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The girl scurried away from me, scrambling over the embroidered cushions on the floor. She was pretty in a wholesome way. Full chest, rounded stomach, waxed pussy. She had a tattoo of a sunburst on her right hip and her light hair hung dead straight to her chin.
She looked so pale scurrying over the emerald and ruby rug. So afraid as she bumped against the bed where four carved posts soared to the black ceiling with swathes of gold velvet draped down the sides.
If Cem wanted a show, I’d give him a show.
Sitting heavily on the bed, I kicked out my fake leg, tossed my cane behind me, and snarled at the girl on the ground. “Kneel between my thighs,” I growled in English.
The words had a magic.
A wonderous kind of power that gave me what my tattoo had done.
They were a link.
A direct tether to a past I couldn’t forget and the shreds of my old self bled through.
I might be Aslan Kara.
The son of a Turkish crime lord and successor to all his fortunes.
But...I was also an orphan, refugee, and husband.
Fuck...I’m a husband.
To Neri.
Just saying her name sent another frisson of freedom down my spine.
I sucked in a breath.
Hope barrelled through me.
If I could think of her name without flinching...perhaps...perhaps—
Cem will know.
He’ll put you back down there.
He’ll strap you to the chair.
He’ll turn on the machine.
Cold sweat broke out over my forehead, and I bent down, snatched the girl’s hair, and dragged her unwillingly between my legs. Snapping my thighs together, I held her there even as she struggled. With swift fingers, I unbuckled my belt, popped my button, and tore down my zipper. My tailored suit was made of the finest material and the slacks splayed open in invitation. Spreading my blazer and untucking my black shirt, I didn’t bother shoving down my boxer-briefs.
“Fuck you!” the girl screeched, trying to bite me as I hauled her closer.
Burying my face into her neck, I hissed into her ear, “I am not like the others. I won’t hurt you, and I’m sorry that I just did. But if we’re both going to survive tonight, you need to pretend.”
She stilled and sucked in a breath, listening.
“Pretend to suck me off.”
She wrenched back. “I’m not putting my mouth on any part of you—”
“Quiet,” I snarled, shooting a look at the mirror. “We’re being watched. Behave and pretend, and I’ll do what I can to get you out of here.”
Her hands landed on my bunched quads. “Why should I believe you?” she whispered. “You’re just like them. You are one of them.”
“I’m not.”
