Knowing exactly what I needed to do to bring myself to climax, I began thrumming my pointer finger against the swollen bud of my clit, stroking in time with the push and pull of Marcus’ fingers as he fucked my mouth with his hand.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
“Stop,” he commanded, and I threw my head back with a groan when he withdrew his fingers from my mouth and grabbed my wrist, damp fingers closing in a vice-like grip around the delicate bones as I hovered on the brink of a hot, delicious orgasm.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
His voice smooth as silk, he slowly pulled my hand out of my shorts. One of us groaned. I was pretty sure it was me.
“Do I look like I am kidding, Isabel?” His face was so hard it could have been carved from stone. “Rule number one. You are never to touch yourself, or to come, without my permission. Do you understand?”
My cheeks flushed with equal parts indignation and unsated desire. “You can’t do that.”
“Can’t I?” A humorless smile pulled his mouth to one side. “For the next seven days, you belong to me. Unless you wish to return the money here and now…”
Bastard.
What kind of sick, sadistic man got his kicks off from denying a woman pleasure?
Yanking my hand free, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared moodily at the control board. “You know I don’t.”
“Good. Then we have an understanding.”
The only thing I understood was that if I didn’t come in the next five seconds I was literally going to explode. My entire body was thrumming with arousal. The crotch of my panties was soaked with it.
“Very well,” Marcus said.
“Very well what?” I asked, looking at him with suspicion. How was he so completely unaffected by what had just happened? Looking at him - one hand casually resting on the stick thingy that steered the helicopter, shoulders relaxed, gaze pointed straight ahead - no one would have ever guessed that fifteen seconds ago he’d had his fingers pressed inside of me. And then he’d taken those fingers and made me lick my own-
“You may come.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Usually I would have hesitated at the thought of masturbating in front of someone, but these weren’t exactly ‘usual’ circumstances. I wasn’t a prude, but I also wasn’t an exhibitionist. Except, it seemed, when I was trapped in a helicopter eight thousand feet up in the air with a kinky billionaire.
My hand dove eagerly into my panties, eyes flickering closed as I stroked myself, slow at first, and then faster and faster and faster. Even though I couldn’t see, I could feel Marcus staring at me, and for his benefit as much as my own I yanked my tank top up over my ribcage and revealed my breasts, pinching an already hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger as my other hand continued to nurse my clit with tiny, teasing licks of fire.
My stomach muscles clenched.
Close...I was so close…
“Yes,” I wept as a wave of scorching heat swept through me in a burst of white hot light, leaving me blind, deaf, and dumb in its aftermath. I slumped in my seat, continuing to languidly stroke myself as I slowly came down off my self-imposed high; a lone leaf spiraling in big, lazy circles on its way to the ground.
Fuck.
I was a big fan of masturbation, but I had never come like that before. At least not just by using my own hand. It had been cataclysmic and, though I wasn’t about to admit as much to Marcus, worth every second of teeth gritting frustration he’d put me through.
“Isabel?” He said my name with a hint of amusement.
Head lolling to the side, I slowly opened my eyes as my body continued to quiver with tiny spasming aftershocks of pleasure. “Yeah?”
“We’re here.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I had expected Marcus’ house to be big. He was a billionaire, after all. I watched Keeping up With the Kardashians. I knew where rich people lived. I knew what their lawns looked like. What kind of cars they drove. What they looked like when they ugly-cried.
But I hadn’t been expecting a freakin’ castle.
While I’d been busy pleasuring myself, Marcus had put the helicopter down on a circular landing pad a few hundred yards away from an enormous estate complete with stone turrets, stained glass windows, and tower with a peaked roof.
A tower.
The sharp, salty scent of the ocean invaded my nostrils as Marcus leaned across me and opened my door. I peered out, taking in the manicured lawns, sprawling fields, and dark, restless waves crashing up against a rocky shoreline in one long, awestruck glance before Marcus appeared on the helicopter’s passenger side. His hair was windswept from the propeller blades that continued to silently spin around even though he’d cut the engine when we landed.
Dressed in an oxford shirt and well-worn designer jeans with his aviators firmly in place and a cocky grin tugging at one side of his mouth he fit in perfectly with our luxurious surroundings, where as I suddenly felt like a duck very, very far out of water.
Tugging self-consciously at my ribbed tank top, I hesitated when Marcus held out his arms. What the hell was I doing here? I belonged in a tiny apartment that smelled like burnt cooking oil courtesy of the fat woman who lived beside me, not some old mansion that looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of some fancy European magazine.
I gripped the armrests, nails digging into expensive leather as my gaze darted over Marcus’ head to the sleek sports cars that were lined up in front of a ten bay garage. I counted six in total. Who in their right mind needed six sport cars? To the right of the garage was a stone path that presumably led down to the ocean. When I squinted, I could just make out the billowing white sails of a boat anchored right off the shore. We must have been out on some sort of peninsula, because glittering ocean waves wrapped around three quarters of the estate. There were no other houses in sight. No other signs of civilization. No other people except for the man standing beneath me.
“Jump,” Marcus ordered. “I’ll catch you,” he added gruffly, mistaking my hesitation for fear when I remained glued to my seat.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I don’t…”
Impatience creased his brow. “Jump, Isabel.”
“Wait.” As panic unfurled inside of my chest I held my ground, which was pretty pointless given that I was in a helicopter I had no idea how to fly, but sometimes it was the gesture that counted, not the action. “I – I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“No you haven’t. Get out of the helicopter, Isabel.”
“You said the rules don’t go into effect until I step through the door. Which means I don’t have to listen to you yet.”
“Oh no?” he said in a dangerously soft drawl as he took a step closer, shoes crunching on red gravel.
“No,” I said firmly. My disobedience caused his jaw to flex and tighten, but he didn’t try to forcibly remove me from my seat, which I took to be a good sign. “I just…I want to know why.”
He crossed his arms. “Why what?”
“Why all this?” I asked, gesturing towards his medieval looking estate with a broad sweep of my arm. “If you wanted to fuck me, why not just do it in some fancy hotel like every other rich guy? Why bring me all the way out here? Why go to all this trouble?” I stopped short as I considered the obvious. “Are you married or something? Is that why we’re here? Because you don’t want your wife to find out?” I frowned. “Because if that’s the case, you can bring me back right now. I don’t screw around with that shit.”
The corners of his mouth twitched with something that might have been considered amusement. It was hard to tell. “You’ll let a perfect stranger fuck you like a dog at a club, but you draw the line at spending a week with a married man even though you are being paid handsomely to do so?”
My chin lifted. “Hey, I have standards.”
“I can see that. Fortunately - for both of us – I am not married.”
Marcus was single. My
shoulders slumped in relief, only to immediately tense back up as I realized the implications of my sudden surge of happiness. It shouldn’t have mattered to me if Marcus was single or had twenty girlfriends and six wives. I wasn’t doing this because I liked him. I didn’t even know him. I was doing it because I needed the money. Plain and simple. Feelings didn’t have anything to do with it, and I wasn’t about to let myself even think about falling for a brooding, enigmatic billionaire with a taste for the dark and the kinky.
If I did this – if I really went through with it – I was going to walk away at the end fifty grand richer…and that was all I was walking away with.
Not a crush.
Not a boyfriend.
Not even a fuck buddy.
When this was over and done with, when my seven days of sin were up, I wasn’t going to think about Marcus Montgomery ever again.
“Well, Isabel?” he asked, regarding me without expression. I saw myself in the reflection of his sunglasses. I looked wide-eyed and unsure, like a teenager trying to choose which date to go with to the prom. “I don’t have all day.”
“I…”
“Before you answer, let me make one thing very clear.” His voice softened, sending a tiny chill of trepidation racing down my spine. Whatever he truly wanted, Marcus was not a man to be trifled with. That much was clear. “I did not bring you here to fuck you. I brought you here to own you. You will belong to me, in every sense of the word. For seven days you will do what I say without question, without hesitation, without so much as a fucking blink. You will not ask questions. You will not ask why. You will be commanded and you will do as you are told. Do you understand?”
Yes, I understood. I understood that if I entered this agreement I wouldn’t just be selling my body…I’d be selling my soul. And my soul was worth a hell of a lot more than fifty thousand dollars.
“One hundred,” I said impulsively.
For the first time since I’d met him, Marcus looked genuinely thrown off guard and my mouth couldn’t help but curve into a smug little smile. Ha, I thought to myself. You’re not the only one who can make demands.
“What?” he snapped.
“One hundred thousand.” Taking a deep breath, I slowly stood up in the cramped space, hunching down to avoid hitting my head on the low ceiling. “One hundred thousand, and I’ll do it. I’ll be your sex slave or whatever the hell it is you want for seven days. I’ll…obey you” – what an awful, awful word – “and I won’t ask any questions.” Even though I have a million. “Deal?”
His eyebrows shot above the top of his aviators. “Are you bargaining with me, Isabel?”
“Yes.” I braced my hands on either side of the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Very well.” Head canting to the side, Marcus inclined his chin. “You have a deal.”
An uncontrollable grin stretched the corners of my mouth as wide as they would go.
Holy shit.
Holy SHIT.
One hundred thousand dollars.
He was going to give me one hundred thousand dollars. It was a freakin’ fortune. What the hell was I even going to do with that sort of money? Get of Northridge, for starters. Set myself up in a fancy apartment. Get a new car. Maybe even go back and get my high school diploma. The possibilities were endless. I should have been jumping for joy like the people did when Publisher’s Clearing House showed up on their doorstep. But all it took was one glance at Marcus to remind me that my windfall was coming at a steep price.
I hadn’t won the lottery…I’d signed a deal with the devil.
And now I was going to have to deal with the consequences.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finally.
Finally he had her.
Isabel Price, the woman he’d been searching the world over for, was finally his.
As he helped her down from the helicopter and led her up the long stone drive that led to his mansion, Marcus kept a protective hand curled around her slender waist as though she were an apparition that might disappear without warning at any second.
When she’d shown hesitation, he had thought his heart would stop. To have come so close…but she had only been trying to drive her price up, clever wench that she was. One hundred thousand? He would have gladly paid one hundred million and not thought twice. After all, what was his sanity worth?
More than money can buy, he thought grimly as he steered Isabel up the oversized stone steps he’d had imported from a castle in Ireland and unlocked the heavy front door, another import from another castle far, far to the east, one where it was rumored his long dead ancestor had once lived.
Some history books had called him a great warrior and a Romanian Prince. Others had claimed he was little more than a murderer and a rapist, one who had been feared and despised in equal measure. There was no way to separate fact from fantasy, although Marcus was more prone to believe his great-great-great-great-grandfather had been more sinner than saint.
The prince had taken a wife during his thirty-second year; the daughter of a wealthy British lord. It had not been a love match, but rather a political move to further expand his holdings into Eastern Europe. She had born him one son, his only true heir, though it was rumored his bastards, both male and female, had been plentiful. Marcus still could not find exactly when the curse had been placed on his long dead ancestor. Only that it had come from a powerful gypsy descended from old magic, and on his fiftieth birthday the warrior prince, having gone well and truly insane, pushed his wife off the cliff behind his castle before following her down into the frothy sea waters below.
Their bodies had never been recovered.
It was a story that had been secretly passed from one generation to the next. A story of madness and magic whispered in dark hallways and put on letters that were quickly burned upon reading. A story Marcus had never put much stock in…until his own father began to show glimmers of madness.
But by then, of course, it had already been too late.
Marcus knew the fate that awaited him if he could not break the curse once and for all. Just as he knew he would take his own life before he allowed some long dead gypsy bitch to take it for him. He already had a gun stored away in a safe, just waiting for the day when his mind betrayed him and his thoughts were no longer his own.
“This is where you live?” Emerald eyes wide and soft pink mouth ajar, Isabel slipped out of his grasp to walk a large circle around the middle of the foyer, gaze darting in a million different directions as she took in the three-hundred-year-old manor he had spent a considerable fortune to completely renovate.
He had installed some modern touches – stainless steel appliances, a state of the art security system, not to mention heat and electric – but had kept the vast majority of the estate’s old world charm intact.
The floors were a mixture of stone tile and random width planks. Dark wood trim outlined all of the doors and windows. The ceilings were vaulted, giving the interior an open feel despite the labyrinth of twisting corridors and hallways. There were over thirty rooms and four wings in total, less than half of which he used on a regular basis. Baskhill Manor – as it was so called by the few people who even knew of its existence – was far too large a house for one man, but he liked the privacy it provided. There were no photographers lurking in the bushes. No friends asking for favors. No women lining up to suck his dick for the chance to be featured in some shitty tabloid magazine. Aside from a personal chef, a gardener, and two maids, both of whom were old enough to be his grandmother, the house and the grounds were completely empty.
Which was really for the best, as no one would be around to hear Isabel’s screams…
“Do you like it?” he asked brusquely.
“It’s enormous. Do you live here all by yourself?”
“I keep a skeleton staff when I am in residence. They’re quite unobtrusive. I doubt you will see them during your stay.” Settling back on his heels, Marcus watched Isabel as she flitted from one c
orner of the foyer to the other, shamelessly opening doors and peering inside rooms as she went.
Like a child in a chocolate factory, he thought with a wry twist of his lips.
If only she knew what treats he had in store.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Talk about the rich and famous. I had thought Marcus’ house was huge on the outside, but it was nothing compared to the inside. It seemed every room I came across was bigger than the last and ornately furnished with antique Persian rugs, oil paintings in heavy gilded frames, and leather furniture that looked as though it had never been used. Everything had a distinctly masculine feel to it and exuded a quiet, but unmistakable sense of ridiculous wealth.
One hundred grand?
I made a face, annoyed with my own naivety.
I should have asked for one million.
“I can show you to your room if you would like.” His face expressionless, Marcus slid his sunglasses up to his temple, revealing piercing gray eyes and the rugged brows that framed them.
A girl could get lost in those eyes, I thought as I gave him a brief, cursory once-over before my attention was snagged by a stuffed fox regally perched on top of a mahogany armoire. After spending the past few months trapped in a tiny town where the fanciest thing going was a new stoplight on the corner of Main Street and Market, I was officially in sensory overload. There were so many things to look at! Not to mention touch.
“Is this thing real?” I demanded even as I rushed over and reached up to stroke a tentative fingertip down the fox’s furry red tail. I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to catch Maximus’ short nod.
“Yes,” he said.
I frowned. “Did you kill it?”
As if that should have been my main concern at the moment. I’d basically just sold myself to someone I hardly knew for the next seven days, and I was worried about his hunting practices?
Isabel's Seduction Page 3
