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This guy? I have no idea, and that makes adrenaline rush through my veins. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I can’t. Not only because I signed a contract but I’m also completely naked. Where would I go?
“Lie on the table.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on a hook near the door. His voice is flat, emotionless. He didn’t even ask for my name or anything.
Because I’m not human to him. I’m a thing. Nobody has to tell me for it to be obvious.
When he turns back to me, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. He’s fit, not even bad-looking, with a nice haircut and polished shoes. But if he approached me on the street, I’d hurry up to get away from him. Everything about the guy screams bad news.
“Are you deaf? On the table.” He points at it before unbuttoning his cuffs. “Now. I don’t have all night.”
I look at the table, lit by that overhead lamp. My blood runs cold. “Do I have to?”
“What?” It’s like the sound of a gunshot, and it makes me jump a little. I fold my arms over myself, not to hide but to keep myself from shaking too hard.
“Do I have to get on the table? I mean, we have a whole room, right?” Even though the table’s the only thing in the room, really. But the thought of being tied down and defenseless by this man is maybe the worst thing imaginable.
He’s not here to have fun. He’s here to hurt me. Bad.
“Do I have to call in the bouncers to help me get you into place? I will.” He strips off his shirt but stops there, leaving the pants on for now.
I must not answer fast enough since he knocks on the door not a moment later. It opens and in walk two enormous men. He jerks his head toward me without looking my way. “Get her on the table.”
I’m going to throw up. They can’t. Not if they know what’s going to happen in here. They can’t be human if they’re willing to do what he says without asking questions.
And they are willing.
“No, please, don’t do this.” It doesn’t matter. They don’t care that my voice is so high it’s practically a squeak. Or that I try my best to fight them off once their huge, rough hands take hold of my arms and legs. Or that I’m close to tears as they force me onto the table, flat on my back.
I twist and turn from one side to the other, but that’s no use, either. They don’t look at me. They don’t say a word. They only hold me down before tying my wrists and ankles tight enough to hurt. I suck in air through my teeth when one of them cinches the last strap, cutting into my skin. Like he’s pissed at me for making him do it.
I’m spread-eagle on the table and completely exposed. It’s cold in here, making my nipples tight, making me shiver harder than ever. I tug at the restraints, but it’s no use. They’re too tight and fastened securely to the table.
I’m at his mercy. Oh, god, I’m completely at his mercy, and nobody cares.
The man waits until we’re alone again, then shakes his head slowly. “You’ve already wasted my time. You’re lucky you look so good when you’re struggling.” Holy shit, he’s hard, like to the point where his dick is jutting out in front of him as he walks slowly around the table.
He comes to a stop at my feet, and I raise my head slightly so I can see him. As much as I don’t want to look at him, I’m afraid to close my eyes. Afraid of what’ll happen without my knowing it’s coming.
So I’m treated to the sight of him rubbing his bulge, eyes now half-lidded as they travel over every inch of my body. “So perfect,” he breathes while his hand moves. “Where’s he been keeping you? I have half a mind to complain that we’re only making each other’s acquaintances now.”
Acquaintance. That word stirs something in my brain, and all the crime movies and shows I’ve ever watched come back to me \at once. If he thinks of me as a person, he might be less ready to hurt me. I have to try.
“My name is Rowan. What’s your name?” God, it’s fucking impossible to keep my voice from shaking. I hate how weak and scared I sound, mostly because I know he’s getting off on it. His hand is moving faster, his breathing picking up.
“I don’t remember asking for your name. And I don’t care what it is.” He walks slowly up the length of the table, unzipping his pants. I don’t want to see what he pulls out, but I can’t help myself. I need to know what he’s going to put inside me.
