At His Bidding, page 6
Tears fill my eyes, and my throat swells with sorrow. “No. Why do you have to be such a bastard?”
“Answer my question. How many times did you fantasize about me fucking you?”
“A few.” Hot tears spill onto my cheeks. How many times in my life has he made me cry? I’ve lost count.
“More than a few,” he taunts. “You wanted me from the first minute that you saw me, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The word tastes foul in my mouth.
He leans in and presses his soft lips against my ear. “I know you did.” Then he grabs the wash-cloth and rubs it between my legs, slowly and sensually. It slides over the tiny pink pearl of my clitoris, rubbing and rubbing. I can’t help myself; my breathing quickens.
I’m so confused.. What does he want with me?
He slides his hand under my chin and firmly holds my face, tipping my head up so I have to look him in the eye. Staring at me, his eyes gone soft and dreamy, he drops the wash-cloth and cups my breast in his free hand, running his thumb over the nipple. My mouth parts in desire and I arch my back. When he pinches my nipple, I close my eyes and moan.
I want him so badly I ache. My whole body is an agonized pulse of urgent desire.
In one swift move he seizes my wrists and pins them over my head. He pinches my nipple, watching me with hooded eyes. His thick cock is brushing up against me.
“This is what you like, isn’t it?” he demands.
“Yes,” I murmur. I love pain. I love the idea of being dominated — at least, I would if Ashton did it to me. I’ve been so busy taking care of my family that I’ve barely had time to date, and the few times I did, we only got as far as kissing. The men were polite, tentative…and didn’t turn me on at all.
I don’t know if this perverse desire was always lurking inside me, waiting to be called forth, or if hearing him smack around all those girls created something dark and deviant in me. But yes. I want the pain, the submission, the surrender.
He squirts soap onto a wash-cloth and hands it to me. “Good,” he says roughly. “Kneel. Wash my cock and balls.” I go down on my knees and gently massage his cock, soaping it, rinsing it, and then carefully move on to his balls. Then tentatively, I move to take him in my mouth.
He jerks back away from me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts.
I stare up at him in shock, mortified. “You…you wanted me to! I mean…this is what you paid for.”
“When did I say I planned on fucking you?”
Tears of humiliation fill my eyes. I scramble to my feet. “Then you paid a million dollars for nothing.”
He sneers at me. “Oh, I promise you I’ll get my money’s worth. Now get the fuck out of my shower.”
I scramble out so fast that I slip and almost fall. I grab a massive towel from a basket and dry myself off. He climbs out and dries himself as I get dressed. And the worst thing is, there is still an evil ache between my legs and I burn for his touch. I want him to grab me and shove me up against that wall again. I want his mouth on me, his hands.
He gestures at me impatiently, and leads me through his room, opening a door on the other end. It’s a big, empty room with no furniture other than a single narrow bed. There’s a small closet on the far end of the room.
Still stung by his rejection, I scoff at him. “You’re going to torture me by making me sleep in a room exactly like the one I had back in Lexington, but five times the size and with no roommates? You’ll have to do better than that. I’m not you — so pampered that if I’m not sleeping on Egyptian cotton, I cry like a bitch.”
“Keep it up,” he says nastily. “You’re just making it worse for yourself. And your family.”
Of course he has to jab at my one weak spot. “Leave my family out of it,” I snap at him.
Then a sudden horrible thought occurs to me.
“Did you set my mother up to be arrested? Were you behind all of this?”
He barks out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? Like your mother needs any help screwing up her life?”
“Swear to me that you had nothing to do with it,” I insist.
Ashton rakes me with a look of scorn. “What would you do if I had?”
“Ruin you.”
“How amusing that you think you have any power at all in my world.” He heads over to the bed. “I wouldn’t bother to lie to you. If I’d sent your mother off to prison, I’d be bragging about it and shouting from the rooftops.”
That’s true. And I can’t see how he’d have gotten my mother to marry that asshole Mark. And he sure didn’t force her to join Mark in his phony investment schemes.
He gestures impatiently at the bed.
“Get over there.”
“Thanks, I am about ready to drop.” I stifle a yawn. It’s got to be two in the morning, at least.
He stands there as I sit down on the bed, then grabs my hands and pins them over my head. This time, I don’t expect anything sexy to happen — so I’m shocked when he suddenly handcuffs my left wrist to the metal bed frame. The cuffs must have been there all along, tucked under the pillow.
He backs away, and I realize he plans to leave me like that.
“Let me go!” I protest. “I have to pee!”
“I don’t care if you piss yourself,” he says, his lip curling in a sneer. “I’m going to go fuck my girlfriend right now, and I have to restrain you because I don’t want you to come try to join in. I’ll uncuff you when we’re done.”
The beautiful blonde. I’d actually forgotten about her.
Those whips and cuffs were for her. Jealousy swells inside me like a red-hot balloon, sucking the air from my lungs. He’s got me here, naked, helpless and willing…and he doesn’t want me.
He turns and leaves without a word, going to his bedroom. He leaves the door between our rooms ajar.
My heart twists in pain at the thought of him screwing her, and my treacherous body still thrums with desire for him. And since I know I’m not allowed to go to the bathroom, my bladder suddenly feels like it’s going to explode.
Within a couple of minutes, I hear loud moans, and the sounds of a squeaking bed, and then smacking sounds. He’s doing it to hurt me.
Petty little bastard.
And I really have to pee.
“Oh, please! Harder!” I hear her cry out.
Furious, I fumble around in my hair with my free hand and find a hair pin that I missed earlier. I use it to pick the handcuff lock. I learned that in a self-defense course that I took; it was really thorough, we learned how to get out of most types of car trunks, how to break loose if we’re duct taped, and how to make weapons out of common household objects like bug spray.
It takes me a good five minutes of fiddling, but finally I’m free. There’s a tiny bathroom connected to my room, and I hurry over there so that I can pee. Then I storm into his room. I don’t care if that makes him mad; handcuffing me to the bed and not letting me use the bathroom violates the rules of the auction, and I’m not putting up with it.
When I walk in the room, though, I forget to be angry.
He’s sitting at his desk, reading a book.
The beautiful blonde is sitting there on his bed, alone, looking bored and sulky. There’s a speaker on the desk, with an ipod docked in it. He’s playing a recording to make me think he’s having sex.
His face flushes red with fury. The girl flashes me a sullen glance, her arms folded across her chest.
“What the fuck?” he shouts when I make my way in. He quickly turns off the recording.
“You handcuffed me,” I snap at him. “I told you I had to pee!”
“You handcuffed her?” the blonde says in confusion. “Are you going to fuck her? What’s going on, Ash?”
“Get out,” he growls at her. “Get out of my room, get out of my house!” She leaps off the bed and storms out, and I feel the tightness inside me uncoil a little bit. I hated her being in Ashton’s room, on his bed.
“You want to make me come?” he taunts. “You want to see what I like? I’m a sick fuck, so prepare yourself. Your safe word is tomato.” He storms over to me, grabs me by the arm, and marches me over to the bed. He bends my arm back, forcing me face down.
He pulls my pants down, and his hand comes down on my ass, in a stingingly hard slap. Again, and again. Each slap of his hand sends a shock wave of pain and arousal washing over me.
I’ve dreamed about this. Literally. The hard, flat palm slapping against my skin, the heat blooming across my bottom…it’s everything I imagined it would be, and more. I sink my fingers into the cover, floating away on a sea of sensation.
“Oh,” I moan, as I feel the pleasure swelling deep inside me. I’ve never had a hard time orgasming. Touching myself and thinking of Ashton was enough, every time. I’ve never actually come for anyone but him.
Abruptly, he stops, and I cry out in protest. I’m teetering on the precipice, and it’s agony. I reach down to stroke myself and he lunges forward and catches my wrist, and then traps both of my hands above my head.
As I lie there, I hear him groaning. I twist my head to look at him, contorting myself. With his free hand, he’s masturbating, his hand clenched around his thick cock, watching me with glazed eyes. Staring down at my reddened ass. Finally he comes, splattering his hot seed all over my stinging skin.
He’s panting hard as he pulls me to my feet, and marches me back to my room.
“Oh, aren’t we going to cuddle?” I sneer. I’m frustrated and humiliated. My butt aches, and I throb with unquenched desire. I want him to leave the room so I can finish what he started — alone.
As if reading my mind, he goes to my closet and pulls out a weird looking contraption, which had been sitting on the top shelf above the hangar bar.
“Chastity belt,” he says with a smirk. “You are not allowed to touch yourself or make yourself come. If you beg me hard enough, I may throw you a bone from time to time. So to speak. You will wear this at all times. If you need to go to the bathroom at any time, day or night, press this button, and one of my servants will come release your handcuffs or bring the key.” He points to a blue button on the wall by the bed. I’d missed that earlier. “I will provide you with a fresh one every day. When you need to go to the bathroom during the day, I will have a servant on hand to take the belt off.”
“No way!” I splutter, horrified.
“It doesn’t violate the auction contract.”
My head reels. It probably doesn’t, but does that mean I have to lie here all night covered in his semen? “I need to wash up then.”
“In the morning.” He shoves the chastity belt at me and watches as I step into it, the smile on his face saying that he’s openly enjoying my anger.
He turns to go, and then stops and smiles at me. “Don’t try to fight me, Riley. I’ll always win.”
He leaves the room, and I lie in bed, the skin of my butt still stinging and sticky.. And a tiny shameful voice in my head says to me, He sent that girl away. He could have had sex with her, but he didn’t want to have sex with a girl who isn’t me. She didn’t make him come. I did.
That’s winning.
Chapter Seven
2012
Riley
Ashton finally went too far, but what happened wasn’t entirely his fault.
I’d been up late writing a paper which was 50 percent of the grade in Advanced Placement English.
Early in the morning, Ashton somehow picks the lock on my door, sneaks into my room and grabs the laptop. Like an idiot, I haven’t backed up my paper. I wake up — I’ve learned to sleep very lightly in that house — and chase him down the hall.
We end up in the living room, wrestling for it. “Give it back!” I scream at him. Then I trip, the laptop crashes to the floor, and I fall against the brick surrounding the fireplace. Pain shoots through my right arm.
Ashton’s face goes white as he sees me cradling my arm. “Are you all right?”
“I think it’s broken,” I sob. And, even with my arm on fire with pain, all I can think about is failing my class. I’d worked so hard, all semester. The teacher was a friend of Barbara’s. And she hated me. She’d tried to give me a low grade before on an essay I’d written, and my mother had gone to Henry, who intervened. That just made her hate me more. I wasn’t going to be able to give her the paper this morning, and I’d get an F for sure.
“Here, let me help you get up.” He crouches down next to me, and I scuttle back away from him.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” His voice is shaking. He backs up, eyes wide.
“Just die,” I say bitterly. “Just jump off a cliff, Ashton. You’re no better than your douchebag father.”
“You’re right,” he says, his face despairing. “I am no better than him. I’m a dick. I’m sorry.”
I’ve never seen him so vulnerable before, so I press my advantage. This may be the only chance that I get. “Your fight’s with your father, not me. I’m sick of you bullying me, I’m sick of you giving my mother grief. She didn’t hold a gun to your father’s head and make him do anything.”
He grimaces. “She did have an affair with a married man. She did lie and say she was on birth control, so she could get pregnant on purpose to trap a married man into leaving his wife for her.” Then he sucks in a deep breath. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. No more, okay? I’ll back off.”
I slowly, painfully, climb to my feet. My arm pulses with pain.
“You’ll back off from both of us. I’m done taking your abuse, Ashton. I wouldn’t have hurt my arm if you hadn’t stolen my laptop. We never asked you to like us. Just leave us the hell alone.”
“The sad thing is, I don’t dislike you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking glum. “It takes everything I’ve got to be like this to you. Not your mother, I fucking hate her. But you…I’ve never hated you.”
“Then why are you horrible to me, all the time?” I demand furiously.
His face twists in frustration. “For my mother’s sake. Because this broke her. Being my father’s wife was all she had, it was her entire identity, and you took it from her, and now she feels like a nobody,” he says, his voice growing heated again.
I feel a sharp sting of remorse at that, and I feel terrible pity for Barbara. I’m so sorry that she felt that the only thing that she had was her lousy husband. I get the impression that even when they were married, he was no prize, and she constantly scurried to please him. It’s heart-breaking to realize that she built her entire life around being the perfect wife to a selfish, angry, bully.
“She’s…she’s a beautiful decorator.” The house still reflects her everywhere, in her choices and arrangements of furniture and paintings and plants. Henry wouldn’t let my mother re-decorate. “Maybe she could be an interior designer? Just to give her something to do, that she’d enjoy?”
“She could, but she just won’t. She’s lost her will to do anything.” He looks so bleak and despairing that a wave of pity engulfs me.
“I’m really sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know it was that bad, and I’m sorry for any part that I had in it.” I always have been. I hated when my mother would send me with those little folded-up notes to sneak to Henry. It made me feel gross and dirty, and also very sorry for my mom that she felt like that was her only option. I’d told her a million times that I was fine wearing second hand clothes, that I didn’t mind our apartment, but her whole life’s mission was to build a better life for me. Her version of a better life — what she thought I should have, not necessarily what I wanted.
“Yeah, well…” Ashton shrugs. “Nothing to be done now. But I’m really sorry. Is your arm feeling better?” he asks anxiously.
“A little,” I lie. “I don’t know what to do about my laptop, though.”
“I’ll buy you a new one myself,” he says promptly.
“It’s not that. My homework assignment was on it. It was really important.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says glumly. “Jennifer told me. That’s why I grabbed it.”
I look at him in shock. “She what?” I thought we were friends. I can’t believe she’d do that to me. She’d been really hurt that her former friend Sarah started bullying her, and I jumped in one day and stuck up for her. And thanks to Ashton’s campaign of abuse, she was literally my last friend at school, other than Gavin, who’s starting to get so possessive that I don’t think we’ll be dating much longer.
Ashton sees the look on my face. “I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry.” He paces the floor, his face twisting in dismay. “That was a shit thing for me to do. Last week at my mother’s was so bad that I just felt like absolute crap yesterday, and I needed an outlet…no, that’s not fair. There was no excuse for it. I’m acting just like my father. God, I’m disgusting. I’m a fucking bully and an asshole.”
I stand there cradling my tender arm, shock rolling over me. Jennifer’s betrayal chews away at any sense of trust that I had left. Salt on an open wound.
“You could argue with me,” Ashton says softly. “‘Hey, Ashton, you’re not so bad!’”
I manage a pained laugh. “Nope. You summed it up nicely.”
“Ouch.”
“That makes two of us.” I try to move my arm, and whimper in pain.
He looks at my arm, worried, and very lightly runs his fingers along it. Do that again, I think, despite the pain.
“Do you want me to get some ice?”
“That won’t help if it’s broken.”
He swallows hard. I see the worry on his face.
“If I have to go to the doctor, I’ll tell them I slipped,” I say. “It’s the truth, anyway.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I don’t mean to be like this. But me being here is the only thing that keeps my mother hanging on, and if Henry sends me away…” I’ve noticed that lately, he’s calling his father Henry instead of dad.
