the shudder. “Sorry, sir,” I whimpered. “That’s not how I meant–”

  “You fucking meant it,” he said. “And you’ll learn your fucking place here. Your place with me. You’ll be exactly what I want you to be. Who I want you to be. Doing whatever the fuck I want you to be fucking doing.”

  I cried out as he dragged me from the bed and dropped me to the floor. Cried out again as he dragged me to the window and tossed his cigarette outside.

  “It begins here,” he said, one hand tight in my hair and the other gripping my arm.

  He was strong. Brutal. His fingers pinched to the bone.

  I didn’t fight as he pulled me to my feet and dragged me along after him. He tore through the doorway and onto the landing, and I felt so exposed in open surroundings with my shivering nakedness on display.

  My eyes were dashing wild around the place as he opened a door to our left and shoved me on through into darkness. I landed hard on wood, feeling around me for some kind of bearings before he switched a light on.

  The sight was enough to knock the breath from me.

  The bed in the corner looked rigid and harsh, the header and footer sculpted from bars of steel. Restraints hung loose all around, ready for action, a chair to the side looking like some kind of medieval torture device with its struts spread wide.

  There was a rack against the far wall. Hoists and wires on the ceiling.

  And cameras.

  Cameras everywhere. Mounted on walls. On stands. On the corners of the bedposts.

  The whole room was a studio. An ocean of mechanical eyes ready to pounce on my weakest moments.

  I was terrified.

  And ashamed.

  I felt ashamed.

  But there it was again. Quiet but real. The wild thrill ran deep. Tickled where it shouldn’t.

  “Welcome to your room, little slut,” he told me, and my heart pounded. “This is where you belong. In darkness at my whim. Taking what’s given with grace and thanking me dearly for every little scrap of fucking kindness.”

  I couldn’t even nod, just stared up at him.

  “In sixty days you’ll know nothing but what I give you. You’ll live by my command. Breathe at my breath. Feel whatever the fuck I want you to feel and nothing more.”

  I kept staring. His eyes were dark. Wired.

  Beautiful.

  “You’ll be mine,” he said. “Body, mind, and fucking soul. By the time you’re done, you’ll be begging to stay. You’ll have to scrape the dregs of life back from the weeks of pure fucking abandon you’ll learn to crave. Understand?”

  I managed a tiny nod. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then let’s get fucking started.”

  My throat turned dry as he headed for a stand of electronics at the far end of the room. I watched the camera lights flicker then turn green, a whole world of focus springing to life.

  I wrapped an arm across my bare breasts and made sure my legs were closed tight, avoiding the inevitable exposure, even though my clit was tingling.

  I could barely believe that some filthy little part of me wanted this.

  Even in the face of becoming such a wanton, used slut, I wanted it.

  Wanted him.

  “The world will be watching,” he told me as he approached. “A world of men who will pay good money to use you for themselves soon enough. This is just the beginning.” He pointed to the bed. “Up there. All fours. Show me that pretty cunt.”

  I felt sick as I got to my feet.

  I was scared. Hungry. Thirsty. Desperate.

  Still I let out a shuddery breath as I got into position.

  I spread my knees and arched my back, offering my pussy to both him and the cameras behind. The mattress dipped as he knelt up after me.

  “Such a pouty little slit,” he said and pushed my thighs further apart. He shunted me along and down, lining me up for the camera on the far bedpost. The one opposite was right on my face. “How does it feel to know your dirty little treasures are being viewed around the world?”
<
br />   I didn’t have an answer.

  “You want our viewers to see your pussy taking its first real fucking pounding. Tell them.”

  “Yes,” I managed. “Yes please, sir.”

  “Say it.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. He spread my ass cheeks with rough hands and ran a finger over my asshole. I flinched but held. “I want the viewers to see me, sir.”

  “You want the viewers to see your pussy stretched nice and fucking wide.”

  “Yes, sir. I want the viewers to see my pussy stretched nice and wide.”

  “You want them to see you hurting, don’t you? Like the dirty little whore I’m paying you to be.”

  “Yes please, sir. I want them to see me hurting.”

  I’d never spoken like this. The thought of the men listening and watching was enough to threaten tears.

  Tears and something else.

  “Like the dirty little whore you are,” he prompted.

  “Like the dirty little whore I am, sir.”

  I was beginning to feel like one. Beginning to feel like every bit the dirty little whore he wanted me to be.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, and rubbed me hard.

  His fingers were strong against my clit, pressing tight against the spot. I shouldn’t want it. Shouldn’t rock back against his touch and whimper like a slut. I shouldn’t be craving what he had to give me for the sake of eyes around the world.

  Shouldn’t want to please him the way I was desperate to please him.

  I yelped when he slapped me. Hard. Right against my pussy.

  I was still reeling when he forced his fingers inside me, enough that the stretch made me yelp again. The way he circled them deep had me groaning and moaning.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, and I tensed around his thrusts. “Tight and fucking wet.”

  I could hear how wet I was. Self-consciousness bloomed.

  “Tell me how much you want my cock,” he said.

  My cheeks were burning as I forced out the words. “Please, sir. Please give me your cock. I really want it.”

  “Say it like you fucking mean it.”

  “Please, sir. I want it. I really want it.”

  “Like you fucking mean it!” he barked, and yanked his fingers away.