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“Ms. Hopper, your ‘performances’ wouldn’t generate enough revenue to repay me in ten lifetimes.”
I fisted my hands, outraged. “My performances kept Marcus and me living in comfort for years!”
He finished preparing the drinks and prowled towards me, his gait fluid and confident. I reluctantly took the glass he offered, fighting the urge to throw it at his smirking face.
“No, it hasn’t,” Anton said. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his tight t-shirt stretching over his chest. “You have a decent voice, but what you do on stage isn’t singing. You draw crowds because you handle your mic like a stiff cock, and every male in the audience fantasizes it’s theirs.”
My face heated. Marcus spent a lot of time showing me how to move on stage to arouse my audience. It bothered me at first because it didn’t feel so much like singing as it did stripping, but it drew a lot of people. In no time, teasing and flirting with my fans became a turn on. Over the years, Marcus taught me to find a lot of things normal.
“People don’t pay for fantasies unless they come true,” Anton said. “You attracted crowds that paid very little to see you but paid much more for the extras that your boyfriend provided – mainly illegal recreational drugs and black-market goods.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me,” Anton said. “I never talk out of my ass. If you had listened to me when I told you to wake up six months ago, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Anton downed the contents of his glass in one shot and went back to his mini bar for a refill. The first time I met Anton was on the Lilith Hive pleasure barge where Marcus had managed to book me a few shows. It was one of the seven entertainment space stations of Anton’s Hive Network. Back then, although I still hadn’t managed to perform in one of the elite venues, we were living large. While looking for Marcus during the grand opening of a new club, I ran into Anton. I had been thrilled to meet the big boss until he started giving me speeches. According to him, I lived an illusion and needed to learn the business of being an artist. Otherwise, sooner or later, I would find myself out in the cold and starving. I dismissed him as a prophet of doom.
Hindsight is a bitch.
“If you won’t take my singing as repayment, what else would you accept to help me? I need this.”
Anton gave me a cold stare. “You know exactly what the price is. Let’s stop playing games, Ms. Hopper and speak terms instead.”
Yeah, I had known the price all along. However, if he made the demand rather than me offering, I could accuse him of being a bastard rather than call myself a whore. With a stiff nod, I downed the glass of brandy. It burned going down, and I couldn’t hold back a cough.
Can’t even handle my damn liquor.
“What are your terms?” I asked, my eyes cast down.
“Six months, anything I want.” His sharp tone made it clear there would be no negotiation.
My jaw dropped. “Six months? That’s crazy!”
His face hardened. “You’re in serious need of a reality check, little girl. The debt is twelve million credits – that’s two million a month to spread your legs and do what you’re told. Even our highest paid escort doesn’t earn that much. Is your pussy made of gold?”
The comment made me flinch. He was right; I hadn’t thought this through – I never did. All things considered, this was an extremely generous offer. I just never realized it would be for this long. The problem was, I had dependence issues. While I embraced my sensuality, I found it hard to separate intimacy and emotions. Hence I didn’t sleep around. I got too easily attached. Six months was a long time to belong to someone and still look at them as a business arrangement, especially because Anton wasn’t a man to become attached to.
Anton downed his second glass and slammed it on the mini bar.
“My offer is non-negotiable. You can take it or leave it. The door is right there,” Anton said, pointing at it. “Good luck finding a better offer elsewhere.”
I shifted in my chair, knowing there were no better offers. In my desperation, I had knocked on every other door.
“Of course… I–I understand, but… What does ‘anything you want’ actually mean?”
His eyes roamed over my body again. “Exactly what I said; anything I want.”
“I’m not into that BDSM stuff,” I said, shrinking into myself.
Instead of the angry outburst I expected, his expression softened. “I doubt you even know what you like, but I intend to find out.” Anton walked over and lifted my chin before running his thumb over my lips. His touch was incredibly soft for such large, calloused hands. “You will give me anything I want, Grace, and that includes your obedience at all times, whatever the order, or face punishment. Do we have an agreement?”
The black pools of his eyes never left mine. It was hypnotic. We had an agreement before I even walked in here – I was that desperate. The thugs that broke into my hotel room last night made it clear that if they didn’t get their money, they would have fun with me then sell me on the slave market. A pretty slave rarely remained so for long. If they sold me, who knew what kind of twisted pervert would buy me and own me for the rest of my days. At least, Anton was reputed to treat his women well and it would only be for a fixed term contract. Had he been human, I would have come to him first. But from all accounts, Braxian males had a low opinion of women and a twisted definition of what a relationship looked like – not that we would become a couple or anything.
“Yes, Mr. Myers,” I said, my shoulders sagging. “We have an agreement.”
His smile made me shudder. “Good girl,” he whispered.
Anton straightened and leaned once more on the edge of his desk. He took away my empty glass and placed it beside him. “Kiss me,” he said.
