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“I don’t want a massage.” Valentina began to panic. This place was worse than she’d expected. It was some sort of high-class brothel, not a bar.
“She will return if I call for her,” he repeated bluntly.
“Ok, well, thanks for the great night, but I have no intention of removing my dress in a tent in front of my boss and his friend, so I’m going to go now.” Valentina tried to get past Ethan. He stood before her, and the jolting contact of her body with his stopped her in her tracks. There was no denying the primordial attraction that simmered between them.
“You want to leave?” He moved aside and stepped to the curtain in one long pace. He untied it deftly with one hand, revealing he was well practiced with knots and ropes. “Be my guest.” He held the curtain wide.
Valentina knew she didn’t really want to go. She wanted to lose herself in wild abandon with Ethan and Bastian as her teachers.
“No masseuse,” she peeped quietly.
“We make the rules. Not you.”
Valentina’s head nodded in acquiescence. She instinctively understood the ways of the game. They were the men, and she was the woman in every biblical sense of the words. They were dominant, and she was the submissive. They gave orders, she followed them.
“Good girl,” he praised her.
She looked at the floor.
“And trust me. We do not need help from a masseuse to get you off. We can do quite fine all on our own.”
Valentina got goosebumps from head to toe and stared submissively at the ground.
“Strip,” Ethan decreed.
Fear and humiliation flooded her. She had only ever undressed in front of men who had already told her they loved her, and always in a comfortable hotel room with flattering lighting and a lot of kissing first. And there had only ever been one man in the room. Yet, she wanted to give in. She felt a powerful urge to relent, to surrender, to be completely and utterly controlled for the first time in her life.
She dared not look up at them, knowing intuitively that she would be punished if she did so. She shivered with something that was far more primeval even than fear.
Lust.
Valentina let the chiffon top drop from her shoulders and fall from her bosom. Beneath it, she wore a plain white bra, so simple it was almost girlish. She felt embarrassed and wished she had worn some provocative lingerie, but Ethan growled with approval.
“You are stunning, Valentina,” he said.
Butterflies gathered in her stomach.
“Take your bra off,mon amour.”
Valentina was obedient, and hearing Bastian’s accent again made goosebumps break out over her exposed skin.
She clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, mortified, standing half-naked before them both, her breasts bare. Her skirt cascaded around her hips. What the hell was she doing in this place?
“Your breasts are beautiful,” Ethan said, as though he was assessing a priceless vase.
Her knees went weak.
“From this moment on, we own you,” he boldly told her. “I am not asking, Valentina. I am telling.”
“Yes, sir.” Her lips moved of their own volition.
“Yes, Master,” he instructed her.
“Yes, Master,” she repeated quietly.
“At work, you are Valentina Sanderson,” he continued. “Beyond those walls, you are our sub. You will heed everything we say. Anywhere and anytime.”
The thought of being their captive was so erotic, so deeply fulfilling, Valentina almost swooned with longing. She was their concubine, just like in those old-fashioned romance novels she’d read as a girl.
