by Anthology
I’ve never looked at him so thoroughly, and I’m mesmerized. Every fine line of his skin is on display. The fan of wrinkles from his eyes that suggest he’s spent a lot of time in the sun. The coarse, dark stubble along his strong jaw tells me he has to shave every morning to keep his face clean and smooth. The slight curve in his nose gives away that it’s been broken a time or two. His tongue swipes along his lower lip and my eyes drop to watch the motion. Something about what I did causes a rumble in his chest, and my eyes snap back to his.
“Do you know how captivating you are?”
I’m frozen against the door. Everything about this situation is foreign and new to me, and I’m not sure how to respond. I give my head a little shake.
He inches a bit closer until we share the same breath. His lips are hardly a fingers width from mine, and the proximity is intoxicating. “Do you know how bad I want to taste?” he whispers. His lips unexpectedly brush mine a few times. The movement sets my heart to racing.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you just like this? Waiting for me to kiss you? Your eyes are practically begging me to.”
I shake my head again. It’s the only thing I can do without throwing myself at him or passing out.
“Do you want me to? Kiss you? You have to ask me. I won’t do it without your permission.”
Every word he speaks brushes his lips against mine, so that the entire conversation is like we’re kissing with our words.
“Kiss me, Brixton.”
He groans when I say his name. The words are barely out before he pushes the last few centimeters to my lips. The moment we connect is electrifying. Nothing compares to the feel of his soft, smooth lips against my own, the gentle brush of his tongue against the seam of my mouth. Testing, tasting, he’s pushing the boundaries to see what I’m willing to let him do.
The kiss is soft, yet filled with passion. The connection is a level I never knew existed. Regardless of the circumstances, everything about his mouth on mine feels right. The only thing missing is his hands. He isn’t touching me. His arms are still against the door by my head, as if he’s keeping himself in check.
Tentatively, I reach out and place my palm on his stomach just above his navel. His warmth seeps through the thin cotton shirt into my fingertips. I flex, digging the pads of my fingers into the hard ridges of his abs, and he groans into my mouth. Using the advantage, I slip my tongue between his lips until I touch his.
Brixton controls the kiss. He pushes back and plunges his tongue into my mouth in smooth, unhurried strokes.
My hand skates from his abs, over his chest, but before I can reach his arm, he captures my hand and laces our fingers together. Then he plants our joined hands on the wall above my head. I tilt my chin, breaking the seal of our mouths. His lips begin to trace the curve of my neck towards my collarbone.
“Touch me,” I beg on a moan when his tongue touches the hollow of my throat.
He squeezes my hand and moves his lips to my ear. “Are you sure? I promise I won’t hurt you.”
I moan in frustration. “I know you won’t. Please, touch me.”
Instead of answering, Brixton releases my hand and scoops me up as if I weigh nothing. He sets me in the middle of the bed, and then follows me down. Lying on my right side, he rests his knee against my thighs. His warm, smooth palm splays against my bare abdomen, causing me to shiver.
I hold still and nearly hold my breath. Inch by slow inch his finger traces the length of my sternum. When he reaches the top, he runs his index finger along my collarbone, then down my left arm to my wrist.
“Breathe,” he says with humor in his tone. My breath comes out in a loud whoosh. “How do you feel?”
“I feel…amazing,” I reply breathily.
“Hmm,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.
I can feel my heart throbbing beneath his fingertips. “I need you to touch me, Brixton.”
He uses his other hand to lift my chin so that I’m looking into his eyes. He seems unsure. His eyes are searching mine, flitting from one to the other. I wonder what he sees.
“Please.”
“Have you ever had an orgasm before?”
Oh, hell. This is embarrassing. I mean, I’ve been here for almost three months and forced to screw men every single night. Yet, I’ve never had an orgasm. What is he going to think of me when I tell him? That I’m broken? That I’m not worth it?
I want to lie, but then what if he expects one from me, and I can’t make it happen? I don’t know what to do.
“Brandi,” he calls. “What’s going on inside of your head?” he asks when he has my attention back.
I look away in shame.
“Please tell me.”
His soft voice is what does it. Maybe he won’t think I’m too broken. “I’ve, I mean, no. I’ve never had a, uh, one.”
The pad of his thumb skates across the space between my eyebrows. “I see. And why does that make you look so incredibly disappointed?”
“Well, because there’s something wrong with me.”
He pulls back abruptly, his face a wash of confusion. “What the fuck?” Brixton shifts his thigh across mine so that he’s now straddling my hips, and he lowers himself on top of me. Our faces are so close I could count his individual eyelashes. “Can you tell me why you’d think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” My cheeks heat with mortification.
“No,” he states flatly.
“I’m here. I’m a prostitute. I screw men nearly every single day. And I’ve never had an orgasm? Doesn’t that tell you that something is wrong with me?” My voice is shaky near the end of my rant. I strangely feel like I could cry from telling him all of this.
“Oh, dove,” he sighs and drops his face into the crook of my neck. “That doesn’t tell me you’re broken.”
“It doesn’t?”
The corners of his lips tip up. “No. You don’t orgasm, because you don’t enjoy those men touching you.”
“But some of the other girls-ˮ
He cuts me off. “This topic is tricky. Yes, some of the other girls have orgasms while working with Johns, but that doesn’t mean they’re enjoying it either. Even if you told me you had orgasmed, I wouldn’t have thought you were broken. It’s biology. But I didn’t mean my question to include now. I wanted to know if you’d ever gotten off before you came here.”
“No.” I squirm, because at that exact moment, Brixton dips his head and traces the swell of my breast with his tongue.
“Do you want to?” he asks in a gravelly voice.
“Mmhmm,” I sigh when he repeats the motion with the other breast. “But what if I am broken?”
“You aren’t. Do you trust me?”
I look up into his handsome face and know I don’t have to think on that answer. “Yes.”
“Then I want you to close your eyes.” I do as he says. “Good. Now I want you to think about how it feels when I touch you. How you feel. Does this feel like it does when the other men touch you?”
With my eyes closed, I can use my other senses to focus on the feel of him. His warm lips press open-mouthed kisses along my upper chest, while his hand traces up my ribcage, then back down. My body feels electrified with his touch. I can smell his cologne mixed with the familiar scent of his soap, and it fills me with comfort. It reminds me of the morning I woke up in his bed, and the safety I felt falling asleep in his embrace. “No.”
“And this? How does this make you feel?” His hand travels from my rib cage, up over the mound of my right breast. His rough palm grazes my nipple, making my body ignite.
A quiet moan falls from my lips. “Good.”
“Mmm,” he hums. “And this?”
Coolness replaces the warmth from his palm before I feel his thumb and forefinger grasp my nipple and pinch. He pulls gently on the tightened bud, and I feel an echoing sensation in my clit.
I’m so focused on the feel of his fingers working my breast, I don’t realized he’s moved unti
l the warm, wetness of his mouth closes around my other nipple. “Ah!” I cry out at the sensation.
His tongue kneads and caresses the tip, and before long, my body is undulating beneath his. The sensation is overwhelming and like nothing I’ve ever felt before, especially at the hands of a man. My body feels tight and weightless at the same time. My breathing increases the rise and fall of my chest.
Brixton keeps his mouth on my nipple while his hand leaves my breast to explore my body. His skin is rough against my smoothness. When his hand drops lower, my body subconsciously tightens. He stops his descent and lifts his head.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Why-why did you stop?” I ask in confusion.
The hand near my thigh moves back and forth across my skin, but goes no further. The movement sends goosebumps rippling across my flesh, and my belly tightens with desire.
“Your body told me you were unsure.”
I sigh from the feeling of his hand near my thigh. So close to where I want it, but not quite there. “Well it lied,” I pout.
“It did? Let me see,” he says. His hand moves playfully to the top of my thigh.
I shiver and arch my back, trying to wiggle him closer.
“And this? Is this where you want me to go?”
“Brixton,” I beg.
“What about.” He pauses and moves his hand to cover my mound. Not pressing, not moving, just holding it there. “Here.”
“Yes,” I moan and shamelessly spread my legs wider. “There.”
“I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth. I think I need to check,” he teases.
“Please, Brixton,” I beg again. My body is on fire with the need to have him touch me, to have him inside of me.
His fingers move an inch lower. He pulls them back, then slides them back down before using his index finger to circle my entrance. “Oh, dove, you are wet.” He works the outside; his fingers moving in a circular motion while the heel of his hand presses into my clit.
My body locks and the muscles tremble. My feet flex and curl in anticipation, and my hips roll in time to his hand. “I can’t. I don’t know. Shit, Brixton, please. More.”
“How’s this?” Ever so slowly, his thick middle finger dips into my pussy.
My muscles contract around him and my hips fly off the bed.
His other muscular forearm slips around my midriff and holds me against the mattress. “Hold still.”
I whimper.
He adds another finger then picks up the pace. His fingers slide easily inside of me, and he uses his thumb to rub my clit at the same time.
I can feel it building. Oh my God. I don’t know what to do. What if nothing happens? What if I AM broken? What if I-
He pinches my clit sharply, and I cry out as a pleasure I’ve never felt before spreads over me. “Stop thinking and let it happen.”
I clear my mind of all the What-If’s and let myself feel. The way he plays my body is incredible, and I know it’s going to happen. I close my eyes and grind myself down on his hand. I can feel myself teetering on the edge.
“That’s it. Feel my fingers inside of you. Work yourself on my hand.”
His rough gravelly voice combined with the feel of him inside me is all I need. A few more sharp bucks of my hips, and I’m falling into bliss. My first ever orgasm washes over me, and I’m left panting and breathless. A whiteness spreads across my vision before dissipating as quickly as it came. My body continues to pulsate around his fingers even though the rest of me has turned into mush.
The amazing feeling stays with me long after my body calms down. I lie with my eyes close, just enjoying the slowing of my breath and the feel of Brixton beside me. But even through the pleasure, a darkness tries to creep into my mind. Now that I’ve experienced heaven, how am I supposed to return to hell?
Holt
JESUS, FUCK. I’M not a poetic guy, but watching Brandi come for the first time was like watching the most beautiful flower bloom. The way she let herself go and worked herself on my hand was nothing short of pure magic. I want to make her come again and again, but part of me knows that’s impossible. Brandi just gave me the most precious fucking gift, but until we get out of here, it’s tainted by our situation. Either way, until we’re safe, Brandi’s going to have to work our territory again. And I’m going to have to live with the knowledge that my woman is being forced to fuck other men.
I can lie to the rest of the world, but I can’t lie to myself. I’m falling head over fucking heels for the kidnapped girl with the cognac eyes. How fucked up is that?
As my mood sours, I look to the vision beside me. Her eyes are closed. The thick line of lashes fan against her rosy cheeks. Her naturally brown hair looks even darker against the bright white of my satin sheets, giving her almost an ethereal glow.
I can’t let her go. I can’t do this anymore. The clock is now ticking against us. I have less than 10 days to get us the fuck out of here, or it’s all over. G won’t make her work before the Super Bowl, so as long as I can keep her safe from the evil that lurks in this mansion, than I can keep her to myself.
Ten days to race against the clock to freedom.
Ten days or we both might as well be dead.
Her living here is no longer an option.
“Brixton?” Her voice is heavy with exhaustion.
I reach out and stroke her soft hair. “Right here.”
“Will you lie down with me?”
What a simple request. I shift so that I can pull her back against my front and begin to lie down.
“Will you take your clothes off first?”
I groan quietly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m hard as a rock here, dove. Not the best idea to have your naked ass spooned against my cock.”
“Oh,” she responds shyly. “Should I, I mean, can I help you?”
This woman will be the fucking death of me. “Not today. Today is for you.”
Brandi relaxes against the mattress so I lower myself behind her once more. “Next time,” she yawns.
For the first time in years, I crack a real goddamned smile and bury my face in her hair. “It would be my pleasure.”
***
We sleep for a few hours, but when we wake, I know it’s time for her to go back downstairs. I kiss her in the same place it all began, with her back pressed tightly against my door. Except this time, I’m not afraid to touch her. I roam her milky skin, committing every curve to memory until the next time.
And then, I let her go.
We talked about the best way to send her back and decided she needs to look contrite. I toss her out of my room with a shove that looks harder than it really is and watch from the banister while she makes her way down to the main floor. She passes Darnell on the landing, and he reaches out to touch her breast. It fills me with rage.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” I bark, the sound echoing in the high ceilings of the house. “She’s had enough punishment for one afternoon.”
“Good,” he laughs and climbs the stairs towards me. “I’m disappointed I didn’t get to give it to her though.” He’s high as a fuckin’ kite. His eyes are completely unfocused and glassy.
“You won’t be giving it to anyone if you keep sneaking drugs all the fuckin’ time.” I push passed him and jog down the stairs.
“The boss won’t let me have any pussy. I need to do something to keep me entertained!” he yells at my back.
I give him my middle finger and head towards the den in search of Gutierrez. He usually spends his afternoons there, and I’m hoping he’ll be back already. I need to figure out his next move so I can stay two steps ahead.
When I arrive outside the den, I give the door one sharp knock before I open it. G sits behind his desk with a glass of scotch in his hand. He has a folder open before him that has his concentration.
I shut the door and stand for several minutes before he looks up and notices me.
“Holt!” he greets with
false warmth. “How’d it go this morning?”
I watch curiously as he folds the file and tucks it into the bottom right hand drawer, which he keeps locked. That’s where I need to be.
“Everything went fine this morning. The girls know where they’re expected to be.” I fold myself into the padded chair in front of his desk.
“Excellent. My morning went perfect as well. Now I’ll be meeting with our attorney on Friday and everything should be good to go for next week.” He takes a long drink from his glass.
“Why do you need to meet with Mr. Brooks?”
“Liabilities, Holt. The potential for mistakes to be made. I need him prepared for a call next Sunday. I’ll have lots of workers out at the game, and I need him on standby in case we run into some…challenges.” He takes another drink. “Not that I expect any, of course. But one can never be too prepared.”
My mind begins formulating a plan. “Agreed,” I reply. I know I need to get into this drawer, but he’d never leave the key lying around. He’ll be gone for about an hour on Friday. I could always pick the lock. I need a distraction. I can’t ask Brandi to help me with this. No doubt she’d sacrifice herself. No, I need something that seems natural. I just don’t know what. “What do you need from me?” I can’t forget my role as his right-hand man. If I forget how to play the part, it’s all over.
“I have a drop you need to oversee on Monday with one of the new recruits. Other than that, nothing until the big day.”
“Seems…relaxing. Why the sudden drop in activity?”
G is quiet while he pours himself some more scotch. “Drink?”
I wave him off, holding my laid-back position. “Nah, I’m good.”
He takes a long sip. “You ever have a premonition? Ever get that feeling in your gut?”
“I always follow my gut.”
“Exactly.” He doesn’t elaborate. Now I’ve definitely got a bad feeling in my gut.
“So, you’ve got a bad feeling? About Sunday?”
G leans back in his chair and picks up his glass. He looks at me pointedly. The smooth amber liquid swirls with the motion of his hand. “Let’s just say I want everyone rested and ready to go.” He tosses back the remainder of his drink.
