I’m shocked when we climb onto the small aircraft that Braxton, myself, and Dubois are the only passengers on, aside from the one flight attendant and two pilots. I haven’t yet asked him what he does for a living but the man is fucking loaded. He and Dubois are both handsome in their matching black suits. Brax fills his out a little better. Despite being lean, he’s more broad and muscular than Dubois.
Braxton’s blue eyes are a stormy grey today that match the fall London sky. Last night, he showed me a sweet side, and I’d be a damn liar if I didn’t admit I was drawn to it. But then, this morning, he woke up with another chip on his shoulder. He didn’t mutter anything to me aside from simple instructions to dress or to eat.
Normally, my feisty nature wins out, especially once I’m freed of the heroin blanket that always cloaks me. However, today, I decided to bite my tongue and play things by ear. Over half a million pounds is a lot of money and I don’t want to mess that up by getting on Brax’s bad side.
“Buckle in. We’ll be taking off soon,” he says in a gruff voice, eyes never meeting mine.
I sigh and clip the belt over my lap. My eyes skim over the outfit Dubois brought me. A pair of jeans, a little on the baggy side. An oversized sweatshirt beneath a black pea coat keep me warm. And comfy runners are laced up and snug on my feet. Brax had asked me my shoe size and I’d never told him. I guess Dubois is just pretty good at estimating.
“We’ll layover in New York to refuel and once again in Denver.” Brax’s voice is bored while his attention is focused on his laptop.
My eyes flit over to Dubois who wears a concerned glare. His furrowed brows are bunched together and his gaze is on his boss. At least I’m not the only one who’s noticed he’s acting strange.
We’re soon in the air and I swallow down memories of another life—one I’d rather not think about. Instead, I close my eyes and wonder about Brax’s home. Will he have a pool? Does he have a dog? Will he leave me to my own devices while he runs off to work?
A grunt startles me and I pop my eyes open. Dubois is unbuckling and I jerk my head over to see Brax sleeping. But he’s disturbed and it almost sounds like he’s whimpering. Following Dubois’ lead, I unbuckle, shed my coat, and scramble over to him.
“Don’t wake him,” he hisses, anxiety lacing his voice.
I glare at him as if he has three heads. “He’s having a bad dream. Of course we need to wake him.”
Ignoring the man’s instruction, I reach for his boss only to have my hand jerked away. “Miss, he could become violent. I’ve been around him during his rages. Please,” he grunts, “I implore you to leave it be.”
Violent.
As if that word scares me.
I shrug out of his grip and climb into Braxton’s lap. His body seems cold so I snuggle against his chest and press kisses against his neck. From behind me, Dubois utters a string of curse words.
“Shhhh,” I whisper, “I have you now.”
The moment Braxton’s body grows tense, I realize he’s woken up. I tilt my head back to regard him and nearly shudder at his murderous scowl. A normal person would retreat back to their seat.
But I’ve never been normal.
With a shaking hand, I swipe his unruly hair out of his eyes and smile at him. “You need a haircut.”
His grey eyes soften and he smirks. “And you need another dye job. Guess we’ll both be visiting Cartier when we get back.”
He gives me a tiny shove and I climb out of his lap. Once I’m back in my seat I question him. “Who’s Cartier?”
“He’s the man who will make you beautiful.”
His comment stings and I drag my gaze away from him to my fingernails. They’re no longer dirty but each nail is still cracked and brittle from malnutrition and the effects of the heroin. A strawberry-blonde strand of hair falls into my face and I sigh. My hair does look like shit—just like he said.
“I didn’t choose you because you were pretty,” he mutters from beside me.
I peek over at him and his elbow is resting on the arm of the seat with his hand cupping his cheek. He turns his head slightly to face me wearing his signature smirk.
Tucking the hideous strand behind my ear, I scrunch my brows together. “Then why?”
His chuckle is dark and when I glance at Dubois, his gaze is downcast as if to give his boss the privacy of his conversation.
“I chose you because you’re a dirty, ugly toy.”
I jerk my eyes back over to his. I can’t believe I felt sorry for his ass just moments ago. He’s one moody motherfucker. And mean.
“Was.”
His dark brow rises at my comment.
“I was dirty. And I’m not ugly.”
He barks out a hate-filled laugh and slaps Dubois on the knee. “Did you hear that, D? She says she’s not ugly.”
Dubois drags his eyes over to me and visually inspects me, his nose crinkled in disgust. “And what do you think, sir?” he asks his boss.
Braxton crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. “I think she is. But not for long.”
His blue eyes sparkle with mischief and it reminds me of someone from my past—someone I hate—someone who liked to say and do cruel things for their own enjoyment. But unlucky for Brax, I know how to deal with people like him.
“So we’re going to play this game?” I question, straightening my back. There are some things a woman can’t hide from, no matter how hard she tries. Like her past. It’s always there, just below the surface, lying in wait for the perfect time to come back out and play. And since Braxton clearly likes games and toys, then I’ll play right along with him.
“I don’t follow.”
“Of course you don’t follow,” I tell him with a cold laugh. “But you will.”
His nostrils flare in irritation and my lips quirk with a smile at seeing that vein of his on his forehead get all pissy too. “You’re my toy and we’ll play my games. If you want the money, you’ll be a good little girl and do as you’re told.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Of course, sir,” I drawl out, laying on the thick Georgian accent for Dubois’ benefit. “I’ll be sweet as Momma’s pecan pie. Your perfect little toy—an adoring smile always on my face. You’ll be putting a ring on this finger in no time.”
Brax is out of his seat before I can even finish and his massive hand is around my throat. I claw at it but meet his glare with one of my own. I spent far too long being afraid. Braxton is nothing I haven’t already dealt with before.
I’m still here.
Alive and kicking.
His grip tightens cutting off my air supply completely. The fact that I can infuriate him in three seconds flat means he’s not as big of a player in his little game as he thinks.
I wink at him.
Who’s the toy now?
He lets go and takes a step back. Rage causes his entire body to quiver and I can tell he’s holding back, barely.
“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” he demands.
My eyes travel to Dubois’ horrified ones and I smile sweetly. “I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic—quite a talented little tart I am.” He relaxes when the British accent easily rolls off my tongue.
“Your desire to be cute and funny isn’t going to do you any good once we get back home,” he grits out as he paces the small aircraft. The metal that surrounds us doesn’t seem like a strong enough cage to contain him.
I stand and walk over to him. Dubois is back on his phone, attempting to ignore us while the flight attendant busies herself with a tray and drinks. Clearly, his employees are used to his bizarre behavior.
“So I can be cute and funny all I want until then?” I sass.
His angry eyes meet mine but I see it. A small twitch on his lips. I’m messing with his plans but despite his annoyance, I think it excites him. “Your punishments are piling up, Bunny. I already owe you two.”
I run my palms up the lapels of his suit jacket. “Two what? Spankings? You know, they say third time’s a charm, Braxton.”
My taunting works because he scowls and jerks me to him. His hard chest is heaving against mine and I squirm in his grasp, fighting a smile when I feel his cock thick and aroused pressed against me.
“You think my punishments are spankings?”
I give a light shrug and smile, forcing down a shudder of the memory from the last time he whipped me.
His own smile becomes predatory and a chill runs through my spine. “I’ll indulge you, little one. Let’s go get your ‘punishments’ out of the way. I have to say, it’s fucking adorable how little creativity you think I have.”
Holding onto my biceps, he drags me toward the small bathroom. When we reach it, he manhandles me inside with him. Once the door is closed, he gently pushes me against the tiny countertop. It’s cramped in here and with his massive, brooding presence, I feel as though I might suffocate.
Get it over with already.
Of course I don’t mutter those words. Instead, I keep quiet.
His hands set to undoing my jeans and soon he’s pushed them and my panties down my thighs to my knees. I clench my eyes closed and wait for the impending blows of his wicked belt. I’d much rather get this over with quickly. Physical pain replaces the mental anguish that threatens to consume me. Without my skag, my mind attempts to kill me slowly.
A cold hand splays over my ass and a second later, I feel the hot pain of a slap, hear the whap of its impact. I yelp out in surprise. His throaty chuckle is dark and sinister, but I’m not afraid. I’ll never be afraid of Braxton. I’ve seen evil and he’s not even close.
Whap!
The sound again startles me more than the impact of his hand on my flesh. I wait for the next blow and end up popping my eyes open when his finger probes my pussy instead. My eyes find his in the mirror. He raises a brow at me as if to challenge me to argue with what he’s doing to me. I could squirm or ask him to stop. Or I could wiggle my ass and beg him to touch me more, hoping to distract him from his punishments.
Or . . .
Or I could just fuck with him.
“That all you got?” I taunt but then wink at him.
His brows bunch together and then he shoves two fingers into me. I’m dry and still not quite healed from my infection so the intrusion is uncomfortable. My gasp at the pain spurs him on and his free hand smacks me again.
“You’re the mouthiest goddamned toy I’ve ever had. When we get back home, I have plans for that naughty mouth,” he says with a growl and spanks me again.
Ugh, he is a disgusting pig. A sexy disgusting pig which only makes things so much worse. The deep rumble of his voice, the continuous stinging swats on my ass, and his fingers inside of me create a perfect storm brewing inside my core. With each smack against me, I grow wetter and wetter—his fingers begin to slide easily in and out of me.
“You like this, don’t you, Bunny?”
I cringe at the name but nod. If he wants to get me off, then by all means, he can go right ahead. My hips swivel and I chase that tingling sensation of an impending orgasm. In my line of work, surprisingly enough, I don’t see enough of those. It’s all about the client getting off, not me. The climax he gave me last night had been surreal and I’d been yearning for another ever since.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he mutters, no longer interested in spanking me but instead pleasuring me. “I want to hear it.”
His punishing hand leaves my ass and travels around to my breast through my sweatshirt. When he pinches my nipple through the fabric, my eyes once again slam closed. An aching in my core spreads outward and my legs quiver in anticipation of the ecstasy that’ll soon steal over me.
“Close,” I hiss.
He finger fucks me expertly and I ride his hand. “How close?”
My calves tighten and the walls of my pussy clench around his fingers. “Now, I’m about to come now!”
I expect him to intensify his efforts—to give me another mind-blowing orgasm but instead, he yanks out his fingers and presses his body against mine. I’m shuddering from being on the edge of bliss but never tipping over. Rage ripples through me and his thick arousal pressed against my back does nothing to help the situation.
“You motherfucker! I was so close!”
He laughs but the humor is missing. His voice drips with pleasure at having denied me. “That, Bunny,” he says with a grumble as his hand encircles my throat, “was your real punishment. Every time you misbehave, you’ll be denied something you crave.”
Angry tears well in my eyes as our gazes meet in the mirror. His fingers on my neck are still wet from where they’d just been inside me.
“I hate you,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
He smirks and releases me. “That’ll change soon.”
His smug behavior pisses me right the fuck off. I’ll never feel more than hate toward this bastard. He reminds me too much of a life I gladly left.
“Whatever, just go so I can finish myself off.”
“Finish yourself off and I’ll take my belt to your ass next. Last time was nothing compared to what I will do this time,” he threatens.
We have a silent standoff, each of us glaring at the other. Finally, he pulls away. “Clean yourself up and redress. I’ll have Janet prepare some refreshments.”
He pulls the door back open and slides out, leaving me a heaving, shuddering mess in the bathroom. I slam the door shut and mutter a fuck you under my breath. He can kiss my ass. My entire body aches for that orgasm he should have given me. I don’t even care if I get whipped for it, I’m finishing the job he wasn’t man enough to do.
Slipping my fingers between my thighs, I locate the throbbing bundle of nerves that crave to be touched. One swipe and my body jolts with the need to come. Being a prostitute, I never indulged in masturbation. My life consisted of sex and heroin was my climax. It wasn’t something I ever needed to do.
But now?
Now, I crave it more than the drug I’ve lived for the past six years.
I massage myself in quick circles, chasing the high that was nearly within reach. The pressure builds but never to the level he brought me to. Soon, my body begins to numb and it’s clear I won’t find the edge again, much less dive over.
“Fuck you, Braxton,” I growl again under my breath as I jerk my clothes back up my thighs.
Once my pants are up, I storm from the bathroom back toward my chair. As I pass the dickhead, I shriek in surprise when he seizes my wrist, twisting it painfully toward him. He brings my fingers to his nose and inhales. An evil, stormy scowl washes over his features when he catches my scent. And, as if to be sure, he flicks out his tongue and tastes my middle finger.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he snarls, squeezing my wrist. “Don’t listen to a damn thing I say.”
I jerk my hand from his grasp and wave the offending middle finger at him. “Don’t worry, master. I couldn’t get off. So get your knickers out of a wad and keep your fucking belt on.”
Braxton bursts out into boyish laughter that should be cute but I’m too pissed off and unsatisfied to give him any more thought.
This is going to be the longest six months of my life.