21. Debauchery
Chapter 21
Debauchery
Winnie
Humiliation battles with fear and anger.
I stood. Teetered across the stage on heels so high I was in another atmosphere. Spun around, making sure the room full of foul and disgusting human beings could see me from every angle. It was only fair they got a good look at the merchandise before shelling out an ungodly amount of money.
Hell, I’m half-shocked no one demanded my virginity to be certified by a trusted expert. Truth in advertising and all that.
One by one, the other girls who were sold off tonight disappear from the dressing room behind the stage. Security corralled us here immediately after the bidding ended and the mountain of a man standing outside the door seems to be serious about making sure we stay safe and secure. The irony isn’t lost on me.
More than half the girls have been claimed when the low buzz of conversation filters through the door. The volume grows, voices growing gruff and angry as they approach.
“You do not want to test me. She’s mine and I’m taking her now.” Christophe shoves through the door and the room is filled with…him. His broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and singular focus are directed straight at me. In a huff, he pulls the suit jacket from his body and wraps it around me, enveloping me in his scent, his warmth.
“What are you doing?” I push at the fine wool of his coat, sloughing it off my shoulders only for him to pull it back into place.
“Keep that on”—he grasps the lapels, holding them tightly together as he guides me toward the door—“and move. We don’t have much time.”
I make a desperate grab at the detached skirt that makes up the rest of my dress. The crimson silk catches on the door, shredding as Christophe pushes me through. I cringe. The gorgeous fabric is in tatters—not that I’ll ever wear this ensemble again. I’m sure there’s no need for formal wear in my future.
Christophe ushers me out the back of the club and into his waiting car. The driver closes us in and then peels away as one of the suited men from the auction comes barreling out of the building, yelling, threatening. He pulls a weapon from his coat, aiming, trailing the car until we turn the corner and disappear.
“What are you doing?” I ask, spinning to look behind us. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home.” His answer is simple, tone entirely too unaffected for the situation.
“What? Why?” I perch on the edge of the plush leather seat to stare at him, but he gives me nothing. All I have is Christophe’s stern profile as he calmly taps at his phone. “Someone bought me, paid a fuck of a lot of money for the privilege of debauching me. You can’t just steal me away, dammit.”
“I can and I did.”
My mouth falls open at his curt response. “But the debt; I owed you.”
“You still do.”
Shock paints my face. “I have no way to pay you back, Christophe. That’s what you’ve told me—insisted on—all along. You almost ruined me in the office before that shit show even started and now…what? You’re going to steal me away and try to sell me again? Didn’t bring in what you thought you would the first time?” God, I’m pissed—so fucking mad. At him. At my parents. At this whole fucked up situation.
This time, I get nothing in response.
Nothing verbal.
No. Christophe just leans back into the supple leather seat and spreads his knees wide.
“You can start anytime,” he says, tilting his head to the space between his feet. His implication is clear.
How many times has he told me I couldn’t work off the stupid debt? How many times has he told me the number was too high, the interest too steep?
“You said?—”
“Get on your knees or don’t, Winifred. We can wait if you prefer, but money has been transferred. Your sale is finalized, and I assure you, the spoils have been claimed and the owner will get his due.” A muscle in his jaw jumps, but his eyes are heavy with lust and desire.
“What did you do?”
Finally— finally —he meets my eyes, and his lips pull up on the side, his smirk full of threats and promises.
“You can’t. You…you didn’t buy me. You weren’t even out there.” My voice is high, squeaky. It sounds foreign to me, and full of panic. Though, rightfully so, because I am fucking panicking.
The car stops outside his mansion and the driver opens the door, his expression grim and weirdly pissed off.
As Christophe steps elegantly from the car, I scramble for the opposite door, but his strong hands stop my escape and pull me back.
“Let me go, you asshole.” I twist and try to pull free, but it’s useless. My arms are trapped within the steel band of his. He palms my throat, his fingers pressing in.
He spins me, releasing the hold he has on my body, but he doesn’t give me my freedom. No, he backs me into the cold metal of the car, pinning me there.
My pulse flutters under his fingertips and like he can’t resist the thrill, he tightens his grasp, squeezing, cutting off my air.
“You bastard,” I rasp. It’s sexy as fuck to feel that vibration against the palm of his hand.
My nipples tighten to hard buds despite myself. I fight, push at him, scratching at his hand and drawing blood. But I get nowhere.
“This little show of defiance is cute, Winnie. I like your fire. But I will not tolerate this shit.” His gaze flicks to the crimson droplets blooming at the edge of his stark white dress shirt. “And I think we’re done with you making me bleed, do you understand me? It’s my turn, now.” Furious, he’s fucking furious.
Maybe he expects me to cower. To show fear or at the very least a little respect, but he’s obviously wasted his precious time, because Defiant could quite literally be my middle name.
“You like that, chère ?” He squeezes his fingers, and the edges of my vision start to fade.
My grip on his wrists slackens and I feel myself fading. My bravado slipping away along with my grasp on the here and now.
“That’s better. Save your energy, honeybee. You’re going to need it.”
Christophe dips low and tosses me over his shoulder carrying me into his house. The last thing I see before the door closes behind us, are the taillights of the town car fading in the distance as it roars down the driveway.
His firm grip on my thigh keeps me in place as he bounds up the stairs. How he manages to scale them—two at a time—all while stroking his thumb across my center is beyond me.
He turns and stalks down the hallway, entering a huge suite that’s got to take up the full wing above mine, slamming the door shut behind us. He shifts and in slow motion I slide down his body feeling every perfectly formed dip and bulge along the way. The bulge.
Seconds tick by and he simply holds me in place. Staring. Breathing us in.
My muscles tighten, desire coiling deep in my belly as I tell myself my reactions are not okay. Because while I should be fighting for my life, trembling in fear. My wet panties are proof that something else is making me tremble.
Minutes pass and I shift my weight, pressing my thighs together desperate for friction. I drop my gaze to his mouth; his lips are plump and perfectly still. Not a twitch. Nothing.
Hours.
Years.
A lifetime passes before his mouth crashes against mine. With my hands against his chest, I push at him. Not because I want to, but because I should . Everything about this screams at me to resist.
I don’t stand a chance.
He presses me to the wall, his body flush against mine from our knees to our hips, our chests to our lips. And while he towers over me, even in these ridiculously high stilettos, there is nothing but packed planes of solid muscle beneath my palms. When he pushes his hips in close, I can’t help but gasp.
He licks into my mouth as he thrusts his cock, hot and hard, against my belly. He kisses me stupid. Devours me. Makes me want to give in and work off my parents’ debt—by pennies, not dollars.
When I’m good and breathless, and obviously suffering the effects of oxygen deprivation, he pulls back just enough to grumble, “Now, get rid of this.” He slides a thick, blunt finger under the silk band strategically wrapped around my chest.
Broad shoulders bunch and shift as he works his tie loose, carefully folding the bloodred silk and tossing it to the back of his sofa.
“Now, Winnie. Do not keep me waiting.”
I side-step him and strut across the room, twisting awkwardly to lower the side zipper that somehow manages to keep this sad excuse of a dress in place. The silk falls from my body leaving me in nothing but my thong and heels as I approach the wall of windows. The view from my room is similar, but with the elevation, the view is so much clearer. The focus displayed much more prominently by the dark wood frames. It’s so beautiful, so meaningful that Christophe wanted it perfectly framed.
“Lose the thong.” His tone is dark, somewhere between pissed off and lust, but it has the right effect.
I want his hands on me.
I want to feel his touch everywhere.
I hook my thumbs in the scrap of lace and shift my hips sliding the fabric down my body. I kick my panties to the side and shake out my hair, blonde curls spilling down my bare back, and start to toe out of my shoes.
Christophe
“Those stay on,” I say, impressed with how steady my voice comes out. Because sweet little Winnie could very well bring me to my knees with that fucking body.
I tried to resist her. I fucking tried to let her go, but there was no way in hell I could do that.
Fuck, the minute I tasted her honey mixed with my whiskey, I knew she had to be mine.
And now, I’m done waiting.
I stalk toward her and take her mouth. Our tongues tangle, warring with each other.
She arches into me, tits firmly pressed against my chest, her sweet little nipples hard against me.
I drop to my knees in front of her for the second time tonight and part her pretty pussy, licking deeply, tasting her. I drive my tongue inside, swirl a tight circle around her clit, and then suck on it. Hard.
Her gasp turns to moans as her body shudders.
“Give it to me, honeybee. The count starts now,” I rasp, unwilling to take my mouth from her. I throw her leg over my shoulder and pull hard, sucking and teasing until she comes apart on my tongue, my name spilling from her lips.
As Winnie gasps for air, I stand. My cock is like steel. I’ve waited a lifetime for her. I spin her, placing her palms against the plate glass of the window and pull her hips back so she’s bent over and on display. Her stilettos lift her pert ass like it’s a gift, just for me. Taking my payment in full is going to be a fucking pleasure.
She watches my reflection as I undo my shirt, one button at a time. When it slides from my shoulders, falling to the floor, she takes her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back a moan. Her eyes trace the ink scrawled across my chest, taking in the story written in images. The moment she lands on the honeybee inked over my heart; she stills.
“Christophe.”
Now is not the time. I swat her ass, appreciating the ripple that goes through the plump cheek. Her skin pinks beautifully, leaving behind a perfect handprint.
“Brace,” I growl as my cock springs free from my trousers. I grip the base and drop my free hand to the center of her back, positioning her where I want her. I notch my dick at her opening and find her eyes in our reflection.
Ironically, I’m the one who needs to brace because if I don’t hold myself back, I’m liable to fuck her through the window. And as much as I talk a big game, I don’t want to hurt her.
This is her first time. She’s tight and with my size, it’s going to be uncomfortable for her. If I’m rough, I’ll split her in two.
If I hurt Winnie, I won’t be able to have her again tonight and I don’t want to wait. I want to lose myself in her tight heat, make her moan, and hear my name on her lips as she floods my dick.
If nothing else, I’m a goddamn gentleman when it comes to buying virgins and fucking them.
Except, I’ve never done this.
Never bought a woman—never had to—and sure as fuck have never taken a virgin. Never had any desire for that—not until I found my honeybee again.
I take a deep breath and ease myself forward, and before I breach her opening, she moves.
Instead of bracing, instead of doing as I told her, Winnie rocks her hips, impaling herself on me.
And the one screaming out a name, is me.