by Dark Angel
His body moves in a slow, steady pace, and I take deep breaths with every movement of his thighs. The desire to scream makes my throat go hoarse, and all I allow myself is an almost imperceptible moan. I lace my legs around his torso and pull him toward me, forcing him deep inside my pussy.
As if reading my mind, his pace increases at that exact moment. I go back to moaning in a whispered tone, the effort clawing at my throat. He leans into me, pulls back his lips and takes his mouth to my neck again. I close my eyes, feeling the very presence of him invading my body. It's as if all of him is in me, making my blood boil and all my senses burst.
I feel the pleasure he feels, I feel my own pleasure. I feel all the muscles of our bodies, tense and taut, singing a song that only we can hear. A dangerous and wild music.
He pulls his body from mine and slips his hand under my ass. With an almost superhuman touch, he forces me to stand; then he makes me turn, my back to him, and forces me to bend over. I place my hands on the desk and do as he wants, jutting my ass back at him.
I feel his hand stroking my pussy, parting its lips, and then he comes back inside me, his cock ravaging me with an uncontrollable rage.
Fast, fast, fast—he moves in an impossible way, his body pressed against mine, his rhythmic movements a frenzied haze. All that I want, he does. He reads my body as if I'm an open book, a solved puzzle.
It continues until my body simply can’t endure more. My mind is exhausted, my muscles tense and pulsating, trembling with pleasure. But he goes on, making me cross a threshold that I don't even know exists.
I close my eyes and surrender to the inevitable. I let go of the world. My muscles tense and the whole universe explodes inside of me, my mind flooded by a tidal wave of pleasure.
I scream, an impossible cry of pleasure. What if the whole floor hears it? Let them enjoy the show, for all I care. My whole body trembles, my face, my arms and my legs. I throw my head back and close my eyes. Again, I feel his teeth digging into my neck and my body explodes once more, an impossible and powerful orgasm shaking every inch of my body and soul.
“I’m going to come,” Connor groans, and that unleashes something inside me. Next thing I know, his cock is already out of my pussy and I’m on my knees in front of him; grabbing his thick member, I start stroking him hard. The moment I feel slight spasms running through the length of his shaft, I don’t hesitate, I just open my mouth and dive in, taking his whole cock into my mouth.
Not a second later and he’s gushing his load into my mouth, filling it up to the brim in the blink of an eye. I keep still as that happens, feeling thick strands of cum dripping out of my lips and down my chin, heavy beads of it falling down onto the carpeted floor. Ah, good way to start my career as CEO, staining the carpet.
“Office christened,” Connor laughs brightly, sliding his cock out of my mouth and looking down at me. The moment he locks his eyes on mine, I simply swallow all the cum inside my mouth, allowing its saltiness to go down my throat.
“You know,” I tell him, grinning as I stand up in front of him, “we should work late nights once in awhile.”
“More than usual?”
“Yeah … just imagine this whole floor empty. Lots of rooms to christen, don’t you think?” I ask him, and we simply erupt in laughter.
“Now that’s an idea … maybe make a baby on top of the copying machine,” he tells me offhandedly, but my heart skips a beat at the mention of the word ‘baby’.
“A baby?” I ask him, my voice more clear than usual.
“A baby,” he nods. “Would you like to make one?”
Looking into his eyes, I feel my heart becoming lighter and lighter, a joyous happiness spreading over my soul. A baby? Yeah, I think I’d like that… I think I’d like to be a mother.
And so, I just give him the best answer I can think of.
“I’ll buy the best copying machine available.”
The Virgin Market
Dream of me, baby girl. Prepare yourself for what I’m about to do to you…
Her Father sold her to me to clear his debt.
It sickens me but I accept it because I see the lust for me in her eyes. How she wants her hands caressing my rugged face and ripped body.
She tries to hide it but she can't. And I can’t stop thinking about what I'll be doing to her.
Making that virgin body quiver with the numbness of pleasure. She has no idea the depths of my depravity.
But it won’t be just me.
Oh, no. That would be too easy. I have a partner who was also wronged by her father.
Together, we need to decide whether we keep her.
Or sell her.
It's a twisted question - give in to love and keep her. Or give in to vengeance and give her up on The Market?
It's too bad that Sarah Carlton is so untouched. An innocent and fragile girl who is the very picture of sweetness.
And we’re going to savor that sweetness as we break her, no matter what we choose.
Prologue - Damien
I watch the rise and fall of Sarah’s chest, her breath finally slowing, and that’s all that keeps me hanging on. Every dark strand of her chocolate hair that often frames her face is tucked back into an elegant chignon. Nothing is out of place. Everything is perfect for display. A cosmetic counter’s best products are on display on her elegant, angelic features. Her face is masked in beauty, yet dripping with pain.
How did I get here?
I know how she got here. I'm the reason Sarah is here, on an auction block, trembling, for display.
I accept that Sarah is part of this. Part of making sure that the equation is solved, balanced.
But my heart and soul are ragged as I watch Sarah’s failed attempts to regain control of just her breathing.
“…Finest the Virgin Market has to offer…” one of the hosts barks as rich buyers walk past us and I catch some of his sickening words.
Through her frightened state, Sarah manages to catch some of them too. She yelps silently, fear stealing the sound from her lips, at whatever words she catches. Her mouth closes, the glossy lipstick smoothing over each lip when they press together again.
I thought Trevor, Sarah, and I had this situation figured out.
Except how could we?
Sure, my solution was entirely a half measure. Of course it didn’t work out one hundred percent. I just didn’t think it would fall apart like this.
I didn’t think I would fucking fall apart like this either.
The Virgin Market previously garnered a dispassionate response from me. These girls, and their virginity, were just another commodity to be sold and traded. So what? I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t see it as any different than any other business. I just didn’t happen to be one of their customers, or sellers.
Trevor had bought single nights on the Virgin Market before. He and I had also done some sharing in the past of decidedly non-virgins. There was a particular weekend where we shared a hot cougar who’s very elderly husband had passed and she wanted to celebrate her near infinite riches. She elected to do so impaled on both of our cocks. Afterwards, Trevor took the time to tell me that he liked younger, less experienced gals, and, would I like to try the Virgin Market?
He told me about it and I wasn’t interested. I didn’t come across outraged. I didn’t even judge him.
I was just…whatever about it.
I’ve never needed to buy women. You know that about me for sure if you know who I am.
My body makes any woman wet.
Including you.
My 8-pack abs cut with diamonds and sculpted with granite.
My bedroom eyes.
My rugged face.
My 12-inch cock.
My billions of dollars.
I am the epitome of fuckability.
Taking Sarah had been an offer I’d taken up on instantly, determining that my next move would be decided later.
When it got complicated, I asked Trevor to make sense of it. It w
as an intuitive move because I knew he could handle making the decision.
But I thought my solution to getting Sarah out of my mind was selling her to Trevor. Trevor even pushed me to sell her on the Virgin Market.
Yet, I couldn’t handle the thought of her belonging to anyone else but Trevor. I shared her with Trevor once, and that was fucking hot. We were selling her at the Virgin Market despite the fact that she was not a virgin. Which was fine…because Trevor was buying her and that was fine on his part. And no one would fucking know she wasn’t a virgin. Ironically, this was a business of some kind of twisted honor. At least an honor system that the girls for sale were virgins.
And then Trevor disappears before he can buy Sarah. What the fuck? I just can’t fucking bring myself to sell her to anyone else, and I didn’t think this was going to happen.
After everything, Sarah’s parents are here, suffering from seeing what's going to happen to her. Now I’m here and I can’t buy Sarah because I'm selling her…and I just want to leave.
I've already placed her up for order. I thought Trevor was running late, and would show. Now three minutes remain and in these three minutes, I'm dying a thousand deaths.
I can't satisfy the Market’s demands for a virgin without offering a replacement girl that buyers can purchase, and even if I had one, it's too goddamn late.
I face the very real risk that I'm here now, selling Sarah as a virgin to someone else, and that she will be truly lost to me, and Trevor, forever.
This is all my goddamn fault. Because what fucking mattered to me? The wrong goddamn things. I never, ever should've done any of this shit.
Trevor couldn’t possibly have forgotten or decided against buying Sarah, yet he isn’t fucking here. Isn’t answering his texts. Isn’t picking up his phone. Fuck.
I don’t want to deal with this shit right now. I want to deal with comforting Sarah.
She's terrified. She doesn’t know that we weren’t just planning to sell her anymore. She thinks we’ve abandoned her. And now … I'm being forced to do just that.
I have everything to lose; if I lose Sarah, she is everything to me.
I see her eyes shine with tears that won’t fall. Her gaze is full of enough pain that it feels like screaming in my already harried mind. I want to answer those screams, kiss those tears before they can be cried. That’s when I know. I feel the pit of my stomach ring out with the impact of the truth.
I will blow everything up in my entire goddamn life and anyone who comes at me before I let this happen.
I look at Sarah. She’s hurt, betrayed, confused. Of course she is. Sarah doesn’t know how to feel about feeling betrayed when she shouldn’t have discerned any loyalty at all.
But that loyalty is fucking there. No matter how much I've fought it.
Now, before I can tell her, the light on her auction block goes off, and I realize that I didn’t fucking act quickly enough.
I’m going to lose her forever.
What kind of fucking monster am I? I decide to run with her, save her, hide her, but seconds too late before I can?
No.
Sarah’s time has ran out.
Sarah
The wood is always my favorite part.
A crackling fire on the hearth, a warm cup of cocoa, and a cozy sweater makes Christmas feel like a miracle after the stresses of a tough college semester. I'm home for Christmas at my parents' house, but something is different this year.
I think my parents aren’t telling the truth. I have a work-study job at school. They say a clerical error is why the school thinks I need one. But I don’t push. I took on a job at my college as soon as the school notified me that I needed to. I'm in school; I'm costing my parents a lot of money. My mother makes no qualms about the fact that she wishes I would simply marry some rich man and not worry about going to school until after I snag a husband. If I consider school at all. My father indulges me, but only to a point. I can tell they are frustrated. I know they must have money problems.
Now, my father is holed up in his study, going on several hours now, instead of us even having a family dinner. Christmas is in two days and I'm stuck upstairs while he deals with some jerk who won't hold off their business until after the holidays? What's so bad? Who's being so rude?
I figure that I should trot my own butt downstairs. Get my own hot cocoa. I have the cozy sweater—check—and I will curl up with a novel after I procure the desired chocolate. Thanks to my dorm mate, I’m reading a saucy romance that heats up these cold winter nights. Better, at least, than the cozy mysteries I usually read.
Now, I swear, I have no intention of bothering my father. But when I hear raised voices, my attention is grabbed. Particularly, the voice I don’t recognize grabs me. A deep, masculine voice that gives me chills the instant I hear it.
"Damien!" I hear my father shout at him, sounding frazzled.
This Damien continues to say something about how it would be in my father's best interest to do as he was told.
Who is this jerk? He bothers us, interrupting our family time during the holidays, and works my father up to the point that he sounds frantic. Tells him what to do. I can’t help but lean in closer, and my mug slips out of my hand. Uh oh. Both male voices stop. I yelp.
"Sarah?" my father says, with a hint of ... hopefulness? Something odd colors his voice. I want to think that he's just happy to see me, but that seems like a foolish thought, even for an introvert like me. I don’t pick up much in social cues, but that’s due mainly just my naïveté to new surroundings. Something burns in my stomach. That heat pools deep in my belly when I hear that Damien man repeat my name in his delicious, dark voice.
It sounds like Damien tastes my name rather than just says it, and I'm covered in chills again, despite the thick cable knit sweater I'd made between classes this year to keep me warm. All the sweaters in the world won’t sheath me from the chills Damien’s voice creates all over my body. I am painfully aware that I'm not wearing much more than this sweater. Nothing can cover me up enough if I'm in the same room as Damien.
"Come in, won't you?" my father says. He sounds like the cat who ate the canary. Why? I think he must be mad that I'm spying, and that I'd probably just broke one of my mother's mugs. Mom will bitch about it, and then in turn my father will have to hear that bitching and he'll bitch to me about it. Still, I have no real reason to think ill of my father's intentions. I step inside, wishing I had more than the thin pajama pants on I thought wouldn't be seen by anyone. I didn't even have any panties on, not that I should be thinking about that, but I feel naked.
When I see this Damien, sitting in my father's desk chair while my father stands behind one of the chairs in front of his desk usually reserved for guests, I want to run away. I'm frozen in place. Damien is tall, taller than any man I've ever seen before. His shoulders are broad and frame an impressive barrel chest and a chiseled set of abs I can see through the cotton of his shirt, it fits so tightly. He has tattoos, intricate designs that are striking. But nothing is as striking as the power he seems to emanate. While his face is the very image of classically handsome prince charming, there is a rugged danger about him that screams villain more than savior. That danger doesn’t mar the definite sophistication he has, but it's the final touch of a devil's food cake of a decadently hot man.
I've upgraded from thinking about drinking hot chocolate. This incredibly hot man makes me think about wanting to drink him in, eat him up, even though I wouldn't know the first thing about that. A man like him couldn’t be attracted to a nerd like me. All I do is read and study. I've never even had a boyfriend. Until seeing him, I hadn't had much of an interest in one.
But nothing about him is ‘boy’—Damien is one hundred percent male, a grown man. I hug my arms to myself.
"Hi, dad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drop the mug, I was just going to make some hot cocoa--" I stop stammering when I follow my father’s gaze to see that now he’s looking at Damien.
Damien looks at me
. I feel something in my core pulse when Damien's hot gaze meets mine. I know this look, though not usually do I see this look in my direction. Or so intensely. Damien is looking at me the way a man looks at a woman that he wants. On Damien's face, looking at me, it's so intense that the temperature of the room heats to a suffering boiling point. I want to tear off my sweater. I gulp. My palms sweat. My stomach swirls.
"Sarah, honey," my father says, putting on a sweeter voice than he normally does with me. I can’t figure out why.
I can’t pull myself from this spell Damien cast on me with just his wicked eyes.
"Yes, daddy?" I don’t understand what my father is doing. I can’t linger to think about it because my heart is racing so much I can barely listen to my father’s words.
"Why don't you sit on Damien's lap, you could help with this decision we're trying to come to?" My father phrases and inflects it like a question. But it is a request. I think I must be hearing him incorrectly. What?
I can't breathe. Damien's eyes blaze in my direction, and a smirk plays over one corner of his mouth. It eggs me on, annoys me a little even. It's like he's saying that I won't do it, and for some reason, I'm unable to accept that. Sure, he's right, it's the sort of thing I would never do.
But I want to.
The reptilian part of my brain wants it. Hungers for this man.
I will do anything for this man. Just looking at him, somehow I know this.
I waltz right behind my father's desk. My legs move me, my brain able to get the message to them even though I feel like I'm made of jelly and can’t think straight. I sit on Damien's lap. Internally, I'm screaming.
Damien pulls me further back on his lap, not allowing me to sit on the edge of his knee tentatively. I feel the full length of the undeniable form of Damien’s cock in his trousers. I nearly yelp out loud but contain the screaming to my mind. A small gasp escapes. I hope no one notices. I can’t hear anything other than the rushing of my blood, blasting through my ears, as if it's playing through speakers.
