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“Yes, yes. Two million tends to buy a bit of sway over a slave. If your money clears, she is yours and only yours…until tomorrow night, of course.” Snapping his fingers, he barked, “Peter. Peter?! Where is that confounded—”
“I’m here, Sir V.” Peter stepped out of the shadows of one of the sparrow-trimmed hedges. He kept his head politely bowed, but his dark, tortured eyes met mine.
The intensity in them felt like a slap.
I flinched.
The fury in his depths. The helplessness. The sorrow.
Was that for me?
How much had he seen?
What had we looked like as Henri rutted into me—imprisoned in his hold, my arms tethered above my head, my entire body being devoured as if he was the devil himself.
Victor didn’t seem to care or notice that Peter didn’t take his eyes off me. That his gaze drifted between my legs where the slow roll of Henri’s pleasure marked my inner thigh.
“Take Ily to be cleaned up. Her Master will be indisposed for an hour or so. Ensure she’s ready for lunch.”
Peter nodded, utterly unreadable and obedient. “Yes, Sir V.” Moving toward the bridge, he paused mid-step as Henri barked, “Wait.”
“Yes, Master H.” Bowing, Peter did as he was told.
Turning toward me, Henri stepped threateningly into my space. He didn’t stop until his bare knee nudged my upper thigh. I strained for his whisper. For a kind goodbye but all he did was smile as black as coal. “Open your pretty legs.”
My fingers curled in my raised cuffs. My body rebelled against the command, but his knee slowly added pressure, reminding me he wasn’t asking.
Don’t fight.
Remember?
Sucking in a breath, shivering with self-consciousness, I shuffled my feet apart and dropped my eyes.
“Good girl,” he purred loud enough for Victor to hear. “Now, let’s show everyone that you’re mine in body, mind, and soul.”
I gasped as his fingers dipped to my clit, then slid up and into me in one seamless move.
Oh God.
Soaring onto my tippy-toes, I turned into a statue as he touched me deep.
Ripples of want clenched around his fingers.
He sucked in a breath.
I drowned between the very sick reality that I was sensitive and turned-on and—
“Jesus, Ily…you’re killing me.”
My eyes snapped closed as his whisper soaked into my heart.
He feathered his touch.
I choked on a groan.
Muttering a curse under his breath, he continued his performance for the crowd. “Wet with my cum.” His voice resembled sand and river rock. “Dripping with how much you milked from me.”
I shuddered as he twisted two fingers inside me, scooping out the remains of his pleasure. Removing his hand, he held up the glistening mess. Pressing the wetness to my mouth, he smeared my lips with his semen.
