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I reach above her and grab hold of the chain, wrapping it around her wrists. She exhales heavily, jumping at my forcefulness. Next I place the gag in her mouth, and then I fasten the blindfold over her eyes.
I walk over to where the cameras sit and switch them on. They’re perfectly aimed to catch the entire show while keeping my identity a secret. Last time I checked, over twenty thousand people had logged on to watch.
I walk back around the bed, placing my hands on her hips, my cock hardening at the sight of her. I don’t know why I am the way I am, but there is something so inherently sexy about knowing that what I’m about to do will be out there for everyone to see.
She groans as my fingers trail over her ass cheeks, her back arching in anticipation. She wants this. Her eagerness to please me is both a turn-on and a turnoff. What can I say? I’m a complex guy. My fingers close around the thin strap of her thong as I rip it from her pussy. She cries out, and then again as I plunge a finger inside her. Her cries dull into a soft whimper as I tease her. Some nights I’m up for playing, but tonight what I need is to exhaust myself into being able to sleep.
I spread her cheeks and drive myself into her wet pussy. She gasps, the chains restraining her rattling as she pulls against them. My fingers tighten around her slender waist as I pull her back onto my cock. Her small, tight pussy struggles to contain me and it feels fucking glorious. My balls slap against her ass as I grab hold of her hair, yanking her head back. She gasps as my mouth presses against hers. I’m still inside her and so close to releasing. I push her head down against the mattress and groan as I come inside her.
I slow down as my cock throbs, and then I slide myself out of her. I walk over to the cameras and switch them off before leaving the room, then call Marina to help Holly recover.
The session was fast tonight, but I’m not here to entertain. It arouses me to be watched, but I don’t care about satisfying anyone but myself. That includes my girls. I pay them for a service so I can avoid all the intimacy crap that goes with a normal relationship.
Pulling back the covers on my bed, I fall in, exhausted but knowing that sleep most likely will evade me, as it does every other night. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in years. Not since that night. The night I was supposed to be staying at Jeremy’s house. The night I lost my entire family.
To this day nobody really knows the truth about where I was that night, or what I did, and maybe that’s why the nightmares hound me, refusing to let me rest. Or maybe that’s just my conscience.
Witnessing the murder of your family, indirectly, at the hands of someone you thought you could trust is a hard thing for any kid to deal with. I was never the same after that night. Every time I close my eyes I see them. I’ll never forget the look in Ana’s eyes as she lay there, bleeding out. Or the guilt I felt for not going in earlier. I was too late to help Mom and Dad, but if I’d just done something—anything—maybe Ana would still be here and I wouldn’t feel so damn alone.
I should’ve told the police a long time ago, but I was a scared little boy, at home when he shouldn’t have been. Now there’s no point. The police can’t do anything. Any evidence that would link him to the crime is long gone. He made sure of that.
I reach over to my nightstand and grab a pill, taking it with a sip of water. I close my eyes and wait for morning or death.
Whichever comes first.
Chapter 4
Charlotte
Not even a pep talk from Jess calms my nerves as I sit in my car outside his mansion, trying to summon the courage to go inside.
“Just chill, Char. This is going to make your career. Just remember, you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? Be safe, and stay in touch so I don’t have to worry whether he has you buried in his basement.”
I laugh, my shoulders relaxing. I have no idea why, but her comments do make me feel better.
“Okay. I’m going in. Love you, Jess.”
I press the intercom button, my throat constricting when the gates begin to swing open. I follow the stone driveway around the beautifully manicured gardens, parking to the side, where I can see a whole lot of other cars are parked.
The walk from the parking area to the front door is short. Too short. I need more time to prepare myself, because I have no idea what I’m doing. Wait, no, that’s incorrect. I know exactly what I’m doing: I’m putting myself in the path of a suspected murderer all for the sake of a fucking story. So help me God, this had better be worth it.
I take a deep breath and knock on the front door. I have no idea what to expect, because all I was told, in a message left on my voicemail last night, was to be here at nine a.m. sharp and to pack enough to stay on the premises for the next two weeks.
An older woman opens the door, the same one who delivered my tea yesterday, only this time she’s full of smiles. Her complete change in mood scares me, but then again, most people nowadays make me skeptical. Regardless, I smile back and take her outstretched hand. In an odd way she kind of reminds me of my grandmother.
“You must be Charlotte. I’m Marina, Mr. Murphy’s head housekeeper. Come in and I’ll show you to your quarters.”
My quarters? What am I, a nineteenth-century maid?
Clutching my small suitcase in my hand, I follow her inside. We walk through the foyer, but instead of turning right toward Jaxon’s office we walk up a flight of stairs and down a long, narrow hallway.
She opens a door on the right, halfway down the hallway, and lets me enter first. I’m taken aback by how big the area is. Even from the small living area, I can already tell it’s bigger than my apartment. The place has been tastefully furnished with what I don’t doubt are thousands of dollars’ worth of antiques.
I move through the room, taking in my surroundings. The bedroom is huge, with a king-sized canopy bed as the centerpiece. A matching reading chair and dressing table finish the look.
“Wow,” I mumble. This by far outdoes anything I was expecting. If this place were a hotel, I’d be expecting to pay thousands for the privilege of staying here.
“Mr. Murphy never does anything halfway,” Marina says with a slight raise of her eyebrows. Why do I get the feeling that she doesn’t like me? “You’ll meet the others later, but for now, Mr. Murphy would like you to relax. You’re to meet him in his office at twelve sharp.” She turns and heads for the door before pausing and looking back. “A word of warning: Mr. Murphy doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”
