by R. R. Banks
I shivered from the cold, or from the feeling of having his eyes on me.
“Collateral?” my father asked.
Mr. Smith stepped closer, reaching his hand out to smooth along my hair.
“Keep your hands off me.” I jumped back, but he only stalked closer.
My father came between us. “No, John.”
Ah, John Smith. I had heard of the multi-billionaire. He owned half the city. Or either all of it.
He stepped back. “Gary, I need a little reassurance you’ll pay on time. So, either you stay here, or your daughter stays.”
“You can’t keep him here,” I shouted, defiantly.
“I’ll stay here.” My father’s gallant effort fell short when I pushed him behind me.
“No, I’ll stay.” I turned toward my father. “How will you get the money together if you’re a prisoner here?”
“Jane, I won’t let you do this,” was his answer back.
“Daddy, please. You need your medication, and you need to be home.”
“No,” my father pleaded.
“It’s settled.” John grabbed my father by the arm and rushed him out of the room. I tried to follow, but John slammed the door and locked me inside.
I pounded on the door with both fists, shouting for my father. Tears streamed down my face.
I hate him.
I hate John Smith.
Chapter Two
I sunk my tiny body into the soft leather of the armchair, wanting to disappear as the fire crackled beside me.
I watched the soft embers, and wished I could be anywhere but here.
Mr. Smith barged in. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
I shook my head, not wanting to give him my words. It was a small defiance, inconsequential, but he’d taken my freedom. I didn't want to willingly give him anything.
“You will have to speak to me.” Silence stretched between us as he navigated to the center of the room.
After a few moments of my mind conjuring up horrible things of what awaited me, finally, I spoke, “What do you plan on doing to me?”
His eyes met mine. The red from the fire illuminated his face making him appear like the devil incarnate. He shot me a sly grin. “You’re mine now. I can do whatever I want.”
Unease draped itself around me. “I’m not a prostitute.”
He laughed softly at my statement. “Do I look like the type of man who would buy a prostitute?”
I glanced at him. With his crisp, black suit, fancy cufflinks, and expensive silver watch poking out from under his clothing, he looked every bit the type of man who would. “Yes,” I uttered.
He laughed again and the rich sound sent goosebumps traveling over my skin. Turning my head to gaze away from him, I wondered how long I would be stuck here.
“Let me show you your room.” He turned to leave the room, and I followed.
Older artwork lined the walls as we went up the grand staircase.
“This property is completely isolated. Don’t bother trying to escape.”
My eyes widened. “Okay,” I mumbled.
He opened a door, offering his hand. “This way, Jane.”
I brushed past him. As the wood door slammed shut, my insides churned. The finality of the moment set in. I was here, in a stranger’s home. Would I basically be his slave for the next few weeks?
“Are you hungry?”
“No, leave me alone.” I cried a little as he left with a huff of anger.
My pulse calmed a little knowing I wouldn’t be staying in his room.
The room was enormous and lavish.
A huge sleigh bed, piled high with pillows in all shapes and sizes, stood strong and proud in the center of the room. French doors, which led out to a balcony, stood open, their pale blue curtains rustling in the breeze. Colorful paintings adorned the white walls.
After I inspected the room, I dropped to the huge bed. Sleep pulled me under as soon as I snuggled underneath the covers.
***
The next morning, I woke to sunshine streaming into the room. It took me a moment to remember where I was. Then, I remembered my situation.
I didn’t want to move from the bed. It was so comfortable and luxurious. I could hate him and still secretly love this bed. Glancing at the antique clock hanging on the wall, I noticed it was already eleven in the morning.
Letting out a sigh, I reluctantly rose from the mattress and noticed an outfit laid out for me. After using the lavish en suite bathroom, and getting dressed in dark skinny jeans and an oversized pink sweater, I decided to leave the room.
I tiptoed down the stairs and tried to find the kitchen after my stomach growled. Turning a corner, my eyes grew wide when I saw Mr. Smith sitting at a long oak table. He glanced at me. “Are you hungry, Jane?” The way he said my name, husky and low, had my head spinning.
“Yeah, a little.”
I sat and a server in a suit produced a plate of eggs and bacon for me. My stomach was in knots. I could only push my scrambled eggs around on the plate with my fork.
“Eat it, Jane.”
“Fine.” I speared a piece of bacon with my fork and brought it to my lips. After I took the bite, Mr. Smith growled in his chair beside me. My head snapped to him. Did I imagine that?
I stopped chewing, stopped breathing, as his eyes closed. I waited with baited breath for him to open them.
When his eyes sprang open, they were heated and my insides warmed. “Take another bite, Jane.”
I complied and was met with the same reaction as before. When I swallowed, his eyes opened and he leaned closer. “You’re pretty enough to eat,” he breathed across my ear.
My spine straightened in the chair as I tried not to let his words affect me. He resumed his position and ate his meal as if the moment had never happened.
“What will you do with me today?”
He placed his fork down and stared at me for a moment. “What would you like to do?”
“Go home.” Hey, it was worth a shot.
He laughed for a quick second. “Out of the question. Anything else?”
I thought about it and then said the only thing I loved to do. “Can I read?”
He studied me a moment as if my request surprised him. “I have a library I think you’ll love.”
After breakfast, he took me to the library.
It was large, with a wraparound bookcase built into all three walls. So many books.
I sat in a large overstuffed chair and spent the remainder of the afternoon reading the book he selected. When the afternoon sun set, I shut the book and went to my room.
A note sat on my pillow with a red rose.
Have dinner with me, Jane.
There were bags of clothing and shoes all for me and I hung up a few things. I had no idea if there was a dress code for dinner in this fancy mansion, so I pulled on a skirt and a sleeveless pink blouse.
I smoothed out the wrinkles as I went into the bathroom to do my hair.
As I made my way downstairs, butterflies fluttered throughout my system.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs. A black suit clung to his perfectly sculpted body. He was refreshing, like a cool drink of water I wanted to gulp down in one sip to cool the fire smoldering in my veins.
He sucked in a deep breath.
When I reached him, he placed his hand on the small of my back guiding me to the dining room.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
I blushed. His compliment threw me off guard. “Thanks.”
My nerves were shot. On one hand, I should demand to be taken home. On the other, I wanted him to keep staring at me like he wanted to take me right there, on the staircase. He led me to the long formal table.
His dark, penetrating gaze grazed over my body and stopped along my chest. My traitorous nipples hardened under his scrutiny.
He pulled a high-back dining chair for me to sit, and I glanced around taking in the elegant set up on the table.
Soft flic
kering candlelight illuminated the dimly lit room. The white chinaware was etched with a red rose. Silver cutlery gleamed in the glow of the flames, and as I sat down, Mr. Smith’s hand brushed across the top of my shoulder.
I wasn’t expecting the whisper touch of his skin coming into contact with mine. I almost wanted him to do it again.
He sat. The tension between us was palpable. I took a sip of wine to calm my nerves from a glass so delicate, I worried I would snap the stem in two. A man dressed in a freshly pressed black and white suit entered the dining room. He carried a silver platter, and I felt out of my element. There were so many forks. He set the dish in front of me and lifted the lid.
Beef Wellington and mashed potatoes in a fancy dollop decorated the plate.
Mr. Smith smiled. “Eat, enjoy.”
It smelled delicious, and my hunger from missing lunch won out over the turmoil I felt inside. Before I took a bite, I asked, “Mr. Smith, what happens if my father doesn’t pay?”
His eyes raised.
Then, he set his fork down and gave me that wicked smile again. “Nothing you need to worry about, my dear.”
I hated being called dear, reminded me of my father. “Please don’t call me that.”
He picked up his fork and began eating. “Call you my dear?”
“Yes, I hate it.”
“What would you like me to call you? Jane? Baby? Precious?”
“No.” I didn't really want him to call me anything.
He smiled. The dinner was delicious but the company wasn't. I wanted to ask questions about him, but debated a good ten minutes before I spoke.
“What do you do for fun?” I bit down on my food, and the flavor profile erupted in my mouth, making me moan.
“A lot of things.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his short, crystal tumbler. “But, my favorite is making women moan, just like you did there.”
I didn't doubt he could. “So, you’re a chef?” I smiled and winked.
“No, not a chef. I use other ways to make women moan.”
“Oh,” was all I could say. My insides tingled as his eyes met mine again. The dining table was long, and he was a good five feet away, but the way he stared at me, with the blaze of fire in his eyes, felt like he was right on top of me.
I’d never experienced anything like it.
“Do I make you nervous, Jane?” His voice was low but carried the distance between us, and I felt as though he’d whispered it in my ear.
My hands trembled as I lifted my fork to my lips. “No,” I lied, before I took a bite.
Again, I was moaning. What did they put in the food?
He dropped his fork, watching me ever so closely. “You keep moaning like that and this dinner will be over very soon.”
I didn’t know what he meant by those words, so I kept myself in check. We ate in silence as soft classical music played in the background.
When dinner was over, I rose from my seat to head to my room. As soon as my foot landed on the first step, I felt his hand on the small of my back. “I want to show you something.”
Chapter Three
He led me out the back door of his home.
“Look out there. What do you see?” he asked me.
“Freedom?”
“Exactly, and while you're here in my home you'll be expected to eat every meal with me, and accompany me to a Gala.”
“A gala?”
“Yes.”
“You could be a little nicer, you know. You don't have to demand things. You could have asked.”
“Asked? You're mine.”
“And you have no manners.”
He led me to a patio table outside and the evening air was chilly against my skin.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Would you accompany the gala with me?”
“See that wasn't so hard.”
He scooted closer. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.” He was too close, and his fingers grazed my chin.
His eyes heated mixed with a carnal desire I wasn't familiar with.
“Are you a virgin?” His question shocked me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You’ll be the death of me, Jane.”
“Mr. Smith…” I began.
“John, call me John.”
“John, what happens if my father doesn’t pay?”
“Then you become mine. I came to collect a debt from your father. If he can’t pay, you will be his payment.”
“That’s illegal.”
He let out a sinister laugh and then stopped suddenly. “Do you think I give a fuck?” His voice turned cold, and I was afraid.
“But, what about my father?”
“What about him?”
“Will he be hurt?” I wanted to ask what I was really thinking, would he be murdered.
He sprang from his seat and hovered over me.
My cheeks warmed and his eyes penetrated mine. So dark and fiery.
“You really do think I'm a monster, don't you?”
I tried to answer. I tried to breathe, but couldn't.
“It’s late. Go to bed,” he snapped, and I rushed into the house and up to my room.
***
Lying in bed, sleep wouldn’t come no matter how hard I tried. John’s words played over and over in my head. I would be his.
I tossed and turned thinking about his eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I awoke. My body was on fire with lust for John, and I tried my hardest to erase the thoughts of the way he stared at me. I couldn’t.
The junction between my thighs yearned for attention, and I pressed my fingers against my clit as I thought of him. Touching me. Kissing me. Doing anything to me.
I moaned, softly. Dipping my hand beneath the waistband of my panties, I slid a finger inside myself. I rocked into my hand, moaning a little louder this time. What would his fingers feel like inside me?
The thought had my fingers racing along my wet skin as I brought myself closer to my orgasm. My hips bucked, rocking into my hand faster. My moans grew louder. I tried to quiet down, but it felt too good imagining John’s hands on me.
“John,” his name left my lips in a whisper.
My orgasm shot through me like a freight train, all flashing lights and high speeds.
As soon as my body stilled, and the after effects began to fade, a noise sounded in the corner of my room. My eyes grew wide, and I sat up.
In the soft, dim light, my eyes met his. His haunting eyes.
He was in my room. Saw what I did.
“Get out,” I shouted to his shadowy figure in the darkened recesses of my room.
John didn’t move. He stood there, watching. After a solid minute, he moved toward me. Calculated and controlled as if he owned the room. Which he did, but it almost felt like he owned me as well.
“Jane,” he spoke.
I pulled the covers higher to my chin as he came even closer. I didn’t want to answer.
“Jane?”
“Yes,” I finally said after another minute of silence.
“I can do it better.”
“Do what better?” I had an idea of what he spoke about, but I wanted to forget it had ever happened.
“Give you an orgasm. Instead of whispering my name, I’d make you come so hard you’d be screaming it.”
My mouth hung open, and even though I’d just had an orgasm, I was ready to go again. His confidence was daunting and downright scary. I didn’t know what to say. He moved closer to where he was within reaching distance. I wanted to touch him. Feel his hard body beneath my fingertips. But, I kept gripping the sheet instead.
He raised his hand and caressed my cheek. “Think about it.”
“Get out,” I managed to say.
His seduction was over, and he left the room. I blew out a breath, and my heart raced.
Chapter Four
The next few days, John kept his distance from me. I spent most of my time in the garden, reading.
He spent his time in his office with the doors closed or in his own personal gym.
Dinner was always tense. He would order my food as if he owned me. Essentially, he did. But at night, when I lay my head on the fluffy pillow, I dreamt of him.
A few days later, my mind played over the fact my father had still not rescued me. Was he ever going to find the money?
I sat in the library, alone, reading. John walked in, impeccably dressed as usual. Navy designer suit, silver tie.
“What?” I asked. “Has my father contacted you?”
He crossed his arms, his eyebrow arching over his devilish eyes. “No.”
“Oh,” I said, sinking back into the comfy high-backed armchair. My hope to return home was starting to dwindle.
“You could always work off his debt, Jane.”
I tilted my head at him. Now he wanted me to play the part of Cinderella and clean is impeccably clean house? “How? Like chores and stuff?”
He bellowed. “Oh, I definitely have some chores for you, my princess.”
His endearment caught me off guard. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as he moved closer. With every step in my direction, my insides burned. Why did he have to be so sexy? My brain scrambled as he inched closer. His smell wafted over me, and I breathed it in as if it was my only oxygen. It was masculine, primal, a scent to have all others jealous.
He loosened his tie. “Do you want to pay off your father’s debt?”
“Well, yes.” He grabbed my hand and helped me up.
Confused, I dropped the book, following him out of the library.
He was silent as he led me up the marble staircase. My heart beat a loud, annoying rhythm in my chest.
He walked past my bedroom and continued down the hallway to the double doors standing tall and firm at the end. He pushed them open and ushered me inside.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I glanced around. Mahogany woods and grey fabrics were all I could see.
