Enslaved Page 4

  “Fully?”

  He shook his head. “Rule number two: You can do what you like as long as you are always available to me when I call. So keep your phone charged and on your body at all times, like everyone else who works here.”

  “Do I work here, sir?”

  “If that’s how you want it to be, yes. You work here as my sex-slave. Maybe someday that will change, maybe you’ll find something about me that you like other than my money.”

  “I’m not . . . I’m not getting paid, am I?” She didn’t think she would be. She didn’t want to be. No one falls in love with their whore. No one collars their whore.

  “I’ll take care of those creditors for you,” he said.

  “Don’t bother. I don’t want your money. I want this. More of this.”

  His eyes softened. “I’ve done a background check on you. I ran your credit report. It’s actually already done.”

  She laughed so he would think she was joking when she told him the truth: “I think I feel violated.” So he’d already demoted her to whore, before she even arrived. The fleeting dream of meeting her Prince Dominant vaporized. Of course.

  She gasped as the pain in her nipples intensified when she moved.

  “Maybe you like being violated,” he whispered, and put his hand over her throat so she could feel the heat of it against her fluttering pulse.

  Did it bother him that she was broke, or did it turn him on that he had financial power over her as well?

  “I do, like this. But I don’t like your money. I could give a flying fuck about your money.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Everyone cares about money. And you . . . you’re scared of it.”

  She breathed, focusing on the feel of his hand resting gently on her throat, his reminder of his dominance over her. Yes, she was scared of money. Too little and you starved. Too much and you thought you could buy yourself a woman. He removed his hand from her neck and she missed it immediately.

  Sooner or later Trevor would realize that she didn’t need an indoor Olympic-size pool or a tennis court because she couldn’t swim and she didn’t play tennis. She didn’t need anything, except a man who could indulge the only vice she allowed herself—pain.

  The smile on Trevor’s lips didn’t quite reach those green eyes of his. Her words must have upset him. “Perhaps someday you’ll like me enough to want to be owned by me, to be my collared submissive, instead of just a live-in sex-slave.”

  So he did want a collared submissive. Maybe . . . it could be her. She touched her neck, feeling how bare it was, with his hand gone.

  At least now she knew they had a common goal—a collar. The question now was whether that collar could exist between them, or if their worlds were just too far apart.

  Trevor picked up the cat-o’-nine-tails, dangling it over her breasts, swishing the leather knots over the clamps on her nipples, causing extra sparks of pain with each movement.

  Her arousal was evident, her inner thighs becoming slippery with desire.

  Trevor rolled her onto her stomach, pressing the clamps even harder against her nipples, and with a quick tug of her arms, maneuvered her so that her head was off the bed, facing the floor, unsupported. She let her head fall to the side, reveling in the exposure of her back and ass to a hot Dom with a whip.

  “We’re going to spend some time with my cat now. I hope you’re a back-sleeper and that our evening keeps you up all night thinking about me.”

  “Do your worst, I’m not going anywhere.” She was indeed a back-sleeper, but even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t stop thinking about Trevor anytime soon. She’d gotten lucky, but why? Why her?

  The sting of the cat on her bare skin lit her nerves on fire, nine strokes of flame in one tantalizing flip of Trevor’s wrist. She could tell he was holding back, and she wriggled her hips, hoping to goad him into whipping her ass.

  “Do you like this?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I love it.”

  Whoosh. The cat came down across her bottom, harder this time, as if he put some muscle into it. God knows he had plenty of that.

  “If you love the cat then what are you afraid of?” he muttered, almost to himself.

  She wouldn’t answer. Instead, she wiggled her hips again, and he rewarded her with another strike to her upper back. It felt like a very sting-y sort of a massage, a massage that lit up her skin as well as her muscles.

  With that, he rolled her onto her back, the duvet pressing against her skin.

  “Time’s up,” he said, and gently tugged the nipple clamps off. As the blood flowed back into her sensitive nerve endings, endorphins flooded her system, making her high with erotic pain. “Breathe, Elisabeth,” he ordered.

  Gregory must have warned him that sometimes she needed reminding, that once she’d held her breath till she passed out, and hadn’t even been trying to.

  “You like pain,” he said, spreading her nether lips so her clit was exposed, swollen from her excitement, even though he had barely touched it. Trevor slapped her clit, and she moaned in ecstasy. “It’s pleasure you’re afraid of, isn’t it. That’s why you picked the vibrator.”

  “Oh, please, sir,” she moaned, unsure of what she was begging for. To be let go? To be forced into pleasure? To endure more pain?

  The vibrator whirred to life, and Elisabeth jumped, trying to slam her legs shut and only succeeding in bruising her ankles against the spreader bar.

  Trevor pressed the vibrator’s head against her clit and she gasped. It felt good, too good, and good didn’t match what she wanted to feel. She wanted to go into subspace, to feel pain beyond her imagination, to endure.

  But her body betrayed her as the vibrations tickled her clit, not stopping. Trevor’s face looked different. This must be when he felt most powerful, she realized. When he was pleasuring a woman, even if it was through forced orgasm.

  But it wasn’t force, now was it? She had chosen this life, this evening even. She trusted in Gregory and so she trusted and submitted to Trevor. Gregory was a sadist, and didn’t care if she came or not, which was the way she liked it. Trevor, on the other hand, was more than just a sadist. He was a Dom, that much was clear. He wanted control over all of her, including her pleasure.

  At that thought, Elisabeth came hard, her climax rushing through her, her entire body clenched in spasm before it relaxed.

  “Oh, you fucking asshole,” she whispered, not sure if she meant it or not. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her legs still pried apart by the spreader bar.

  Trevor didn’t answer, but he got off the bed and took his belt off. Something about a man whipping his belt off got her so hot, and she cursed under her breath since she knew he was doing it to get her going.

  It worked.

  He took off his pants, socks, and shoes as carefully as he had done with his shirt, folding them neatly on the dresser. Naked, the man looked like a Greek god, except with an extremely hard cock. She’d seen some statues of naked Greed gods, and they usually had tiny fig leaves covering their junk. No fig leaf in all of Greece would cover what Trevor had.

  She licked her lips in anticipation. It looked yummy, with a glistening jewel of pre-come on the tip.

  Trevor stroked his length, looking at her with an appealing twinkle in his eye. “I’m going to fuck you so hard right now.”

  “Yes, sir. With a condom, please, sir.”

  Trevor paused. “You’re not on birth control?”

  “I am, but I don’t know you well enough to fuck you without a condom. Besides, we just met. How many men have fucked me, do you think? I’m surprised you wouldn’t insist on a condom yourself.”

  “One man has fucked you in the past three years, and that’s Gregory. He told me everything about you, and he even showed me your spotless bill of health. I know you’re clean.”

  “Well I don
’t know if you’re clean,” she shot back. “Go to the doctor and show me the fucking test results if you want to ride me bareback so badly. But until then, no means no means I will safeword on your ass unless you put that monster in a condom before you do me.”

  “I’ll wear a condom,” he agreed, pulling one out of his bag, the wrapper wafting to the floor as he slid the latex sheath over his hard length. “But the next time you talk to me like that, I’m going to handcuff you to the bed and tie a vibrator onto you until you’re past your ability to come and you’re just screaming. I bet you’d like that, actually. We can plan on it.”

  “Okay.” She liked that he didn’t take shit from her even as he respected her boundaries. “Sorry I freaked out on you about the condom, but I forgot to mention it as a hard limit before because it never came up with Gregory and me.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Trevor undid the straps around her ankles, rubbing them soothingly. “I don’t need to keep your legs spread to fuck you, right?”

  “No, sir. I want you to fuck me.”

  He lay on top of her, keeping his weight off of her, shifting his position until his cock matched up with the junction of her thighs.

  “You’re so tall, sir,” she laughed, gasping as he thrust into her wet cunt.

  “And yet we match up beautifully.” Trevor stared into her eyes, and she glanced away, the intensity of his green eyes overwhelming her. “Look at me, Elisabeth. I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

  She obeyed, gasping as his cock pressed against something deep inside her, again and again, hitting her G-spot.

  He leaned his head down, his lips millimeters from hers.

  “No,” she said, putting her hand lightly on his neck and two fingers over his lips. “Don’t kiss me.”

  “I’m sorry. In the heat of the moment, I forgot. Is this a hard limit for you?”

  “No, sir. It’s just . . . our first time. I wanted to take it slow.”

  “That’s right,” he said, his words coming out harsh and staccato from the strength of his thrusts. “Because this is what I do when I go slow with my new sex-slave.”

  “Fuck you,” she gasped, wanting the punishment, wanting his cock to hurt her, wanting to hurt his feelings right back. And maybe . . . wanting him to kiss her anyway. Despite what she said. It’s not like she safeworded or anything.

  But no, he didn’t kiss her.

  “Right now you belong to me,” he said, emphasizing each word with his cock ramming inside her, until her body rode the wave of a climax, teetering on the edge of release.

  “Come for me, Elisabeth. Come now.”

  Her body obeyed even as her mind resisted, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and climaxed mere moments before he did, his cock pulsating inside the condom.

  He pulled out slowly and tied off the rubber, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. She started to get up but he pulled her back down to him.

  “Wait,” he said. “I didn’t give you permission to leave. I’m not done with you.”

  Elisabeth glanced at the door. Where else did she have to go?

  “I apologize, sir,” she said, lying back down next to him. Surprisingly, she meant it. They’d just had a great session and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t into it. Besides, snuggling up next to that muscular body of his was a nice change of pace. She usually felt loneliest right after sex, but having him want her to stay kept that cold moment of separation from creeping up on her.

  “Is your back okay?” Trevor asked, spooning her. The heat of his body against the welts on her back felt lovely.

  “Fine, sir, thank you for asking.”

  “Did you love Gregory?”

  The question caught her off guard, or she would have been more guarded with her honest answer. “No.”

  “Then why were you with him? You’re so young and pretty. He’s got to be twice your age and . . .” Trevor didn’t finish his thought. He didn’t need to. She hadn’t been with Gregory for his looks.

  “Gregory took me in when my mother passed and he understood that I had needs no one had ever fulfilled, and he had those same needs. We made a good match for three years.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Trevor said.

  And it sounded sincere to her, instead of just polite. She wondered if his empathy would be so sincere if he knew that her mother died with a needle in her arm, instead of from cancer, as most people assumed.

  “May I ask, Elisabeth, what made you a good match for him?”

  His way of questioning caught her off guard, once again. He wasn’t ordering her to answer him, or drilling her or interrogating her or using any of the other ways that Gregory used to get information out of her. Trevor was talking to her like two lovers spooning in bed.

  And they hadn’t even kissed.

  “Well,” she said slowly, trying to put into words what her body simply felt was right. “I need discipline, and he needed someone to discipline. I’m a masochist and he’s a sadist. It worked out rather well, but I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me. I love him as a friend, I suppose. But we’ve never . . . spooned in bed or anything. Or eaten breakfast together.”

  It’s probably why he let her go. The thought saddened her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t force herself to love Gregory any more than she could turn him straight.

  Trevor ran his large, warm hand down her arm until their fingers mingled. “Don’t you think you deserve someone to love?”

  She laughed wryly. “Probably not. I imagine I’d screw things up so badly if anyone was stupid enough to fall in love with me.” Even as she said it, she wished she could take it back. There was no need for her to convince him not to try loving her, he already knew. And so did she.

  She liked pain, but not the kind that hurt inside, in her mind, in her heart. And that’s really where it got her—a tightness around her chest, like a band constricting her until she couldn’t breathe. Like the day she found her mother on the kitchen floor, after years of trying to get her clean.

  His sigh made his entire chest rise and fall against her back, and she sighed too, so he would know she could feel it. The invisible band around her chest released a bit.

  “Gregory is a smart man. He knows that he deserves love.”

  “And I don’t love him.”

  “But somebody could. Someone, perhaps not you, could be his soul mate.”

  She’d never thought of it that way before. She’d been keeping Gregory from finding his own happy ending, even if she felt good enough was good enough for her.

  At WhipperSnapper, Andrew reached his hand out to Gregory, and Gregory took it, clasping both his hands around the younger man’s one smaller one. “You look worried.”

  “I’m just . . . thinking about my former submissive. Wondering how she’s faring with Trevor Brooks.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “You hooked her up with one of the BAD Boys? How’d you manage that?”

  “Trevor and I have history. Anyway, I was just wondering how she’s doing. She’s not used to being outside of Manhattan. I don’t think she’s ever left the island before.”

  Andrew nodded. “You must miss her.”

  “We had a good run together.”

  “Do you need to talk about it?”

  The stir in Gregory’s pants just from holding Andrew’s hand across the bar told him that he wanted to do much more than just talk about it—talk about how he’d finally found someone he could connect with, and it wasn’t Elisabeth. Or any woman, for that matter. No, he wanted a male slave. And not just any male slave.

  Only Andrew would do.

  Gregory was getting older, in his late forties, easily twice Andrew’s age. But they had such a comfortable, easy repartee between them that he’d been coming to WhipperSnapper (and paying the outrageous cove
r charge) several nights a week now just to see him.

  They hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even scened together. They’d just talked. Andrew made it clear early on that he was a sub, and he was such an adorable little twink there was no doubt in Gregory’s mind that Andrew was gay too.

  Gregory had often wondered if Elisabeth had guessed that he was gay. He never cared about making her come, or about pleasing her sexually. She was such a masochist she didn’t even care. They had fit each other well, that way.

  But Andrew . . . Andrew he wanted to make scream in ecstasy at the same time as he screamed in pain.

  “She was never mine to keep,” Gregory said softly. “She needs to find more confidence in herself, now that she’s more knowledgeable about who she is and what she wants. Elisabeth was content with me, but we were never in love.”

  “Sir? Are you lonely now?” Andrew’s warm brown eyes looked up into his, and all Gregory could think of was kissing him.

  “Andrew.” He leaned in close to his ear, barely brushing it with his lips. “Your name implies you would fit so nicely on Saint Andrew’s Cross, don’t you think?”

  The boy swallowed. He seemed like a boy, anyway. Couldn’t be more than twenty-one, anyway. With that tiny, lean body and adorable glint in his eye, Andrew made Gregory feel young again. Excited.

  Lustful.

  At some point during their first night together, Elisabeth awoke to find that Trevor had left the Pink Room. She briefly considered using the blue cell phone to call the Kitchen, since they never did get around to dinner, then fell back asleep.

  She slept with the phone in her hand, waiting for his call.

  The following day Elisabeth kept her cell phone on her hip and walked around the house, waiting for a call, but there was none. Should she ask Adele if there was something she was meant to be doing?

  And holy shit, had he really paid off her creditors? She’d gone from having negative net worth to having zero net worth overnight. It made her feel more rich than finding herself in this crazy mansion did.

  She stepped out onto the back porch, looking out over Trevor’s estate. The lawn was impeccably groomed. Except for one part, where it looked like car tires had driven over the grass.