Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  But the thought of Cameron touching these things, picking them out just for me, wanting to see me in them, tear them from my body, had every part of me on fire. There was a knock on the door before it was opened. I gathered the sheet to my chest and pushed myself up. An older woman came in, dressed in a standard maid outfit. Her graying hair was piled in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and the clean linens she had in her hand were stark white.

  She set the sheets down and turned to face me. “Do you require assistance getting ready before breakfast?”

  I clenched the sheets in my hand. “Assistance?” Since arriving here I’d been so exhausted I’d slept the day away. Having people wait on me, interacting with them, the possibility of them actually knowing why I was here, was too much. “I’m fine getting ready myself.”

  She nodded. “Breakfast will be served downstairs. Mr. Ashton is already waiting for you.” She then left me alone, and I relaxed. This was all so weird on its own, but to realize there was staff here, knowing, hearing what would go down, had this awkward feeling consuming me.

  I glanced at the spot beside me and ran my hand over the perfectly placed sheet and comforter. It was cold to the touch, letting me know Cameron hadn’t been in here all night. That confused but also pleased me, like this weight had been lifted from me, even though a part of me wanted that heaviness.

  I waited until the maid left before I got out of bed and got cleaned up in the bathroom. Once I was dressed, staring down at myself, rubbing the lace material of the dress between my fingers, I finally took a deep breath. This was the first day of the rest of my life, right? Or at least my life for the next fourteen days.

  I opened the bedroom door and just stood there for a second, listening, watching. The upper floor was quiet, the dark walls and equally ominous decor making things appear cold.

  The sooner you do this, the sooner you’ll see how things go.

  The quicker this will be done.

  Steeling myself, trying to grab on to my courage, I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me. My palms were sweating, my mouth dry. I forced myself to walk, made myself do this, be strong. I’d made this agreement, and I needed to see it through. When I saw that black bird painting, his eyes so dark, yet seeming to stare right into my soul, this chill raced up my spine.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, the dark colors mixing together, his beak open, his cry silent, yet I could hear it in my head. I turned and made my way down the stairs, assuming I even knew where the dining room was where I was to meet up with Cameron. Everything was so still, so…lifeless.

  When I finally found the dining room, the wide double doors were engraved with this detail around the edges, maybe trying to soften it, make it appear gentle. It failed, or maybe that was because the man who owned this place, resided within these walls, was cold like ice and unbreakable like granite.

  He didn’t look at me as I entered, but then again I hadn’t assumed he would. I’d only been in his presence such a short time, but he was the type of man that moved at his own pace. He didn’t stop what he was doing for anyone.

  A side door opened, and I got a glimpse of the kitchen. Several servants came in, silver platters in their hands, their focus trained on anything but the man at the head of the table. I took a second to look around, looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one whole wall, the dark accented decor, and the frigidness I felt surrounding me. I was still standing there when the servants left.

  “Sit, Sofia,” Cameron said, still looking down at the paper in front of him.

  I made my way toward the seat across from him. The table was long, easily seating sixteen. Yet I still felt as though we were seated intimately, like he was right beside me. The plate in front of me was white and empty. I reached out, seeing my hand shaking, feeling the nerves in me rise. I had my fingers wrapped around the crystal, the orange juice in it almost trembling from my shaking hand.

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

  I glanced up, startled, surprised to find that Cameron was staring right at me. He grabbed his cup and took a long drink, watching me over the rim. When he set the cup down and leaned back, I felt on display despite my body being covered.

  “You slept well?”

  I nodded. “You didn’t sleep with me.” I meant it in the most basic of senses, him beside me, the mattress dipping from his powerful weight. But I suppose it could be taken literally and figuratively.

  “That was the only night I won’t be in bed with you.”

  I had no doubt about that.

  “Eat up, because you’ll need your energy.”

  It was hard to be hungry, to have any kind of appetite when my stomach was in knots. The question I wanted to ask him was on the tip of my tongue, yet I didn’t know what the ground rules were, didn’t know what he did or didn’t want me to know.

  And I won’t know until I ask him.

  But I kept my mouth shut. I grabbed some fruit and a piece of buttered toast and started eating, keeping my mind and mouth occupied so I didn’t cross that line. Silence stretched between us, but I embraced it.

  “If you have things on your mind, it’s best we get that done now.”

  The bread was dry in my mouth, and when I went to swallow, it lodged in my throat. I coughed, grabbed my water, and took a long drink. Cameron was staring at me, watching me the same way a hawk probably did the mouse before it snatched it up and devoured it.

  “What exactly do you plan on doing with me?” Sex was the obvious, but what I meant, what was on my mind, twisting me up, was how far Cameron wanted to go, how far he’d push me. Would he break me? Did he want to ruin me?

  “You’re worried I’ll hurt you.” Cameron didn’t state it like a question. “You’re worried what you’ve agreed to is a fate far worse than what you were in.” Again it wasn’t a question.

  I looked down, not responding, because he already knew that was what I wondered, what I feared. I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, couldn’t lie to myself and say he didn’t make me feel this rush of awareness.

  He was a dangerous man who’d killed someone for me, because I’d asked. He could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d have no choice but to accept it, not just because I’d agreed, but also because a small part of me craved it. This twisted part of me wanted whatever he had to offer.

  The pain and pleasure, the coldness yet warmth he gave me with just a look. This man was a monster, and I was more than willing to let him destroy me.

  What was wrong with me? What kind of person did that make me?

  When I heard his chair scraping, I glanced up. Cameron stood, set his napkin down on the table, and came closer. I was frozen in place, unable to breathe, to even think. On instinct I rose, maybe to appear bigger, stronger. It didn’t help, though, not when the only thing I could hear was the thundering of my heart in my ears and the feeling of my belly doing flips.

  And then he was right in front of me.

  He was so close, his body, his presence so consuming. For long seconds he didn’t speak, didn’t even move. He reached out and touched a lock of my hair, toying with the strands between his fingers, focused solely on it.

  “All I want, what I desire, is your surrender.” His voice was pitched low I knew if anyone else had been in the room they wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m not a good man.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I had no doubts whatsoever that this man knew who and what he was. “I’m a killer, a drug lord.” He took another step closer. “I rule the underground with apathy and violence.” His chest was so wide, so powerful that it took up my entire view.

  “I know who and what you are.” But did I really?

  He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think you do, Sofia. I don’t think you do at all.”

  I was sucking air into my lungs, hard, fast, yet I couldn’t breathe.

  “I feel you’re my weakness,” he said softly, his voice deep, like a knife skating along my body, barely touching me,
but the threat of getting cut was right there at the surface. He lifted his head then, staring me in the eyes, his gaze so cold, so hard. I was small, miniature compared to him. “And having a weakness isn’t something I’m comfortable with.”

  I shivered after he spoke, not because of the chill in the air and not because of his dark, deep voice. I did it because of the way he was looking at me. I didn’t need to know Cameron personally to understand a man like him didn’t do weakness. He was all strength, all power.

  Before I knew what was happening, he leaned forward, reached around me, and pushed the plates and silverware to the side. The china clinked together, the glass spilling water along the white tablecloth. And then he had his hands on my waist, lifting me onto the hard, unforgiving top.

  I reached behind me, bracing my hands on the linen, half of it wet under my palms. The heat from his body penetrated me, made me drunk, intoxicated with everything that was happening. Two weeks was short in the grand scheme of things, so the fact he wasn’t waiting to take me wasn’t all that surprising.

  “Spread your legs,” he said, low, demanding that I do what he wanted.

  The rational, survival part of me wanted to ask him what he had planned, what he’d do to me. But the smart part of me said, Shut the fuck up and do what he says.

  I stared into his eyes and felt him smooth his hands over my inner thighs, pushing up the bottom part of the dress I wore. It was light, summery, and the feel of the material sliding over my skin had goose bumps popping out over my flesh.

  When he was a few inches from the most intimate part of me, he exerted pressure and spread my thighs even wider. I swallowed, my throat feeling tight, dry. He moved his hands an inch closer, and I felt myself start to respond, felt my body heat come alive. I should have feared him, maybe even been disgusted, repulsed by what he probably wanted to do to me.

  But I was wet.

  “How affected are you right now?” he asked, his sweet-smelling breath moving along my lips. He moved his fingers even closer. I knew he had to be touching the edge of my lace panties now. He leaned in until there was only an inch separating our mouths. “Answer me.”

  I licked my lips, searching his face, trying to read him. It was no use. This man was unmovable, unreadable. “Affected” was all I said, all I knew how to say in this moment. Actually saying I was wet, that I was ready for him, that this form of control and torture—albeit arousing me to no end—made me so on edge I would give it to him without a fight.

  I saw something dark flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t show emotion any other way.

  “If I touch your cunt, would you be wet?”

  I didn’t make him wait for an answer. I nodded.

  “If I stroked your little clit, would you come for me?”

  Again I nodded. I knew I would, knew it wouldn’t take me more than a few hard, fast strokes of his finger on my clit to bring me off. He lowered his eyes to my chest, and I knew he was watching the way my breasts rose and fell, fast, almost violently. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar, and the tattoos I could see looked angry, harsh…untouchable.

  They matched the man in front of me.

  I shifted, maybe to move away, to get some air. Maybe I was suffocating from my own desires, the need to be with this man so intense my fear and pleasure slammed together. They fought, my common sense telling me this wasn’t what I should want, that my body reacting this way wasn’t normal.

  “Are you frightened of me or of this situation?” He smoothed his finger over the edge of my panties. “Does it scare the fuck out of you, what I plan on doing, that the unknown is right there, teasing you, tormenting you?”

  I didn’t know if being honest was the right course, if admitting that yeah, I was afraid but I was also turned on, would actually be the wisest decision.

  “You’re terrified right now, but I can also tell you want this.” He leaned in another inch, our mouths so close. “Your cheeks are pink, your pupils dilated.” He lowered his gaze to my mouth. “You’re breathing so hard right now, your breasts pushing against the material of the dress.” He lifted his gaze back to my eyes. “I bet you feel like you’re drowning.”

  I felt myself pull my legs apart even more, as if my body had a mind of its own, was controlling this situation…was seeking out more of Cameron’s touch.

  He made this deep, dark sound, this noise of approval, this tone that told me he liked what I’d just done.

  “You want me to taste you, to lick you until you come?”

  I shivered, my flesh tightening, my pulse racing.

  “You want me to run my tongue through your cunt, suck at your clit, and show you how good I can make you feel?”

  I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he actually wanted me to answer. And then he placed his hand right between my thighs, right over my wet pussy.

  “Tell me what you want me to do, beg me for it.”

  He got off on me saying these things, on the humiliation I felt succumbing to my desires, submitting to him. I felt a flush steal over me, my entire body on fire, my skin sensitive to the slightest breeze in the air. He added even more pressure, making me gasp, my toes curling.

  “Fucking tell me what you want, and if you’re a good girl, I might give it to you.”

  “I want you to touch me, to lick me,” I whispered.

  He made this low growl, this animalistic sound. I could hear people in the kitchen, the bang of pots, the clatter of china. They could come through that door right now and see me on the table, my legs spread, with Cameron’s hand between my thighs.

  “What else do you want?” He added even more pressure, and I closed my eyes, a moan ripping from me.

  “I want you to make me yours.” God, I’d just said that out loud, told him exactly what he wanted to hear, played into his hand.

  “Good girl,” he all but purred, his mouth by my ear, his hand still between my legs. “Your honesty deserves a reward.” And then he was on his haunches between my legs, his warm breath moving along my panty-covered pussy.

  He didn’t make me wait long to wonder what he’d do, how far he’d go. He pulled my panties aside, the dual combination of his warm breath and the chilled air sending shock waves through me. I wanted to scream, beg, plead for him to touch me, to lick me, to ease the raging arousal burning deeply in me. He either read my mind, or maybe I said the words out loud. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand it any longer either.

  Before I could even think about what was going on, before I could grasp the reality of my situation, I felt him move his tongue through my folds, parting me, making me shiver. I wanted more, yet I wanted to push him away, tell him I didn’t want this…convince myself of this fact.

  He continued to lick at me, dragging his tongue through my lips, circling my clit, sucking the bud into his mouth on every upstroke. I grabbed the tablecloth, held it tightly, my nails digging through it and spearing my palms. A gasp left me when Cameron gently bit my clit, making this high-pitched cry leave me and having me gasp for air. I yanked on the cloth as pleasure and pain consumed me.

  The sound of something clattering to the ground and shattering vaguely pierced my mind. I was trying so hard not to enjoy this, to fight myself on what he was doing to me, how he made me feel so free, so alive. His hands on my inner thighs were rough, painful. He held me in place as he opened me up to his tongue and mouth, to his beautiful torment. It was pleasure and pain all wrapped into one conflicting ball, into one war inside of me that wouldn’t surrender.

  And then he thrust his tongue into my body, my pussy clamping on the muscle, dragging it farther in, needing it as deep as it would go. I wanted to be stretched, claimed completely, and in this moment nothing else mattered…my body, my situation, my very reasoning for not wanting this man.

  None of that mattered right here and now as the pleasure washed through me, dug its nails into my body, hanging on, not letting go.

  I felt the tendrils of that delicious, depraved pleasure wash
through me. I should have fought it, rebelled against it, but instead I found myself welcoming it, embracing it. And just as I felt the pleasure crest, Cameron pulled away.

  I sagged against the table, my body shaking, the near orgasm leaving me breathless and on the verge of wanting to beg him to make me feel good, to wash away the bleakness in my life.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I found myself obeying him instantly. He still had his hands on my inner thighs, but he was no longer between my legs. His focus was trained on me, his lips red from what he’d just been doing to me.

  “You stopped.” I didn’t know why I thought it was a good idea to say anything, but the words came from me fast, breathless. He didn’t speak, didn’t even show emotion. He’d just been eating me out, yet his expression showed me nothing. He was like a brick wall, a poker face that would crush all others. I shifted on the table, trying to close my legs, but Cameron still had his hands on me, holding me open, making me feel vulnerable.

  The door to the kitchen opened, and in walked one of his waitstaff. My heart thundered, embarrassment filling me. But Cameron seemed unaffected, not taking his hands from my legs, not breaking eye contact.

  “I’m the one who holds the power, Sofia.” He moved a step away, running his big, tattooed hands on his pants as he stared at me. “You’ll be whole once this is all said and done, and I’ll let you go back to the life you know…if that’s what you want.”

  If that’s what I want?

  “But you’ll do best to remember that I’m the one you owe, that I’m the one who pulled you from the recesses of hell. For the next two weeks you’re mine.” He looked me right in the eyes. “Finish eating if you want, then get cleaned up and meet me in the solarium.” And then he turned and left, leaving me on the table, my legs spread, and the waitstaff on the floor picking up the shards of broken glass.

  I felt like that china on the floor: cracked, vulnerable, at the mercy of another. And I knew this was only the beginning.

  CHAPTER TWELVE