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“Something,” I tell her, my voice catching. “Something to make you cut and run or stay."
Katelyn
My gaze jumpsfrom the closed door, to the package, then back to the door. I stand up, pace naked around the room. My steps may seem random, but I am consistent in instantly veering away from the package whenever I come within a foot of it.
Montgomery’s parting words make no sense. How can something make me do either one thing or its complete opposite, yet nothing in between?
Simple, it can’t.
I march to the nightstand. Reaching for the top ribbon, my hand stalls. He told me to open it when he was gone. He is gone, but he didn’t say how long I can or should wait. He could have been specific, but wasn’t.
That means the choice is mine.
I snatch my hand back, reconsider, then tear the ribbon off. The gold organza pools atop the nightstand’s polished surface to reveal a white box with a familiar company logo composed of an ornate silver letter “A” against a black background. An upscale auction house, Alstrom caters to the elite. My last employer used them to sell the art and antiques donated by the charity’s more well-heeled benefactors.
No way a box from Alstrom can determine whether I leave immediately or stay the term of the contract.
So why am I afraid to open it?
Reaching past the gift, I touch the base of the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I crawl into bed, wrapping my arms around a pillow for comfort. The only scent on the bedding is mine. I am alone until Montgomery wants my company.
Alone, I am without purpose.
With that thought in my head, I fall asleep.
* * *
Waking in the dark,I stare blindly at the black ceiling above me. For a few minutes or hours or days, I slept. I know it can’t really have been days, even if it feels like it. Montgomery wouldn’t let his fifty thousand dollars slip away so easily. So only hours have passed, my body too rested for any shorter period.
Actually knowing the time would be a simple matter. I need only turn on the lamp next to the bed to see the small brass clock that keeps time in Montgomery’s world. To do that, I need to move the present delivered before he fucked me senseless.
I cannot think of the mystery gift without thinking of what followed. My thighs flex with the memory of him spanking me. It was not just my ass. At least one smack landed against the pussy now growing swollen and wet with the memory of his rough treatment. He spanked me, fingered my aching cunt, then fucked his cock deep into me until every nerve ending fired in ecstasy.
Even now, hours after he has withdrawn his touch, the effects linger. My nipples are drawn into a pout, my clit pulls tight, the fragile skin stretching as it swells. I can’t keep the moan buried as I think of how thoroughly Montgomery dominated me. The contractions quietly running through me intensify, quickening until I suck a ragged breath in.
My hand smooths across my stomach, driven by the temptation to touch the throbbing spot between my legs. I arch involuntarily at the thought of him watching me in the dark—or listening on hidden microphones so sensitive they can pick up my muffled groans and the muted wet slap of a finger between my labia. I picture him spying and waiting until I am at the edge of release then opening the door to punish me again.
Another quiver steamrolls through me. My pussy contracts, every muscle squeezing until a thin cream pushes from between my tightly pressed lower lips to coat the smooth strands of pubic hair. My hips move in a shallow grind as my breaths grow short and fast.
This—this gyrating flesh fueled by memory and fantasy, this wanting a man who only wants to use me—it is proof I have gone over the edge of sanity. I am willing to surrender my power in exchange for intense pleasure. In doing so, I am breaking a promise to myself.
Worse than that, I am following in my mother’s path.
Madeline Willow—Mad Maddy to everyone but me in the last years before she died. Only it wasn’t the fucking that kept her by my father’s side—it was misplaced love. An unrequited love rewarded with confinement and cruelty.
I am so far gone that even the grim specter of my mother’s deteriorating mental health cannot drive Montgomery from my thoughts. Rolling onto my stomach, I draw a slow breath and then another, this time filling my lungs as much as I can before pressing my face into the feathered pillow.
When I can no longer hold the air inside me, I lift my head, release it and slowly suck in more. It is an old trick, one that my runner’s body should respond to with a release of endorphins to reduce my stress and lull me back to sleep.
Tonight, alone in Griffin Montgomery’s bed, the technique has no effect.
I still want him in the room with me, his strong hands on my hips as he positions himself behind my raised ass. I can picture him from earlier tonight, see him as clearly as when I was looking over my shoulder and watching the thick slide in and out of me, his cock stretching and filling until I felt sated and complete.
Echoes of that fullness tease my pussy.
With a growl, I flip onto my back and petulantly fling my arm out. It smacks the Alstrom box. I yank the hand back as if burnt and fold my arm across my breasts.
The retreat comes too late. Thoughts of the box and its mysterious contents replace the images of Montgomery possessing my body.
