by Sierra Hill
My observations aren’t covert enough, however, because the man snicks out an amused laugh.
“Give up that idea, little girl. There is no way out unless I let you out.”
Flicking my attention back to the man now sitting at a desk in front of me, I notice several things all at once.
Where Hulk is big and burly, this man is sleek and lean under a dark, tailored suit. From what I can tell, he is a little over average height, maybe six-foot, with strong, broad shoulders that pull back into a posture that is cultured and refined. As if he was reminded as a child to sit up straight and not slouch.
He sits back against a leather-back chair, the black wool of his suit draped in a tapered fashion to fit snugly against his chest and torso. Tight enough to illustrate the well-maintained and toned muscles pronounced underneath. A crisp white shirt is adorned by a bright azure colored tie that is knotted so tight I wonder how he can even breathe.
My eyes track upward as he slowly stands again, and moves out from behind the desk, and then my gaze lowers to the manner in which his slacks highlight his toned legs – runner, perhaps? – and the thick asset cupped between his legs.
I may have never seen one up close and personal before, but I know a well-endowed man when I see one.
He stands patiently, as if waiting for me to get my fill, hands crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side, his shrewd, whisky-brown eyes taking me in with a scowl etched across his full mouth. He looks at me with contempt. As if I’ve ruined his entire night with my arrival.
But his displeasure isn’t like the one I fear from my father. This man, although wound tight, doesn’t seem ready to strike out in violence or drunken abuse, like I’ve seen happen with Mudd on more occasions than I can count.
This man, his temper hidden just under the surface, but still visible through the vein in his neck that’s corded tight and the clench of his closely cropped beard across his jawline, keeps his emotions in check. He’s guarded, controlled, and clearly in charge.
The same man I saw earlier.
I clear my throat and wiggle upright to offer a less submissive position, even though I’m still on my knees with my hands bound behind my back.
“I’m here on Mudd’s behalf to make the exchange. I’ve brought what you want and once I get what we’re owed, I’ll leave.”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth and tsks.
“You’ll just leave, will you?” He takes several steps forward to close the distance between us, and I drop my eyes to the floor and brace for what’s to come.
Will he hit me? Knock me unconscious?
I have no way to defend myself except to suck in a deep breath and wait for pain to come. His scent – a warm masculinity mixed with leather and expensive cologne – fills the air in my nostrils, making me flush with anticipation.
But instead, as I stare down at the shiny points of his black shoes just in front of my knees, my shoulders quivering lightly, all I feel is the light touch of his fingers as they slip through my hair, over the shell of my ear and down my neck.
I shiver at the contact.
I’ve never been touched this way before. It’s sensual, not compassionate. Erotic yet with a hint of violence. I remain still, apprehensive to his intentions, but my eyes automatically close at the sensation. The soft strokes of his fingers across my skin and along my collarbone send ripples of fire through my blood and swims up my spine.
I clench my thighs together as the progression of his touch moves lower, tracing the edge of my shirt that angles over my chest, my left shoulder exposed by the style of my blouse.
His voice is rough. “You don’t go until I allow it. Until the deal is done. Until I have confirmed the authenticity and purity of the gem. In the meantime, I might have something else in mind for you, considering your presence altered my plans entirely.”
I blink up at him, my eyes watering when he fists my hair in his hand, and he tugs my head back to look at him.
“Ahh,” I cry out, more in shock rather than pain, a gust of air whooshing from my lungs, my lips falling open on the exhale.
He seems emboldened by my response because the corner of his lips curls up into a smirk, and he groans deeply before letting me go with such force that I lose my balance and wobble to my elbows before regaining my equilibrium.
The man turns abruptly toward the desk, his back to me, lifting the bag and dumping it out, the contents spilling out over the mahogany.
“Where is it, Gemma?” His words are punched into the air and punctuated like keys on a keyboard. “Where is my diamond that I was promised?”
“It’s hidden in a safe place.”
His head snaps back around and he gives a brisk nod to Hulk, who is at my side instantly, a large hand slipping underneath my armpit and jerking me to my feet.
“Where is it hidden? Don’t you dare fuck with me, little girl.”
It’s only then that a ribbon of fear lashes through me, even though at this moment I have the upper hand.
I bite down on my lip and smile coyly as the man faces me, annoyance written all over his handsome, cold features.
“Inside me.”
Chapter 5
Technically, I didn’t swallow the jewel or shove it anywhere inside any of my bodily orifices.
I did, however, hide it in a small leather pouch, which I slipped into my panties and between my thighs earlier in the dark corridor while I waited.
The admission does little to quell the anger that registers first as shock on the man’s face but transforms quickly into something akin to piqued interest.
He strides with purposeful steps back to me, his body so close that I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.
It’s there in his eyes when I see exactly what he’s about to do.
I’m his conquest. He’ll take what he wants no matter the obstacle or what pitiful resistance I try to offer.
“Give it to me now,” he demands, his palm out to prove his seriousness. “Or I will get it myself.”
I don’t know why I feel like digging my heels in at this moment. I should just get it over with, the sooner the better so he can run his tests, and I can take the money and run. Maybe it’s my stubborn rebellion that’s been kept hidden from my father all these years, cowering in the closet until now. Why I’ve decided to bring it out now or for this man is completely illogical.
Or, it’s simple stupidity.
This man could hurt me. Could end me right here, and no one would ever know. I mean, my dad knows I’m here, but I have little faith that he would give a shit if I ever came home. He would, however, care about his profitable loss.
Yet, still, I resist.
And that’s all it takes. One moment of clever disobedience and he proves exactly what he means. What he’s capable of doing. Who he is and who I am not.
A puff of air escapes my lips when his firm hand darts behind my neck and tightly grasps the nape, holding me in place – locking me in and leaving me immobile – while the other hand jams roughly down the front of my pants.
It’s shocking the amount of force he uses, yet his face remains extremely calm, only a twitch of his lip and an eyebrow that quirks up, as if to say, “Don’t play games with me, little girl. You won’t win.”
I nearly jump out of my skin from the contact as his fingers push through the barrier of my pantie’s edge, and his knuckles graze over my neatly trimmed pussy. A place no one has ever touched me.
It’s jarring and exhilarating at the same time. This man wields his power over me, demonstrating the lengths he will go to prove he is in control and will get what he wants no matter the cost. I should be scared shitless and utterly disgusted by his dominant display of control.
Yet, I’m not the least bit frightened.
Because the look in his eye as his fingers brush over the warmth of my center tells me everything I need to know.
This excites him, too.
Even though he’s trying to hide his outwar
d reaction, he can’t hide the sudden change in the rhythm of his breaths and the pulse that thumps chaotically in the vein in his neck.
Thump, thump thump, thump.
Our eyes lock as his fingers locate the small, velvet pouch. He latches it in a fist and drags it purposefully across my center, the bag’s plush material tormenting me with the suggestive nature of the action. My body’s physical reaction is immediate and embarrassingly carnal.
The touch isn’t long enough as he swiftly removes his hand, staring down at the small bag in his palm. I’m frozen and statuesque as I gaze at him, curious as to what he’ll do now that he has what he wants.
Slowly, methodically, he lifts the bag to his nose, as my eyes grow wild with an animalistic bewilderment, and he takes in a long inhale. His lids close, his lips parting slightly, and the length of his dark lashes practically reach the top of his cheekbones.
He speaks through closed eyelids, his voice a low growl. “Fuck me. You just made this arrangement all the more valuable.”
I don’t understand what his comment means, so I cock my head to the side in confusion as his brown eyes open again fully. But now instead of anger, they are filtered with something dark and licentious.
Lust isn’t something new to me or anything I’m unaccustomed to seeing in men, as I’ve been the target of many leering stares since I hit puberty and developed a curvaceous body. I have what is referred to as an “exotic” look.
My mother was Brazilian, and it seems my curves, starting with my well-endowed breasts accentuate my small waistline and full hips, come directly from her voluptuous side of the family. My light olive-colored skin is smooth, highlighting my tanned, long giraffe legs that were gangly looking until I turned sixteen, when they somehow overnight turned shapely, leading up to my full, round bottom.
I’m not a stranger to fending off men who have made their attempts to touch and grope my ass and boobs over the years, who tell me how sexy and beautiful I am, in hopes that their words will be the key to unlocking my legs for them.
But I’ve kept them firmly and resolutely closed.
And once I’ve denied any reciprocal interest in them, shooting down their efforts to get me on my back, that desire for me sours, turning into slimy, misogynistic harassment, their once complimentary language growing sordid and ugly.
Slut. Whore. Cock-tease. Prude. Bitch.
You name it, I’ve been called it. The worst offenders happened to be my own father and brother.
My best revenge happened to be holding myself above their contempt by keeping my body pure. I’ve never allowed a boy or a man to touch me. I’ve worked hard to downplay my appearance by avoiding tight or revealing clothing, oftentimes putting on my brother’s flannel shirts to cover my figure.
So, to experience this electrifying sensation that registers deep within my loins from this man’s touch, and noticing his visible reaction to me, alters my opinion on sexual attraction.
I don’t know who this man is, only that he’s the fence brought in to purchase this stolen diamond. The contact for which we exchange product for money to satisfy the prearranged agreement.
But I want to know him. And I don’t want this conversation to be over so quickly. So, I ask the question that’s on my mind. The one I want answered.
“What’s more valuable than what’s in your hand?” My voice is basically a trace of whisper.
His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip before he stuffs it back in his cheek with a crooked grin.
“You, Gemma. You just raised the stakes in this deal.”
Chapter 6
With the jut of his chin, he orders Hulk over to my side, who grasps my bicep in his large hand.
“Dempsey, take her back to the Cove and then call Roman and West. Tell them I’ll be by later after I run the authenticity tests at the shop.”
“Yes, boss.”
The “boss” gives me a pointed look, narrowing his eyes into slits so all I see is a pool of dark through his lashes.
He pinches my chin between his thumb and index finger, hard, swiveling my head side-to-side before dropping it harshly.
“If you’re conning me, Gemma Phillips, you will pay. Your father will pay. I am not a man you fuck with. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
I stutter. “I-I’m not…we’re not trying to fuck with you. I promise.”
He huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “The word of a twenty-year old jewel thief? Is that an oxymoron?”
Everything in me wants to argue. To riot against his sarcasm and mistrust. But it’s difficult to do when he steps in close again, his solid chest pushing against my breasts. It’s threatening and meant to intimidate, but it’s sexually thrilling, and it makes my panties go damp.
All I can imagine is what it would feel like if the clothes between us disappeared and his body covered mine, entering me for the first time. Taking my virginity and filling me with his cock.
I lift a shoulder in a half shrug, biting down on my lip to stop the quivering. Whether it’s from fear or lust, I can’t quite determine.
“My word is good,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “I wouldn’t be here in person making this deal if that weren’t the case.”
He considers this for a moment and then tips his head in a nod, signaling Hulk to do his bidding. As I’m ushered away by the grip of Hulk’s hold, I’m led out a door that isn’t the one we entered. I twist in his grasp, looking back at the man whose name I still don’t know to find him staring at my retreating form.
“Wait…you can’t do this. Just let me call my father. You can’t just kidnap me like this!”
The sound of my voice is sheer panic, risen to a level of delirium. With my hands still tied behind my back, there’s nothing I can do to protect myself from whatever nefarious plan he has to keep me.
Our eyes connect again, mine pleading for help from a man who has no intention of helping me. Without a word, he lifts the pouch again to his nose, his eyes blazing a dark need.
“Don’t worry, little girl. If what you say is true, and the product you’ve brought is legitimate, then you’ll be free to return to your home a day from now.” He tilts his head, cocking a suspicious eyebrow. “But if you’re lying and I don’t get what I was promised, then there are other ways I will make you pay.”
I may be a virgin, but his threat registers a spark of heat low in my belly, and I have to turn away, so he doesn’t notice the flush that rises up my throat and neck like a vine, indicating the effect it has on me.
Because while his warning isn’t explicit, I understand what it means. I’m not stupid in the ways of the world. I know what a man like him could do with a girl like me.
The worst-case scenario is he could sell me for a price, I suppose, to the highest bidder. Best case is…well, I don’t know. And I don’t want to find out.
“Please,” I beg again. “Please just call Mudd and he’ll clear up all this confusion. You don’t have to hold me hostage to make that happen.”
He moves toward me, Hulk holding my arms behind my back, leaving me vulnerable to anything this man might do. And because I’m prone to beatings, I flinch when he trails a finger down the side of my face.
“I’m afraid that’s just not how this works, Gemma. You don’t call the shots. Mudd has already changed the rules in our arrangement, and therefore he’s broken my trust. So, until I confirm I haven’t been duped, you’re staying where I can monitor you. That means no phone, no contact, and no complaints. You’ll do as I say or there will be consequences.”
He flicks his wrist toward the door and once again, I’m being forced down a darkened stairwell until we hit a door that requires an entry code. Hulk stands to the side to block my view as he enters a 4-digit code and a door opens into a parking garage. Definitely not a public one from the handful of vehicles, all of expensive taste and quality.
Aston Martin. Maserati. Bentley.
Hulk rounds the hood of a dark-colored Tesla and opens the back d
oor for me.
“Get in,” he snarls, and I do as he says. There’s no reason to argue with this man. I wouldn’t win a fight with him, plus he’s only doing what his boss has told him to do.
As he settles in the driver’s seat, I decide to finally ask the question.
“What’s his name? Your boss?”
I notice his eyes flicker from the rearview mirror. He gives a shake of his head and chuckles.
“Boss.”
Rolling my eyes, I grumble like a schoolgirl. “Seriously? You know what I mean. How can I do business with a man when I can’t even address him properly?”
He thinks for a moment and then lifts his brick of a shoulder. “If he wanted you to know his name, he would have introduced himself.”
“Fine. I’ll find out on my own.”
“You do that.”
Apparently, the Cove is the name of a condo building of some sort.
After Hulk parks in a private stall, we ride a private elevator up to the top floor – a sprawling labyrinth of a home, the likes of which I’ve never seen.
Opulence doesn’t come close to describing this place. My home in Jersey could easily fit in the kitchen alone.
Hulk leads me through a hallway littered with works of art, some of which I’ve seen at the Met the one and only time I ever went there on a school field trip in middle school. If I had to put a price tag on any of these paintings, I’d say they’d sell for at least a half million or more.
I may not be an artist yet, nor do I appraise art, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a good judge of rare collections. These pieces are worth some bank.
If this is where the man lives, he has invested a lot of money on fine-ass things. We walk a maze of hallways and finally end up at a locked door. Hulk produces a key, unlocks it and opens it up, pointing inside with a tilt of his head.
