by Hannah Ford
“You own me.”
He squeezed my thighs tighter, pushing my pussy together, and I watched again as his dick moved between my tightened lips.
“Yes, baby, make those pussy lips pop,” he said.
I moaned.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Quiet.” He pushed a finger into my mouth and I sucked it eagerly, tasting myself on him.
I moaned again.
“Quiet, baby, or I’m going to shove something else in your mouth.”
“Your cock?” I wondered meekly, before I remembered he’d forbidden me from talking.
Noah’s eyes darkened at my disobedience. He reached down and grabbed the t-shirt he’d tossed off, ripped it down the middle and slung it around my neck.
He pulled me up toward him, holding me by the sides of the t-shirt that was around my neck. He kissed me hungrily, his tongue against mine, my hardened nipples brushing against the soft hair of his chest.
He swallowed my moans with his mouth.
At this angle, with me pulled up toward him a bit, I could feel his cock pressed deeper inside of me.
He pulled away and gazed down at me, the heat and want pouring off his body. “You want to fuck?” he demanded gruffly.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer or not.
“Answer me.”
“I want to fuck,” I managed.
“How bad?” The hard mushroom head of his engorged cock was pressing against my entrance, the tiniest bit of the tip going into my hole. He tossed the t-shirt away and grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, his other squeezing my chin hard.
My eyes filled with tears, at the pain, and the emotion of wanting him so badly that I was willing to do whatever he wanted.
He kissed me again.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded when he finally broke our kiss. “Please, fuck me.”
“Watch it go in.”
I obeyed, watching as his hard dick began to split my pussy lips, finally disappearing inside of my pussy.
He held me up with one hand by the back of my neck, his other hand down at my pussy, spreading me open so he could get a better look.
“Fuck, that looks good, baby. Watch yourself getting fucked.”
I was so slick with my own juices and his precum, that he was sliding in easily. And yet the width of him made me so stretched it was almost painful.
“Does it hurt, baby?”
“A little,” I admitted.
His eyes glinted, and I could feel him growing harder inside of me, could feel him getting turned on at the fact that he was stretching me around him. He looked down at the place where we met, where his dick was pushing into me, and he spit on it, making the shaft of his cock even wetter.
The extra lubrication helped a tiny bit, but it was more the nastiness of what he was doing to me that made me flood with wetness.
“I’m going to come,” I managed. “Please, I need to.”
“Not yet, baby,” he said, his hips bucking. “We’re going to come at the same time. You like when I used your body to get off, don’t you, you dirty little girl?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
He was fucking me harder now, and he grabbed my chin again and pulled me toward him, kissing me softly and gently, almost tenderly. The gentleness of his kiss was in direct contradiction to the way he was pushing into me, the way his cock was thrusting in and out of me.
“Where should I come?” he whispered against my lips.
“What?”
“Where should I come?” he repeated. His hand moved down, his thumb strumming my clit. “Here?”
I moaned.
“Here?” he whispered, his breath hot against my lips as his fingers trailed over my stomach.
“Here?” His hand moved to my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple.
I whimpered.
“Or maybe here,” he said wickedly, his finger brushing down over my cheek.
I shivered. He’d never come on my face before, and I was repulsed and turned on at the same time at the thought.
He smirked and pulled his dick out of me, leaving me empty, teasing me, his hands moving over my body now, kneading my breasts.
“God, you are so sexy,” he murmured. “I want to cover you with my come.”
He pushed back into my pussy, and thumb still brushing my clit.
“Are you ready to come, baby?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Beg.”
“Can I come, sir, please?”
“Yes, baby,” he groaned. “Yes, come for me.”
He began to fuck me harder, pulling out his dick and then shoving it back into me for two or three strokes before pulling out again, and then shoving it back in.
My orgasm built like the swell of a wave, and I felt myself start to spasm around him.
“Good girl,” he groaned, and his mouth met mine, swallowing my groans of pleasure as he began to come inside of me. I kissed him back hungrily as I felt him unload into me, the spasms of my orgasm making the sensation of him filling me more intense.
When we were done, he pulled away from me slowly, but kept his dick in me.
Then he tilted my chin, made me look down as he pulled his cock out.
“Push out my come.”
“Noah.. I can’t…” My face flamed.
“Do it.”
I pushed it out, watched in fascination as he took his dick and rubbed his come into me, into my clit, branding me.
When he’d rubbed every last drop into me, he pulled away. He leaned back and looked into my eyes, and I could feel his cock hardening against me, could feel that he was so turned on by me that he was ready to fuck again.
He pulled me up, gathering me in his arms.
“You took your pill?” he whispered.
“My birth control? Yes, of course.”
He kissed my head and released me. “Get to bed, Charlotte.”
“But – ”
“I want you to sleep with my come on you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of our suitcase and dressed me, then got dressed himself in a pair of athletic pants and a sweatshirt before taking a seat by the window in a wingback chair.
“Are you going to sleep?” I asked him. I wanted him here, in bed with me.
“No.” He began to put his shoes on.
“But you expect me to?”
“You need rest, Charlotte.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Try.”
I turned over. What I wanted was him, next to me. I was restless, rustling around, wanting him in bed with me.
“Say it, Charlotte,” he said finally.
“What?”
“You obviously want to say something, so just say it.”
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him. “There are two things.”
“Of course.”
“Okay, well, first…” I took in a deep breath. “Why do you keep asking me about my birth control?”
His shoulders tightened, and he paused for a moment. He was bent over, tying his shoe, and his movements became more deliberate, more nuanced. “Because it is imperative that you don’t get pregnant.”
“Ooo-kay,” I said. “But why are you worried about this now? You’ve never asked me about my birth control before, and we’ve never used condoms.” We never had. Even the first night I met him, when he’d took me in the ally, his body pressed up against mine, my check against the brick.
He’d taken me, hard and fast.
No condom.
Not even the mention of one.
He straightened up and looked at me. He rubbed his chin and sighed. “Lately, when I’m fucking you… I feel the urge to get you pregnant.”
I swallowed. “Oh. Um… I’m not….We’re not even married yet.” A baby at this point in my life would not be a good idea. We had so many things going on, not just with Professor Worthington, but with the Lilah Parks case…I hadn’t even finished law school yet
.
I wasn’t even sure I was going to be allowed to finish it.
“I don’t want to get you pregnant, Charlotte. I said it’s an urge.”
“Oh.”
He looked at me, and the wind outside kicked up, the shadows of the branches moving over the floor as the moonlight glinted off his skin. “It is part of my need to own you,” he said, his voice low and sexy. “To possess you, to bind you to me forever.” His eyes were traveling over my body, and I wondered if he was thinking of it now, if he was going to come over here and come in me again. I remembered how he’d come in me, how he’d made me push it out and rubbed it back into my pussy.
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to take my birth control,” I said. “I don’t want a baby right now, either.”
“Not just right now.” His tone was gentle, but forceful, as if he wanted me to know there was no chance he was going to change his mind.
“You don’t want children ever?”
“I cannot be a father, Charlotte. If you knew…” He broke off and shook his head.
“If I knew what?”
He leaned back in his chair and picked up the gun from the side table, shoved it into the waistband of his pants. “This is not the time for this conversation What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s not important.”
Silence.
But then I changed my mind.
I wanted to ask him the second thing, even if I had an idea I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Noah?”
“Yes?”
“If Lameuix and Bia are calling Professor Worthington here, shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“Probably.”
“Then why isn’t he here yet?”
He hesitated, and I knew he’d already asked himself the question. “Because Lameuix wants something else from us”
“What?”
“I have no idea.”
I couldn’t sleep.
There was no way.
The house was settling every second, creaking and cracking around me. Every sound put me on alert, made me jump and startle.
Noah was comparatively calm, sitting and staring out the window. At one point he even picked up a magazine from the holder and began flipping through it absentmindedly.
“Noah?” I whispered into the dark a few hours later.
“Yes?”
“I wish you would come to bed.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t stay up all night.”
“Don’t worry about me, Charlotte.”
I stood up and threw the covers back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Noah demanded.
“To the bathroom.”
He stood up, as if he was going to go with me.
“No way,” I said. “You’re not going with me.”
He hesitated.
“Noah! I’m not going to have you watch me going to the bathroom!”
“Two minutes,” he said, sitting down. “And don’t lock the door.”
I nodded my acquiescence. He didn’t have to worry. The last thing I wanted was to be out of his sight.
I went into the bathroom and turned the water on, splashing it onto my face. I lifted up the bottom of my shirt and looked at my breasts in the mirror. They were red and raw from where Noah had hit me with the belt.
I thought again about what he’d said about not wanting to get me pregnant, and I shivered.
It was then that I heard it.
A scratching noise.
I glanced around the room, but there was only one tiny window in this room, and no trees outside -- it wasn’t branches.
I turned back to the sink, but it sounded again.
It was actually more of a scuttling noise, and it sounded like it was coming from inside the walls.
I tried to tell myself it was just mice, that all old houses had them, and it was nothing to worry about.
I froze, listening again, and then I felt a thrumming under my feet, almost like the tile was vibrating under the expensive-looking shag throw rug.
I glanced at the door, wondering if I should call Noah. But then I remembered the gun, the look in his eyes, his determination to kill Professor Worthington.
And I was so sure the sound was nothing.
Even so, I pushed aside the rug.
Underneath the rug was a door.
A trapdoor.
The outline was so faint that at first I thought maybe I was seeing things.
But no, it was there.
The lines of it were out of sync with the rest of the tile.
I knelt down and ran my hand over it, looking for where it would open, but there was no handle or latch. I was just about to get Noah when I heard someone under the door calling for help.
It was a female voice, and it was so soft and faint that I couldn’t hear it that well.
But it was recognizable.
Familiar.
“Help, please.”
My stomach flipped and my pulse pounded.
Mikayla.
“Please, someone, help me…”
My hands were moving frantically over the door, trying to find a way to open it.
Finally, I pressed on the side of it and it sprung open.
Everything went quiet. The sound stopped.
I looked down, but all I could see was blackness. The top of a ladder was attached to the wall right at the edge of the door.
“Hello?” the voice called.
“Mikayla?”
“Yes!” she said. “Yes, I’m down here!”
I leaned down into the abyss, and as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I saw her. She was down in the dusty depths of what looked to be a cellar of some sort. She was chained to the wall, wearing the tiny thong and bra top that all of Lameuix’s conquests seemed to wear.
“Charlotte?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” I said. “There’s a ladder, can you reach it?”
“No,” she said. “I’m chained, but the key… there’s a key down here.”
I screamed for Noah, calling his name over and over.
But even as I called for him, I was scrambling down the ladder, down to the bottom of the cellar.
“Over there,” Mikayla said, pointing to the other side of the room. “But you have to hurry, they’ll know.
There was a wooden rack of keys on the side of the room, and one was marked Mikayla.
“Jesus,” I said, grabbing the key and rushing to slide it into her shackles. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and I noticed there were blinking red lights coming from up near the ceiling and a row of black and white monitors against a far wall.
“What are those?” I asked as the metal sprung free from around her wrists.
“They’re filming,” she said, scrambling up off the floor. “They’re filming us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re filming us… they film us doing sexual things with them, and then, finally, it’s… they film themselves killing us.”
“Oh, my God.” Bile rose in my throat, thick and acrid, and my stomach clenched. I took Mikayla’s hand and began to drag her toward the ladder, now thankful that Noah had a gun. “Noah!” I screamed. “Noah, please, we’re down here!”
There was a creaking noise from the other side of the room. I glanced over my shoulder as Lameuix emerged through a side door and stepped into the room. He was holding a camera on his shoulder, a tiny digital one.
There were shadowy figures behind him, but I didn’t stop to turn around, didn’t stop to see who it was or what they were doing.
It was becoming clear what Lameuix wanted from us.
He wanted us to star in one of his movies.
From overhead, I could hear Noah walking into the bathroom, could hear him coming to save me.
“Noah!” I screamed. I reached the bottom of the ladder and began to climb.
&n
bsp; But then someone was grabbing at my ankle, someone was pulling me back down.
The hand tightened around my ankle, yanking at me.
I fell on my tailbone, hard.
I scrambled back up, but whoever had grabbed me pushed me back down onto the dusty floor.
I looked up.
Lameuix was standing in the back of the room, his camera still filming.
But he wasn’t filming me.
He was filming Mikayla.
She stood over me.
Her eyes burned bright, and she grinned.
She looked nothing like she had a moment ago, when she was pleading and seemingly scared.
Now she looked determined and strong.
She was holding a camera as well, the lens trained on me.
“Good girl,” Lameuix said to her in satisfaction.
Mikayla’s grin widened at the praise and when she spoke again, it was the voice of someone who was completely in control. “Showtime.”
END OF BOOK 22
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He was never supposed to see it.
The email I wrote my friend.
The one where I called him cruel, cold, demanding. Oh, yeah, and sexy as hell.
But instead of sending it to my friend, I sent it to him.
My boss.
Jared King, billionaire head of King Advertising. The man everyone calls The King because he’s so controlling, gorgeous, and full of himself.
I answer his phones, and he barely looks at me, except for one word -- “Messages?”-- as he holds his hand out, his Rolex glinting under the light as he demands what’s his.
The employees all whisper about how bad they want him, and his face is on a different magazine each week, always with a different socialite or actress on his arm.
I’m sure he’ll fire me when he reads the email I accidentally sent him. Jared King is not known for his forgiving nature. In fact, it’s just the opposite.
But to my surprise, he gives me one more chance. The only catch? I have to do everything he says.
