Chapter 16
Juniper
I’m sitting on the balcony with them, eating from a picnic-style lunch the hotel provided.
Cold chicken and salad on squashy fresh buns, gourmet cheeses…
yum, and sliced fruit and Danish pastries.
Since wearing no underwear is hazardous with the sand that seems everywhere out here—and how does it even get up on the second floor—I’m wearing a pink floral bikini.
A shop to the left, where the bikini came from, sells swimwear and little dresses. I’d love to browse among the clothes some more, try on and buy a few more.
I’ve chosen a chair beside the glass railing, with the street a few yards below.
It’s busier now with people shopping, and consuming coffees and cakes in the café I can see from here.
Beyond the palm trees fringing the beach, the restless sea rushes at the shore before ebbing and sucking back out, the sun glinting off the smoother patches of water.
It’s peaceful up here, munching on delicious food, even if the men have been treating me…like an object?
Like a woman they can order about and fuck when they want to?
But they are feeding me. I amuse myself again by wondering why I’m obeying. There is a novel enjoyment in being the center of their attention and lovemaking, if I can call it lovemaking. Festive furious fucking? I need a new description.
Apart from having to show off the bikini, once I put it on, and wear the collar, they’ve stopped making me do things like crawl on the floor.
When I question that, Mr. Loxland dismisses it with a dryly worded, “Maybe later tonight, on the beach, when we get you to run. After we catch you, we can tie you to a tree and do ‘things’.” He waves his hand vaguely at the ‘things’.
Run from them? I should do that anyway.
I muse as they sip their cappuccinos that Mr. Loxland sourced from the café. My own iced frappe trickles condensation onto the circular glass table, and I prop my bare feet on the timber rail of the glass balustrade.
They’ve been idly discussing the Karsten incident, without asking me much.
Funny how reluctant I am to do what I’ve decided to do. I have reasons, and I’ve run through them over and over. Chances are I may get reported to the cops after this. Too many people know I’ve probably done something bad to Nathan.
It’s time, and I’m not sure of this at all. Be brave? That seems ridiculous when I’ve already killed a man. Though that happened on the spur of the moment when I was alone. Am I brave or am I just stupid?
“I like honesty,” I say flippantly as I sit forward and place the piece of apple on my small plate. “You haven’t given me those clues.”
“Ask me nicely.” Mr. Loxland drinks then carefully places the takeaway cup on the table. The dance of evil is back in his eyes. The sadist.
It’s riveting when he switches to this side of his persona—it makes my heart skip about, adds a glow to the scene, and fucked if I know why it appeals—and yet I still want to be a smart-ass. Maybe because I like making him want to do those ‘things’? There’s a thought.
I clear my throat. “And there is my problem.”
Tomás barely reacts. He’s an observer, the man who says nothing, but does what is necessary. And that includes hiding dead bodies.
“Keep going.” Loxland is now equally still, a tiger watching a mouse.
“Right.” Keep going, yeah? “You nailed the problem I have. This agreement doesn’t make sense.”
“To you? I’m happy with it.”
“Huh. Really? We talked about this over and over, but actually I disagree. Some hot sex is not enough reason for you to risk catastrophe, which makes me simply know I’m also doing this for dumb reasons.”
My heart has sped up, and anxiety constricts my chest. I could’ve simply vanished out the door but no, my need to talk things through with someone I hope is a reasonable man, haha, has got me in its vice. Do I even know what I want?
He waits for me to continue. Dips his forefinger in the froth of the coffee and tastes it.
“I need to get these murderers and I don’t see you helping me enough.”
“Oh?” He narrows his eyes.
The threat lodged there chills me, but in just the right way. I imagine him bringing out that cane. A little daunted, a little turned on—I’m such a weirdo—I continue.
“You don’t gain enough, and so you’re dithering about helping me.” I bop the table with my fist. “Risking a police record for sex? No. Why are you doing this? Prove you’ve got a stake in this that will drive you to help me as much as I need to be helped.”
I don’t expect him to prove it, and yet I want him to.
“Demanding little bitch,” Tomás murmurs.
“She is.” Mr. Loxland shifts on his chair, looks past my shoulder, maybe at the sky. “And what will you do if I can’t?”
“I will walk away.” I shake my head. “I don’t care what you do afterward.
Report me, if you want.” Can I run far enough to be free?
“This is a dead end, no matter what. I give you sex and obedience, and you somehow find it in your heart to reward me? It’s hollow. I can’t trust you’ll follow through.”
He regards me, expressionless, as if he’s already forgotten who I am. That fucking hurts.
Unshed tears line my eyes, my mouth quivers, and…why am I like this? I don’t need this man.
“You said I don’t gain enough. That’s true.”
What?
“I do risk too much. I thought I was helping you to the best of my ability, but you’re right there too.”
“Fuck.” Tomás turns his head and eyes his friend. “Are you on something I don’t know about?”
“She’s right,” he says.
“Why then?” I blurt out. “Why agree to this deal in the first place? If this goes ass up, you’re dead in the water.
You go from carefree kinky billionaire to a man in a cell.
I’m not worth it. I’m not getting what I want either.
I should walk. Will you tell the cops?” I rise, keeping my fingers splayed on the table for steadiness.
“I do still want those two clues. You owe me those after this morning.”
“Do I?” he says, menace in every syllable as he gets up. The chair squeaks as he pushes it backward then he goes behind my chair.
I don’t move, though I watch him, but when he gently gathers my hair at my nape, I still. Here I am again, waiting, reacting to him when I shouldn’t.
Grow a damn backbone.
Except I want to hear what he has to say, and he’s brushing his hands over my skin, raising goosebumps and conjuring a beautiful magic.
Little frissons of excitement drift, making my nipples stir and slowly rise.
I angle my head into his touch, knowing my mouth has fallen partly open and that Tomás has noticed my reaction.
We exchange a glance before I lower my head.
No matter the fierceness of their desires, I do like what he and Tomás do to me.
I will miss this.
“Sit down, Juniper, and I will tell you what I really want. It’s something I hadn’t crystallized in my head. Until now.”
Crystallize? I eyeroll at the jargon, but I sit. He leans his hands on my shoulders.
“Go on.”
“I want more from you. What you’ve given me so far is what I can have from any woman who comes to me for one of these parties. A week of submission. It’s easy to get.”
For a billionaire or whatever, I imagine it is.
“What else is there?” My soul? If he wants my kidneys, I’m out of here. I almost say that part out loud. Why has he woken this tiny kernel of hope? Because I, too, want more of something I cannot put into words, and yet…and yet, I will not give up my crusade for vengeance. I will not.
His hands dig painfully into my shoulders, pressing me onto my chair, and that possessive gesture becomes everything. My focus narrows. The sounds of the beach and people, of circling seagulls, lessen until all I hear and feel is him.
“Those women, I take them to their limits and then I discard them. But you…”
“Me?” I ask quietly.
“I want all of you. I want to own you.” He pulls my head backward until I’m looking up at him with my throat exposed.
“Forever. Free use of your body and your mind. However and whenever I want. Tomás also, if he wants to jointly own you.” He slides his hand to my breast and cups it.
“Obedience, of course. But”—he smirks—“since I’ve grown to enjoy your occasional disobedience, if you disobey, I get to do what I want to you.
Agree, and I will allow reasonable negotiation in the future. ”
I’m frowning. I can’t help it. “Owned. You can’t do that anymore.”
“You said you’re honest. I will trust you. If you want to walk away from this, you can in the future. It’s the ultimate power exchange. And I promise to do everything I can to get the other men you seek.”
I stare up at him for ages. “And what if you want to terminate this?”
“I might. I’m human. I trust that if you agree to this, now, that you mean to keep the promise—”
“And I have to trust you to do the same.” I finish his sentence.
“And not to break me into tiny little pieces.” I suspect they’ll play mind games with me.
Will I like that? The sadism. The public play.
The crazy fuckery they already do? I think…
I might. I would. That kernel of idiotic hope has flared into a flame. “And I get to enjoy this?”
“What do you think?” His hands are on my throat and breast and he squeezes both, holds them until I put my hand on his and try to pluck him off me. He’s not letting go and I hear Tomás stand. Despite Mr. Loxland’s grip on my neck, I can see his approach. He sits on the edge of the table before me.
“I’m in,” he says. “Joint ownership, if you agree.” Then he goes to his knees, opens my legs, pulls aside the bikini bottom, and he kisses me there.
With a single lick of soft tongue…ohmigod…it’s lightning and arousal woven together exquisitely… An instant reminder of what he’s done before.
I suck in a shuddery breath while he’s replacing the shred of cloth, then he goes back to sitting on the table. Mr. Loxland doesn’t move.
The feel of that tongue lingers.
To trust them to do their utmost to discover those men. I think I can do that. There’s something about this offer that’s more genuine than what we had. Because now, having been given a little capsule of what the fraternity does, I can understand the appeal.
And I get all of them, if they get all of me. They will own me in a sense of the word that I’ve never considered, though it’s only possible if we all trust each other.
Trust these men who already have everything? “What if you want something I really don’t want? Like sewing me below.” I can’t help frowning.
“Negotiation. We can allow some. We won’t try to hurt you irreversibly, damage you unless you ask for something. We might even disagree with what you’d like us to do,” Tomás says.
“A safeword?” I ask.
“It’s CNC. Consensual non-consent, but also more than that,” Mr. Loxland murmurs, moving the back of his hand over my cheek. “But I want that stipulation of ownership. The collar is also an essential part. You are handing us all the power to do, almost, whatever we want to do.”
“Trust. Ownership.” I draw a deep breath, let it out. “And mind games. I think I like those.” As he slowly winds his hand in my hair, I shiver.
Folding his arms, making his biceps bulge, Tomás gives me his scar-twisted smile. “We figured that was so.”
If anything, them trusting me is a bigger ask.
“Well?” Mr. Loxland regards me from above.
“This is like stepping off a cliff.” I swallow nervously.
“We’ll catch you,” Tomás says, and somehow that makes all the difference. He’s given me a gift, a promise of protection.
“Yes?”
Tomás snorts. “That was a question. More.”
“Yeah, it was a very, very dodgy yes. On your knees.” He releases me then comes around and points to the floor.
Crap. Do I? Do I really, really want this?
I guess I do.
We’ll catch you.
I slip from the chair and kneel.
“Again,” he says. “Do you agree to be owned, forever, or until we mutually dissolve this? To trust us to take care of you as well as giving up the right to say no to anything. Anything.”
Am I insane? I guess so.
I squeeze shut my eyes, open them, then I say it, “I do. And just to be sure. If I do actually disobey?”
His mouth twitches. “Then we also get to do anything we want to you, Miss Brat.”
“Good.” I smile, because that last part is essential. I don’t even understand why I’ve said yes, but I feel whole. Is this the beginning of a new kind of life?
“I hope this works,” my voice wobbles on the final bit.
“Here.” Mr. Loxland scoops me up, then goes into the bedroom where he drops me onto the bed then promptly joins me, spooning in from behind. I am shivering, I discover, somewhat ashamed of that. Then Tomás kneels on the bed and lies down at my front.
I stretch my arm so I can touch his face, somewhat hesitantly. He takes my wrist, puts my hand in his mouth, and gently bites.
“Are you going to say something deep and grand?” I nudge up an eyebrow, daring him, pouting as he nibbles.
“Just making sure you taste good enough.” Then he tongues my palm, sliming it with saliva.
Snatching it away doesn’t work, he maintains his grip and studies my face. “This is going to be fun. Life is too short to be sad and murderous all the time.”
“There it is.” I grin. “You said something grand.”
“And there’s the brat,” Mr. Loxland rumbles, licking my ear then pushing me onto my stomach. “Too early to fuck her?”
“Hell no. Want the front or the back?”
“Both?”
Which is when I get onto all fours and try to jump off the bed. That they drag me back under them and hold down my wrists and legs while they decide who gets what first…it’s a strange kind of bliss, being used and taken whenever they want me.
He adds, “We’d better be fast. I told the hotel they could send the cleaner in soon. Should be here in a few minutes.”
“What? No!” My squeaks of protest are thoroughly ignore, and my bikini is no protection at all.
We are done before the cleaner arrives, and I’m in the shower. Everything would be great if not for what I overhear as the water sluices over me.
“Are we doing this right? I’ve never tried this before.”
“I’m not a fortune teller. I don’t know.”
Mr. Loxland is doing the asking.
His words echo in my head, adding a pebble of uncertainty to my thoughts.