6. Syn
6
SYN
Somehow, I make it to the bank with my mind blurry and my senses fogged up with Tarquin’s scent and his ridiculous proposal. I deposit the cash and transfer the two grand to Jeremy’s offshore account. The action leaves me feeling hollow, but I push ahead, driven by a desperate hope I can’t afford to lose.
One million pounds. For a week of my time.
It feels like a trap, but I can’t see the snare. What alpha would pay that much just for sex?
I feel like I should research him, but maybe I don’t want to know. Feeling sick with worry and trying not to get my hopes up, I pull my phone out of my bag as I wait for the bus, opening the browser, and I type his name.
Sir Tarquin Brayfield.
The search results load, and I’m intrigued when not too much comes up. He isn’t on social media, from what I can see. All that comes up is a photo of him below the link to Brayfield Investments. Why am I not surprised? The photo showcases that same cold, impassive expression that adorned his face while we talked.
The bus arrives, and I board without looking up from my phone as I flash my pass.
Lower down, there is one article that mentions his reputation for ruthless acquisitions and calls him ‘notoriously private.’
The quick search doesn’t bear much fruit, but it’s enough to know he’s legit.
Getting off the bus at my stop, I know I have to show willing. I will be ready at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and if this mysterious driver shows up, at least I might possibly be on my way to half a million.
Entering my home, I lock the door and head straight upstairs. Pulling out a small suitcase from the cupboard, I pack it with essentials. I leave the heat inducers in my bag, a backup plan if this all goes wrong. But also, I don’t want to leave them lying around here in case my house is broken into while I’m gone or worse, someone who saw me earlier rats me out to the police and they show up and bust the door down and find them.
I call Celeste at the agency to let her know I’m taking personal time. She is curious, but her only real concern is what to tell Ranier that I’m not available for him next week. This worries me. If this arrangement goes tits up, I’m going to be left with nothing.
But I have to take the risk. I have to. If the car doesn’t show up at eight tomorrow, I will simply call Celeste back and tell her to cancel my leave.
Turning back to my wardrobe, I search for the perfect outfit to arrive in tomorrow. I pull out a tight white dress that drops to my knee. It’s demure but shows off my curves, such as they are. I’m too nervous to eat, so I take my birth control pill and shove the rest of the packet into my handbag, and then I pace. Up and down until I annoy myself and crawl onto the bed. I should probably try to get some rest. Who knows what will be expected of me when I get to Tarquin’s? If he wasn’t joking about the twenty-four-hour sex, then I definitely need to try to sleep now. I’m under no illusions that this will be an easy ride. Far from it. It’s going to be challenging and exhausting, mentally as well as physically. I can’t come away and cry in the bathtub or refuse to have sex because I’m aching or sore. But I have to think of the endgame. It will be worth it.
Sighing, I close my eyes and rest as much as I’m able.
I toss and turn all night, slipping in and out of anxious dreams where Tarquin’s cold blue eyes follow me through endless corridors. By morning, I’m too wired to be tired, my nerves snapping with anticipation and dread.
At six, I give up on sleep altogether. I shower meticulously, shaving everything twice, then apply a light layer of makeup—enough to look polished but not overdone. My hands tremble slightly as I style my hair into loose waves.
At 7:45, I put the dress on and zip it up.
“Please be here,” I mutter as I make my way downstairs with my suitcase. “Please don’t be a joke.”
But at precisely eight o’clock, my doorbell rings. My heart leaps into my throat, and my palms sweat.
I open the door with a steady hand to see a tall, broad-shouldered beta in a crisp black suit. Not Tarquin, but clearly someone in his employ.
“Ms Fuller?” His voice is deep, professional. “I’m James, Sir Tarquin’s driver. Are you ready to depart?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “I’m ready.”
James takes my suitcase without comment, his face a professional mask that reveals nothing about what he thinks of this arrangement—or of me. I follow him to a gleaming black SUV parked at the kerb, its tinted windows reflecting the morning light.
As James opens the rear door for me, I hesitate for just a moment. Once I step into this car, I’m committing to whatever Tarquin has planned. A week of my life signed away to a man I barely know, with only his cold eyes and the promise of financial salvation to guide me.
I slide onto the leather seat, smoothing my white dress beneath me. The door closes with a soft, expensive thud that seems to seal my fate.
No more words are uttered as we set off. The car glides through rush hour traffic with ease, as if the chaos of ordinary commuters doesn’t apply to vehicles in Tarquin’s orbit.
“May I ask where exactly we’re going?” I venture after several minutes of silence.
James meets my eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Sir Tarquin’s estate, about half an hour from here.”
I nod and sit back, not really having anything else to say, and I doubt James wants to chat anyway.
The minutes tick away, and it occurs to me suddenly that I should alert someone to where I’m going. I don’t really have anyone, so I pick the only person who will understand. I send a quick text to Savvie, giving her a quick rundown of the situation and sharing my phone location with her to track.
Seconds after I hit send, the phone rings. “Savvie,” I mutter.
“You sure about this?”
“Yes. I have to.”
“I’m not prying, but I’ve got your back as long as you know what you’re doing.”
“I do. I’ll text you later.”
“You’d better, or I’m bringing Bruno to the party, and no one wants that.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Savvie.”
“You’d do the same for me,” she says and hangs up.
I smile when I put my phone away. I would do the same for her. For any of us. It’s smart. Safety first and all that.
The car turns onto a narrow lane flanked by ancient oaks, their branches forming a natural canopy overhead. My stomach tightens as we approach the wrought iron gates that swing open silently, seemingly aware of our approach. Beyond them stretches a red-brick drive that curves toward what can only be described as a manor house—all stone and symmetry, with windows that catch the morning light like calculating eyes.
“We’ve arrived, Ms Fuller,” James announces, his tone giving away nothing.
No shit.
The SUV comes to a stop at the base of wide stone steps. I take a deep breath, smoothing my dress one final time as James opens my door. The morning air is warm, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and pungent flowers.
“Thank you, James,” I say quietly, gathering my composure as I step out.
James retrieves my suitcase and nods respectfully before he heads up the steps and opens the front door. I follow, trying not to gawp at the sheer elegance of this place. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t a stately home with marble floors, chandeliers and enormous tapestries that line the entrance hall. A sweeping staircase is off to the right, but James leads me further into the house and pauses at a door that is slightly ajar.
“I’ll take your bags up to your room,” James says, and I nod, even though I have no idea where that is.
Hopefully, someone will tell me, so I don’t have to wander around looking for it.
James raps on the door and then disappears, leaving me to push it open when Tarquin calls out.
Inhaling deeply, I let it out slowly and step inside his office. It’s very alpha-esque with wood panelled walls, deep red carpet and dark wood.
“Good morning, Ms Fuller,” Tarquin says without looking up from his paperwork. “Franklin has some paperwork for you to sign.”
My gaze snaps to the unassuming beta in the corner. He steps forward and pushes his glasses up his nose, clutching his papers like his life depends on it.
“I thought you said no contracts?” I say, eyes narrowed as I move towards the desk.
“This isn’t a contract with me. It’s with my bank. I have taken the liberty of opening an account with Lord’s under your name, Ms Fuller.”
“Oh? Why?” I ask, taking the papers Franklin slides across the desk with a fancy pen.
He glances with a hard half-smile. “It is the most efficient way to move half a million pounds into your account.”
Saliva floods my mouth as I stare down at the paperwork. I pick up the pen but pause. “Can I see it?”
“See what?”
“The money in the account with my name on it.”
Tarquin’s gaze hardens. Franklin lets out a gasping noise, which he quickly quashes.
It takes everything I have not to look away.
Tarquin blinks and turns his laptop around. I lean forward and check the screen, making a show of checking the numbers match up on the paperwork.
Tarquin’s hard gaze changes to something akin to amusement. “To your satisfaction, Ms Fuller?”
“Yes,” I state and bend over to sign the bank’s paperwork.
As I sign the papers, I feel Tarquin’s eyes on me. Not just watching—assessing. I straighten, handing the documents back to Franklin, who takes them with a nervous nod. He hands me a pristine white envelope. “The card and sign-in details,” he says.
“Thank you, Franklin,” I say, taking great delight in not including Tarquin in my thanks. He will get his thanks with sex.
“That will be all, Franklin,” Tarquin says, his voice like silk over steel.
The beta scurries from the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seems to seal us into our own private universe. For a moment, silence hangs between us, thick and expectant.
Tarquin rises from his chair, and I’m reminded again of his height, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his impeccable white shirt. He moves with the fluid grace of a predator, unhurried because he knows his prey isn’t going anywhere.
Up close, his scent is even more intoxicating. I resist the urge to step back, to create distance between us. I won’t show weakness. Not now.
He reaches out and trails his fingertips down my bare arm before his hand closes around my wrist. He draws me closer until I am pressed up against his body. My arousal hits me hard. His nostrils flare as slick dampens my delicate white lace knickers.
“Your scent betrays you, Synthia,” Tarquin murmurs, his voice dropping to a low timbre that vibrates through my body. His grip on my wrist tightens slightly, not painful but unyielding.
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated despite the way my body responds to him. “I never promised to be indifferent to you,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. “Just obedient.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Obedient.” His thumb brushes over my pulse point, and I know he can feel it racing beneath my skin. “The terms of our arrangement are simple. You belong to me, wholly and completely, for seven days. You will do as I say, when I say it.”
“And in return, I get a million pounds.” I need to say it out loud, to remind myself why I’m here, standing in this alpha’s office with slick between my thighs and my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Half now, half when our week concludes.” His free hand comes up to cup my face, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who radiates such cold authority. “Provided you fulfil your end of the bargain.”
“Which is?” I whisper, testing him and probably myself as well.
“Complete surrender.” The words hang in the air between us, weighted with meaning. His blue eyes bore into mine, searching for hesitation or fear. I refuse to give him either.
“Complete surrender,” I repeat, tasting the words on my tongue. They’re terrifying and thrillingly freeing. “And what exactly does that entail, Sir Tarquin?”
His thumb traces my bottom lip, the touch feather light yet commanding. “It means you relinquish control. Your body, your time, your pleasure—they’re mine to direct. When I want you, however I want you.”
Heat floods my core at his words. A dark thrill courses through me.
“And if I refuse something?” I ask, needing to understand the boundaries of this arrangement.
His eyes narrow slightly. “You won’t.”
“But if I did?—”
“Then our arrangement would be terminated, and you would leave with only the half million already in your account.”
Tarquin’s hand slides from my face to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair before closing into a gentle fist. My breath catches as he applies the slightest pressure, guiding my head back to expose my throat.
“And that purr, Ms Fuller…” He brushes his lips over my throat and darts his tongue out, licking me in a way that would be lewd from any other male, but from him it’s sexy as fuck and makes my nipples harden. “I want to hear that purr.”
“You get the purr if you please me,” I murmur.
The wicked half-smile that curves up the left side of his lips is dangerous. “You doubt me, Ms Fuller?”
His confidence is maddening and disturbingly arousing. I should be offended by his arrogance, but my body betrays me with another rush of slick.
“I’ve found that alphas who boast the loudest often have the least to show for it,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice steady as his scent envelops me.
Tarquin’s laugh is low and dark, more a rumble in his chest than an actual sound. “Is that so?” His grip in my hair tightens fractionally. “Then allow me to demonstrate rather than boast.”
Without warning, he spins me around and pulls me back against his chest. One arm bands around my waist while his other hand remains tangled in my hair. His breath is hot against my ear as he speaks.
“For the next seven days, Synthia, you will learn exactly what it means to be possessed by an alpha who knows what he wants.” His hand slides from my waist to my hip, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. “And what I want is that purr while you come all over my cock.”
The vulgarity of his words should shock me, but instead, they send a bolt of desire straight to my core. I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips, and I feel him smile against my neck.
“That’s not quite a purr yet,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “But we have time.”
His hand travels from my hip to the hem of my white dress, slowly gathering the fabric until his fingers brush against my bare thigh. The touch is electric, sending shivers across my skin.
“Tell me, Synthia,” he says, his voice a controlled rumble against my back. “Did you dress for me this morning? Did you choose this innocent white, knowing how it would look when I tear it from your body?”
Before I can respond, he spins me to face him again. His blue eyes are darker now, pupils dilated with desire, but his expression remains guarded. He releases me and steps back. “Your room is upstairs, third door on the right.” He dismisses me as he walks back around his desk to sit and stare at the paperwork in front of him.
“And?” I ask.
“And you will wait until I want you.”
“Okay, then,” I mouth silently as I back out. I don’t know what else I expected. A tour? Some food? A cup of tea, at least? But this isn’t a holiday. It’s a job. Nothing more, nothing less.