Chapter Fifteen
As armor goes, the suit jacket leaves a lot to be desired. It has beautiful stitching, expensive fabrics, but it’s tailored to fit a man much larger than me. And it has the musky scent of him, a constant reminder that we’re both possessions. Soon I’ll smell like him too.
He deposits me in a room as easily as he might sling his jacket over the chair. It’s a strange room but a comfortable one. A deep-set wraparound couch fills most of the space, the pillows covered with canvas that has sketches of random objects—an antique typewriter, an old-looking telescope. One wall has exposed brick, not the industrial red brick of Justin’s loft, but a beige and brown mosaic that feels almost soft. A large burnished iron chandelier casts yellow light on the dark wooden beams that crisscross the white ceiling.
On a small end table there’s a shiny silver phone with a circle for numbers. I wonder if it’s functional. And if it is, I should probably call home and make sure a nurse is actually with my father.
Then again, I already did our evening routine before I left for the auction. I might use the time better by taking a drink from the bar setup with a copper rolling cart. How hard will this be? How much will it hurt? Judging by the way he cornered my body against the wall in the Den, estimating the size of his body relative to mine, quite a lot. Something amber-colored or even clear ought to fortify me.
Then the door opens, and Gabriel stalks inside. He reclines on the corner of the large sectional, one leg slung over the other, his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing deeply tanned forearms. He isn’t a man who gives orders from the comfort of an air-conditioned penthouse office.
“Getting comfortable?” he asks, his expression unreadable.
“Should I be?”
“You’ll be here for a month,” he says, which doesn’t really answer the question.
“In this room?” I ask, keeping my tone bland. Like his. “In this suit jacket? Or will there be a bed and clothes at some point?”
“God, your tongue,” he says with a groan that reverberates through my body. “We’re going to have so much fun, your tongue and I.”
That sounds ominous, but of course it does. Everything he says is designed to scare me. Everything he does is designed to knock me down. That’s part of the push and pull that Candy warned me about, but that doesn’t make it any less real. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying. How did she remain so calm in the face of this? How was her expression so serene curled up in the arms of a killer? She’s a puzzle I haven’t figured out, and it feels somehow imperative that I do.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “You know just enough to be scared, don’t you?”
I shake my head because I don’t know anything. I’ve heard about blowjobs and sex. Harper’s even told me about anal sex, how two men can have you at the same time. It’s not his sex that scares me—it’s power. What will Gabriel Miller do to me tonight? Will he rip away the jacket and throw me to the floor? Will he thrust inside me, fast and hard and merciless?
He looks considering. “I could tell you there’s pleasure too, but that wouldn’t help you, would it?”
“That scares me too,” I whisper. It actually scares me worse, because pain would be easy to hate. Pleasure is a strange concept to a girl who’s lost everything, far too tempting.
He nods, gesturing to the floor at his feet. “We won’t start there. Not for you. Kneel, little virgin. There’s something you need to learn.”
I almost don’t make it across the two feet of deep shaggy rug. My knees buckle when I’m in front of him, folding my body like an accordion. Then I’m shivering in front of him, wrapped up in Italian fabric, a package waiting to be torn open.
His touch is achingly gentle—a single finger, the blunt of it on my collarbone. Only that, and my skin tightens beneath his touch. Fighting him? Welcoming him? I don’t know, but when he trails his finger lower, pushing the suit lapel aside, I go cold. My hands unclench in degrees, allowing him to pull the suit jacket open.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze meeting mine. “Did he see these?”
My nipples tighten as I remember the hungry gaze of every man in that room. “Everyone saw them.”
“I mean that fucker who put a ring on your finger.”
Justin, who at this moment might be at my father’s house. “He saw them.”
“Did he touch them? Lick them? Put clips on your nipples?”
Deep inside I feel something twist, the turning of a screw. “No.”
“Pretty little virgin,” he says, almost sad.
There’s something feral about this man, a fire that burns inside him, untamed. He could have tossed me down as soon as we got in the house. He could have fucked me on that platform for an audience if he wanted to. As hard as this is, it could have been worse.
Gabriel didn’t buy my hymen, that’s what Candy said. He bought the right to teach me. And in the same way, I didn’t sell my virginity. I bought security. An unlikely tenderness surges within me. I place a hand on his thigh, intimidated by the warmth of him through his slacks, the hardness of the muscles I feel. But I won’t be deterred. Not when I know the gray-haired man wouldn’t have been so patient.
“You can touch them,” I say, feeling almost shy. “You can…lick them. If you want.”
He looks at me, almost disbelieving. “Christ.”
“Or should I do it to you?”
“A blowjob?”
I assume that’s coming, especially if he wants to continue to own a virgin, as he put it. “I can lick your nipples.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “Does that feel good for you?”
He’s completely still a moment, a statue made of stone.
Then he leans forward, grasps my hair in his fist, and shakes. “You’re so fucking innocent. Do you get that? So fucking breakable.”
He seems almost angry, but I don’t understand. I thought he liked my innocence. I thought that was the whole point. In the face of his fury, my lack of knowledge feels shameful. I shrink back, but his grip holds me tight. “What did I do wrong?” I ask, my voice even.
“Nothing,” he says, almost a snarl. “You’re fucking perfect. An angel. A sacrifice on a marble altar. You’ll give up every part of yourself just to save your precious fucking father, won’t you?”
He pushes me aside and strides from the room, slamming the door behind him.
I suck in deep breaths where I’ve fallen on the plush rug. Shock and fear form a toxic mixture inside me. I held out hope that my father’s complete and total ruin would be enough for Gabriel Miller. Held out hope he wouldn’t want to take it out on me. Now I realize how innocent that hope was. The pale-eyed man was right—the debt would be taken out of my skin.
And the fact that he hadn’t fucked me quickly isn’t a kindness. It means that he’ll make it slow. That he’ll draw out my torture. That he will make every penny count.