Chapter 7

Leo

What did I do that for?

I’ve done some dumb shit in my life, but, Jesus, this really takes the cake.

I had one last job to do, then I was free. I had two million dollars burning a hole in my pocket that I was ready to spend on starting up my own business, and I blew it.

I had a chance to turn my whole life around. To finally get out from under Oberon Lawson’s thumb and be my own man—a man who’s not forced to do other people’s dirty work. Instead, I just waved goodbye to two million dollars, and for what?

To bail out a spoiled little rich girl and protect her from the consequences of her own mistakes, as no doubt her rich daddy has been doing for her entire life.

But I don’t imagine that Kristen’s daddy has ever had to buy her freedom from a room full of perverts.

Those guys make my skin crawl. They spend stupid amounts of money just to buy girls and fuck them because they’d never be able to touch a woman that hot otherwise. They want to break those poor girls, just so they can feel like men.

It’s pathetic.

All the times I’ve had to do it for Lawson, not once have I ever really been okay with it all. No girl deserves that kind of life—even the ones who are into being a slave and having some lecherous old man telling them what to do.

But Kristen definitely didn’t seem like she’d enjoy playing maid and mistress to those creeps, so I had no other choice. I’ll just have to kiss those dreams of an early retirement goodbye, and settle for something that pays for a lot less: being the good guy.

I always knew that ‘nice guys finish last’ but that it was always worth being the good guy anyway. But at what cost?

Now, I’m stuck with my ‘purchase’ without any chance of exchange or return. I can’t even take the chance to really ‘get’ Kristen, to fuck her like I really do want to.

I mean, I could. As I just proved by pinning her up against the wall like that, no one would stop me, even if she screamed.

But I don’t need someone else to stop me, because I know that I can’t, and that I shouldn’t. Despite what her body is saying—because honestly, she’s so fucking wet for me right now—Kristen’s lips are telling me, “No.”

Kristen can think that I’m the bad guy—I mean, I am the bad guy. I kidnapped her and brought her here to be sold off in the first place. But, I’m not the kind of bad guy who sleeps with women who don’t give me consent.

I’m not one of those assholes, and I never will be.

That being said…the feeling of her body pressed up against mine as my motorbike tears through the streets is really turning me on. Kristen’s pushing herself up against me desperately, and I know that her bridesmaid’s dress—or what’s left of it—is flapping in the wind as I cut around corners to take her back to my place.

I wonder how she feels about having my jacket around her shoulders, feeling the soft lining brush against her bare skin and knowing that I was the one who was just wearing it.

Then, I begin to think about how it might feel to touch her skin for myself…I could have done it earlier, when she pushed up against the wall and was powerless beneath me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t indulge myself like that—to trace my hands up against her smooth skin until I get to her breasts.

They were, after all, practically spilling out of her bra—Kristen clearly knows what lingerie suits her, and she dresses to impress even when she’s forced to wear something hideous.

But when she’s dressed in lingerie like that, it’d be so easy to just pull her breasts out of the top of her bra, to squeeze them and play with them.

I can imagine her face when my finger rolls over her nipple. She’d look surprised—almost innocent—and even if she was trying to appear like she hated me, I know there’d be a little moan of pleasure that betrays her.

I could pay with Kristen’s breasts, kiss them and move up her neck—but I would purposefully avoid her lips so that I can hear her whimper, moan and then beg for me.

I would make her writhe in pleasure under my touch, and then I’d pin her against the wall again, with my leg between hers, so that I could watch her grind down against my thigh, trying to give herself pleasure.

And, when Kristen’s truly desperate for me—once I make her beg for me to fuck her after teasing and playing with her for so long, it’d be so easy to pick her up and push her panties to the side before making her come over and over again, until her knees give out and I need to carry her to bed.

Where maybe I’ll eat her out while she’s exhausted, pushing her to have more orgasms than any other man could give her.

As I drive us back to my place, I picture all the places that I could have my way with Kristen. My cock is rock hard and aching in my jeans, but I have to ignore it.

Because I could. I could throw Kristen down on the sofa and fuck her until she can’t take any more. But I can’t.

She has to want it, and, right now, she clearly doesn’t.

I could make her want it. But I won’t.

Kristen has to want me of her own accord, and not because I’m pressed up against her, pushing all the right buttons.

So, for the rest of the drive, I try to think instead about my reaction if I saw Lawson, spread for me, begging for me to take him. It’s enough to take my hard on away quickly, and it leaves me clear headed as I pull up outside my house.

I don’t live anywhere too flashy—after all, I’d been saving for a fresh start. But it’s nice, better than what most people can afford, and I’ve always had a taste for the finer things.

I look around briefly, instinctively checking to see if anyone was watching or had been following me. But they’re not—this is private property, and I know how to keep people out.

“Come on, then, princess.”

I take Kristen by her two handcuffed hands, helping her hold her dress together and regain some decency, before leading her towards the front door. She has nowhere to run to, so I lower my hold on her hands as I push her inside the house.

“So, this is where I—you’ll be staying, for now, I guess.”

I step forward and close the door, before motioning for Kristen to follow me. Her heels clack against my laminate flooring as I show her around the ground floor.

Kristen takes a breath behind me, but I don’t turn to look. She’s probably just sulking and trying to get my attention with a tantrum.

“So, the kitchen is through there, along with a downstairs bathroom and a conservatory. That way is the living room and then upstairs is my bedroom, the guest bedroom.” I shrug and pause, looking out the windows and over the garden.

“Each bathroom has an en suite, and there’s a main bathroom, too, as well an office…I guess if you want anything special in the fridge, then I can buy it for you…”

Kristen huffs again, her breath shuddering slightly.

That’s when I turn around and finally give her the attention she’s been trying to get with her tantrum.

Except, she’s not throwing a tantrum.

She’s fucking crying.

It’s obvious she’s trying not to—but with the gag in her mouth it’s harder for her to regulate her breathing, and the fact that the gag is also becoming spotted with tears makes it impossible to hide since the fabric changes color when wet.

Yet, I still let the world’s dumbest question cross my lips. “Are you—are you crying? For real?”

Kristen turns her head away from me, and I watch her as another lonely teardrop falls from the end of her long lashes and cascades down her cheek.

“No!” she says through the gag, trying to articulate but failing.

I nod my head and raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Uh-huh, sure you aren’t.”

I can’t believe myself. I’ve been so wrapped up in what saving Kristen has cost me—the literal two million dollars and my chance at a fresh start—that I’ve completely ignored what it must be like to be in her shoes.