Bought (11 page)

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“A little.” My voice was soft.

“Honesty. Good. What are you being punished for?”

“Because I forgot and called you Sir outside of a scene,” I whispered.

He nodded, his eyes on mine. “Tell me, Jenny, how should you be punished?”

I blinked, confused. “I don’t know, Sir.” Surely it wasn’t my place to tell him how to punish me. I was the submissive. I had to endure what he wanted.

“Get up,” he ordered. I complied and he led me to the dressing room. I’d barely noticed it as I walked out from the bathroom, but I paid better attention now. It had a large mirror on one wall and two upholstered chairs on either side of a small table.

Alexander flicked every light on and positioned a chair so that it faced the mirror. He sat down on it and patted his lap. “Come sit down,” he instructed. I bit my lip and obeyed. My eyes met his gaze in the mirror. “Keep looking in the mirror, Jenny,” he purred. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch.”

Watch what?
“Yes, Sir.”

“Part your legs.” He didn’t attempt to hide his desire; his voice was raspy with lust. I spread my legs and he put his hands on my thighs, holding me open. “I’m going to punish you now, Jenny.” He sounded amused. “I want you to touch your nipples. Run your fingertips all over them.”

I bit my lip. I rarely touched myself anymore. When I was a teenager, before Dylan, I sometimes caress myself in the dark, lying on my bed. I’d imagine that one of the men in the books I’d read was in the room with me and I’d pet myself the way I’d imagine they would touch me. Gently at first and gradually getting more insistent, as their desire for me overwhelmed them.

Then Dylan happened and I realized what really happened when desire overwhelmed some men.

After the night in Paris with Alexander, who had told me his name was Marc, I’d played with myself a few times, trying to recreate his touch. Now he was here and I was sitting on his lap. I was flushed with embarrassment at performing this so-intimate act in front of him, yet I almost wept with frustration that he wasn’t doing it himself.

My fingertips moved over my breasts, barely making contact with my nipples. The buds engorged in response and Alexander’s mouth descended on the back of my neck, brushing my hair out of the way. “Good girl,” he praised me. “Run your fingernails over them.”

My nails scraped my tender flesh and I hissed at the sensations that rose in me. “Sir,” I groaned. “Please, touch me.”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” His hands gently traced circles on my parted thighs. In the mirror, his eyes burned into me. “Now, pinch your nipples between your thumb and forefinger.”

I lifted both hands to do as he asked, throwing my head back and closing my eyes as a shaft of lust pierced through me. A sharp smack on my thighs jolted my eyes open. “Keep your eyes open, Jenny,” he said mildly.

“Sorry Sir.” My apology was sincere. He was so calm and so controlled and it was such a turn-on. I wanted to please him.

“Resume,” he urged. His nails scraped my thighs, moving closer to my wet, dripping cunt.

My fingers pinched and I looked in the mirror, meeting his gaze. In my mind, I pretended it was his hands on my nipples. I kneaded the nubs between my fingertips and I whimpered softly as pinpricks of pleasure spiked all over me.

“Harder,” he ordered and I increased the pressure. My cunt clenched in response, as shuddering lust ran through my body. “Now, touch your cunt.”

I blushed but I didn’t protest. My hands obediently trailed down my body, over the swell of my breasts, past the clenched muscles of my abdomen, down to the soft mound.

“Spread your lips open for me,” he whispered in my ear, nibbling at my flesh as he spoke.

He didn’t mean the lips of my mouth. He meant the puffy, swollen lips of my
cunt.

“Alexander,” I groaned.

“Should you be protesting, Jenny?” His voice was politely interested, but his rebuke came across, loud and clear.

“No Sir.” I flushed in shame.

He kissed my neck again. “What should you be doing, Jenny?” This time, his voice sounded warmer.

“I should be obeying you,” I said. I met his gaze in the mirror. I didn’t take my eyes off his as I parted my cunt lips for him.

He inhaled sharply as my folds opened and the pink flesh within peeked into view. His fingers reached towards me. My gaze stayed locked onto the mirror as one of his fingers dipped into my slit, coming out wet with my juices. He kept looking at me as he brought that finger to his mouth, tasting me. “Such a treat,” he said. He grinned. “Breakfast of champions.”

I laughed aloud, though my laugh was bitten off as his hands moved from my thighs and cupped my breasts. I watched my reflection, fascinated by the way his large hands enveloped them, by the way my dusky-rose nipples perked up in response.

“Now, make yourself come for me.”

Of course I’d known this was going to happen. Through each step of his excruciatingly slow seduction, I’d been aware that it was going to end in this command. I had known that I would have to give in to my arousal as he watched me. My cunt had wept in anticipation of this moment.

I’d never been happier to obey an order, yet it was painfully hard to keep my eyes open and to keep my gaze locked on his. But his voice interrupted. “No. I want you to watch your body. Don’t look at me.”

My blood-red clitoris, swollen with arousal, peeked out from under its hood. I slowly peeled it back, needing to give Alexander a show. So many times, I’d imagined this moment. So many times, I’d remembered how he had watched me touch myself in Paris. So many times, I’d wished for one more encounter with the one man I didn’t want to forget.

And he was here, and as conflicted as I was about everything, my body didn’t echo my mind’s unease. My body just reacted to his nearness, to the faint spice of his cologne on his skin. I felt the warmth and the weight of his hands curled over my breasts. My back itched faintly, reacting to the weave of his shirt as I leaned against his chest. My fingertips moved over my splayed open cunt and I heard the sounds of my arousal in the squishy sounds of my juices, in my whimpered moans and in his heavy breathing against my ear.

Always ask for permission to climax.
That rule had been ingrained into me. “Sir,” I begged, “may I come?”

“You may.” His fingers pinched my tender nipples, pulling them outwards, away from my body. Pain jolted through my body at his touch, but I leaned back into him and my fingers moved faster over my flesh. In my state of arousal, the pain he inflicted didn’t feel like pain. It felt like pleasure.

I was so close to that edge. I wanted to go over so much for him. I felt the sensations rise and sharp stabs of longing pulsed through my body. A full-body tremble wracked my body as I climaxed with a deep growl.

He wouldn’t let me close my legs. One small shake of his head stilled me. “Now, do it again. Make yourself come.”

Obedience was harder this time around, but I obeyed nonetheless. Satiated as it was, with small tremors still running through me, my clitoris protested at my touch, but I persisted. This time, my climax came quicker and I screamed out as my muscles clenched in orgasm.

“Good,” he said. He rubbed his palms over my nipples and I whimpered slightly. Even that gentle touch chafed at my sore skin. “Once more and we’ll consider your punishment complete.”

It took real effort to bite back my protest. Then his words registered. “This is my punishment?”

“The second rule. If you aren’t afraid, if you don’t need to use your safe-words, then you don’t initiate conversation in a scene.”

I bit my lip, chastened, and nodded my compliance. “Yes Sir.”

He tilted his head towards my cunt. “Once more. Get going.”

I obeyed. It was hard this time. My body was sensitive and it wanted to be left alone. My skin felt prickly and numb and each stroke brought slight pain. I grimaced and dipped my fingers into my slit, drawing the wetness over that sore spot and cajoling it towards pleasure.

His hand cupped around my throat and I gulped. But he didn’t press. His hand just stayed wrapped around me. A mark of ownership and possession, but a touch that make me feel cherished.

My fingers moved faster, as my clitoris began to respond to my touch. His right hand descended between my legs, and he shoved two fingers deep inside me, so that each rub of my fingers brought my hand in contact with his. I watched the brunette girl in the mirror, the one with the body and face I didn’t recognize, tremble with desire. I watched Alexander eye me with red-hot lust, yet I felt his tight control in the way his fingers moved.

I shouted out. I came hard.

For a few minutes, I was entirely unaware of what was happening. When my mind cleared, I was still on his lap. I could feel his erection against my ass, but he made no move to touch himself and he didn’t ask me to touch him either. He just smiled at me in the mirror. “To answer your earlier question, yes. That was your punishment.”

“It didn’t seem very much like punishment,” I said without thinking, then winced at the stupidity of what I’d just said. What was I doing, asking to be beaten?

His fingers stroked my hair. “It wasn’t much of a crime,” he replied. “The first time when I told you, you wouldn’t have known before that. So your first orgasm was purely pleasure. The second time, a warning. Only the third time warranted a punishment.”

I understood. The first and second orgasms had been pleasurable. The third one was a little more painful and my body had required some coaxing to respond. But it had by no means been a punishment, not the way I’d been taught in Abeokuta.

“Am I allowed to ask questions now?” He nodded and I continued. “Is this how you are going to punish me all the time?”

“It depends on you.” His eyes bored into me. “When you trust me, we’ll play with more intensity, if that’s what you want. But not until then.”

I didn’t understand. From what he was saying, I would need to ask to be punished. Why would I do that? It didn’t make any sense.

But then, I remembered Madame Lorraine’s evaluation room, and how I’d fantasised that it was Alexander wielding the flogger that caressed my body. Did I want that to happen?

My cunt spasmed at the idea, and I groaned inwardly. My body was conspiring against me.

Ellie / Jenny:

A discreet knock on the door jolted me out of his lap. ‘Room Service,’ I heard a voice call out, and Alexander grinned.

“Breakfast?” he asked me. “It’s late, but you should eat. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

I hastily donned one of the plush hotel dressing gowns. “What time is it?” The room didn’t seem to have a clock.

“Eleven,” he replied. “In about fifteen minutes, someone is going to come to help you with your wardrobe.” He eyed me with hooded eyes. “Pity,” he muttered. He leaned forward and claimed my lips, and I groaned and let him, even snaking my arms around him and pulling him closer. I wanted him. My lust should have been quenched by my orgasms, but it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be until I felt the weight of his body on mine, felt his skin slide against my own.

“Mm.” His eyes were amused as he surveyed me. “I like this version much better than the scared mouse.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I responded dryly. One part of me, the girl who had been Dylan’s captive for two years was screaming at me to behave, to be quiet and good and compliant. But the braver, bolder part of me, the one Lucien had trained to be a killer, decided to take his comment at face value. He preferred that I not act like a frightened mouse? I could do that.

He was still laughing as he walked towards the door and let in the white-clad waiter wheeling in a tray of food.

***

I eyed him warily as I ate. He had watch me pleasure myself, but he hadn’t touched himself or ordered me to. He hadn’t fucked me, and I didn’t understand why. After all, he’d bought me for sex. I thought he’d have taken me well before this point.

“I think the impact of those orgasms lasted about ten minutes,” he noted pointedly. “You are frowning again. What’s the matter?”

“I’m wondering why you haven’t fucked me yet.”

He politely pushed a plate of scrambled eggs towards me. “Eat,” he advised, taking a sip of orange juice.

I ate a forkful, wondering if he was going to respond to my question. He grinned at me, a lazy smile that set my insides fluttering. I craved him and I needed him to crave me too. Then I registered something he said. “What wardrobe?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The clothing in your suitcase is completely unsuitable, Jenny. In Paris, we will go out. I can’t have you walking around in threadbare rags.”

I contemplated being angry with him about his dismissal of my clothes, then I shrugged it aside. It was true enough. My clothes would mark me instantly as an outsider in his rich, privileged world. One thing I’d learned as an assassin was the importance of blending in. “Thank you,” I replied instead, taking another bite of toast and closing my eyes briefly in appreciation. The stupid starvation diet I’d been on to look appealing enough for him had expressly forbidden bread. Toast had never tasted better.

“Interesting, I would have expected a protest.” His voice was thoughtful. “I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Jenny.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why does it matter what I want? It doesn’t. Your needs are paramount.”

“Is that so?” His lips curled into a line of distaste. “Your last master was a dick, if you really believe that.”

“Oh, come on, Alexander,” I snapped, goaded. He had
purchased
me at an
auction
. I didn’t have the ability to sit in front of him and be wooed with room service and fine clothes and kind words. “You bought me for a million dollars. If you think that puts us on any kind of equal footing, you are sadly mistaken.” I breathed heavily. I’d almost lost my temper.

“I bought you for a million dollars.” He didn’t look perturbed by my outburst. “Although I prefer to think of it as helping someone who was obviously in need. I have enough of an appreciation about the meaning of family to understand your desperation.”

Ah, yes. My imaginary sister with her life-threatening leukemia.

“Do you just go around sprinkling your billions then at the less-fortunate mortals?” I was still angry. I jumped to my feet in agitated rage. Inside, the part of me that had endured Dylan screamed at me to
shut the fuck up
, but I wasn’t listening. I had enough of this sanctimonious bullshit, this nonsense about how my desires and limits mattered. I’d seen too much in Nigeria to ever believe that.

“You should calm down,” he said evenly. “Sit down and finish your meal.”

“Fuck you.”

I didn’t understand what I was doing. My sudden anger was inexplicable and a real threat to my true mission. I wanted Alexander to be captivated by me, so enamoured that he would take me to Hanoi with him. Screaming at him, my fists clenched tight, this was not the way to go about it.

He didn’t respond. He gestured instead to my chair. The message was clear.
Sit down.

“Or what?” I ground out. “If I don’t sit down and do as I say, you’ll beat me into submission?”

He rose to his feet and there was real anger on his face. I’d finally pushed him enough. I clenched in fear.
Relax,
I tried to tell myself.
You are a fighter. You can take him.

Yet I couldn’t reveal my skills. I was Jenny Fullerton from Cleveland and I was weak. Ellie Samuelson, the woman who had trained and practiced and fought so that she’d never have to return to slavery, had to remain hidden. Whatever Alexander was going to do to me now, I would have to endure or forfeit my revenge against Dylan.

He moved towards me. His hands undid the knot of the dressing gown I’d clad, pushing the fabric away from my shoulders, leaving me naked. He turned me so I was facing the wall and pushed me against it. My cheek rested against the cool paint.

His touch was firm and controlled. I felt a pulse of fear, but it was followed swiftly by a wave of desire.

“Stay still.” The words were an order and it was clear that he expected compliance.

His body pressed against mine. His hand reached out to stroke me, from my back, past my shoulders, then closing around the back of my neck. His knee was wedged between my thighs, holding me open for his pleasure. I was absolutely convinced that the juices from my cunt would stain his linen pants. “When I punish you,” he said, his voice a whisper of promise in my ear. “You will welcome it. Your pleading, pouting lips will voice words of longing. Your body will crave it and so will your mind.”

His grip tightened around my hair and tiny bursts of pain sparkled on my scalp. He bent his mouth towards my face. “But if you think that I’m going to beat you every time we argue, I’m going to disappoint you. The sooner you learn what real submission and dominance is, the quicker we can get on with enjoying this obvious chemistry between us. But I’m not going to bed an angry, scared kitten, Jenny. Doing so will fulfil nothing other than quenching a very momentary need and I’m not a teenager any more, with no control over my desires.”

His words chastened. His body beckoned. Then a knock on the door sounded and he moved away to answer it, leaving me suddenly bereft.

***

The woman who bustled in pulling a clothes rack behind her couldn’t have been over five feet tall. She reminded me a little of Madame Lorraine, though the two looked nothing alike. Perhaps it was the sense of warmth that she radiated.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greeted Alexander, enveloping him with a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

I swear Alexander blushed a little. “Hello, Mrs. Suramongkol,” he said, when she’d let him go. “It’s good to see you too. Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice.”

She clucked fondly, and I had to wonder once again at Alexander. The guy was clearly a freaking billionaire. Mrs. Suramongkol was obviously
‘help’
. Yet he was faultlessly polite, and he moved automatically to help her with the clothes rack so that she wouldn’t have to struggle with it.

I couldn’t lie. I found his good manners off-the-charts hot. When I worked in the mall in Cleveland, I was exposed to a lot of people. Some of them were rude, but a rare few were not. The politeness was always seductive.

A white sheet covered the clothes and Mrs. Suramongkol whisked them off, before turning to me. “You must be Jenny.”

I smiled hesitantly and nodded, but stayed silent. She ran an assessing eye over me, before turning to Alexander with a pleased look. “You got her measurements correct.”

Alexander’s lips twitched and I snorted inwardly. No doubt his ability to judge the measurements of women came from a lot of experience. “I can’t stay,” he told both of us. “Unfortunately, I have to work. Jenny, Mrs. Suramongkol can help you find suitable clothing, but you’ll have to tell her what you like and don’t like.” He fixed me with a slightly mocking look. “That should be good practice for you.”

Asshole. “Yes, Alexander,” I said dutifully instead and his eyes flashed irritated fire at me. Alexander really didn’t seem to like his women meek and cowed.

Mrs. Suramongkol was busying herself removing clothing from hangers, trying vainly to ignore the charged exchange that was taking place in front of her. I felt bad for her. I’d been in her shoes as couples fought at the cash register of the clothing store I worked at and I always wanted to be anywhere else in that moment. I turned towards her with an apologetic smile. “I’m all yours,” I told her.

Alexander chuckled, but covered it up with a cough. “Oh, Jenny, before I forget?” He handed me a brand-new, shiny, top-of-the-line smartphone. “It’ll work all over the world.” He leaned forward to kiss my lips gently. “Call your sister with it whenever you need, okay?”

I blinked back sudden, unexpected tears. He had no idea my entire cover story was a lie and in that moment, I felt horrible for deceiving him. Perhaps he was exactly who he said he was. Perhaps he really did want a submissive, not a slave. Perhaps he didn’t know who Dylan really was and what Sylvia did for a living. Perhaps he was just the money guy, and outside of it, a decent human being who was thoughtful enough to remember that my sister was ill and I would be worried for her.

The less emotional part of me snorted at that.
When pigs fly,
came the wry thought.
It’s much more likely that your calls are being monitored.
But I was finding it increasingly difficult to listen to that sensible voice.

***

Mrs. Suramongkol had me shed the robe and she regarded my underwear with a bemused look. “No, no,” she shook her head, “this will not do.”

This
was my plain, serviceable black bra and panties. So we started with lingerie - an absolutely dizzying array of offerings she made me try on. Wisps of black lace. A confetti of colour. Soft, silky, virginal white. Polka dots. Animal prints. After the thirtieth garment, I voiced a protest. “I’m not going to need these many things,” I said, hoping I sounded firm.

She shook her head. “Men like variety, Jenny,” she said. “You must keep your man entertained, no?”

What was this, 1919?
I ignored her expectation that I needed to be pretty for Alexander, but she continued, no doubt alerted by my mutinous expression. “Mr. Hamilton is a good man.” Her voice was reverent. “Kind. Thoughtful. Protective. The kind of man you hold on to.”

“Do you say this to each of the women you do this for?” The moment those words came out of my mouth, I wished them back. She obviously doted on Alexander. Who was I to correct her?

She looked puzzled, then irritated. “This is the first time I’ve been asked for help,” she said. Her tone indicated that she was done talking to me. “Now, try on the more casual daywear.”

When she left, I looked helplessly at the closet. What had been a previously bare space now was filled to the brim with the softest of silks, the crispest of cottons, and the most touchable of wools. Dresses and pants, shirts and skirts to wear during the day. Gorgeously draped evening gowns for the night. The most beautiful lingerie I’d ever seen. My hands itched to caress them all, to reach out and hug the garments against my skin.  

The most unexpected thing of all was that the clothes were what I would have picked out for myself, if I had infinite wealth. They were beautiful, well-tailored and sophisticated. When I wore them, I felt like a sexy, yet confident woman. The clothes weren’t slutty. They didn’t reduce me to an object for Alexander’s desire.

In response to my question, Mrs. Suramongkol tersely mentioned that Alexander had called her yesterday evening. It seemed that the moment Alexander had surveyed the contents of my suitcase, he’d taken silent steps to remedy the situation. As tempting as it was to be outraged at his high-handedness, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t overlook the generosity and the consideration.

Before Mrs. Suramongkol was done, the next caller appeared, a dark-skinned man with round glasses and greying hair. This was the jeweller and he’d dropped off an absolute treasure chest of gems. From the way he warned me to put them away in the safe, I’d no doubt everything he’d given me was real. I reassured myself that the jewelry had to be a loan. There had to be over a million dollars in gems in front of me. Alexander just wanted to make sure that I looked appropriately ornamental on his arm.

I sighed. My mission should have been simple enough. Entice some middle-aged guy enough that he would take me to Hanoi. Kill Dylan. But Alexander turned out to be Marc and he wanted a deeper level of trust from me that I wasn’t able to give him.