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He rolls his hips up into me, and I swear my eyes cross from the overwhelming sensation. Matthew makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things that I never had a chance to feel. All of my sexual experience prior to him came in the form of prearranged, paid for, and unwanted encounters. I never enjoyed a single pleasure-filled moment until Matthew touched me.
My clients weren’t there to make things good for me. Quite the opposite. I was a favorite among the most depraved of the Red House’s clientele. Clients that got off on forcing themselves on someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop them. Men who fantasized about raping women but had no desire to end up in jail. Why take the risk when you could pay someone and live your fantasy?
I’ve always wondered if any of the men ever suspected that I was at Red House against my will. Did they assume that I was a whore with an amazing talent for acting? How many of them knew that my panic and fear were real? How many of them relished the opportunity to rape not only my body but my mind and soul? Surely the ones who came back time and time again knew and fed off my fear.
I brush the thought away. That was another time another place. I’m no longer Mr. Perfects to use. With Matthew, I’m a whole new person. The girl who was forced into becoming a whore disappears being replaced by a woman who is capable of desire and lust. Someone who can take pleasure in the simple touch of a man. It’s a revelation.
He lifts my dress over my head, leaving me in only my drenched panties. I moan when he latches onto one of my nipples with his hot mouth. He licks and sucks first one then the other, lavishing my sensitive peaks until my breasts feel heavy and full. I groan when he latches onto the pale curve of my breast and sucks deeply, leaving a purplish mark.
Without any conscious permission from my brain, I find myself grinding myself down on his hard length creating the most delicious friction. That same sweet heat from this morning is building in my core. Growing and stretching until my skin feels too taut for my body. Before it reaches the breaking point, someone bursts through the penthouse door, jerking me out of my pleasure haze and shoving me straight into panic mode.
“Daniels, what the fuck?” Matthew roars. Distantly, I find it funny how when he’s in boss mode, he calls him Daniels, and other times he’s Kisten. Almost like Matthew sees him as two separate people.
Matthew pulls my body tight against his, shielding my nakedness from Kisten. It’s almost comical seeing as how just last night he stripped me bare in front of both Kisten and Slade. I have to admit I’m glad that he is shielding me at the moment. I feel more exposed than ever as my body slowly descends from the peak it was building towards.
Kisten grimaces as he takes in the scene in front of him. I wish I knew what he thought of when he saw me naked on Matthew’s lap. Does he think I’m taking advantage of him? “Sorry, boss. There’s trouble. Damon’s downstairs demanding to speak with Rose.”
“No,” Matthew says with a fierce calm that is scarier than any shout.
“That’s what I said…” Kisten hesitates, looking at me with some look I don’t recognize. “But then he gave me these and told me to rethink my stance on the situation.”
Matthew reaches out to the envelope that Kisten is holding out to him, and I instinctively know that whatever is inside is going to change things forever. I’m tempted to snatch it away and refuse to let him see, but I’m frozen with fear of the unknown.
I let out a pained sound when I see what’s in the envelope. Dozens of pictures of me. The world spins and bile forces its way up my throat and I have to choke it down.
“Where the fuck did he get these?” Matthew asks, his voice low and dangerous as he looks at the pictures.
I sit frozen on Matthew’s lap, watching the last ten years of my life play out in still motion. Me naked on my knees, scrubbing the floors of Red House with a toothbrush, my ass bright red with visible handprints… I was sixteen. Me in the shower, trying to wash not only the blood from my skin but the shame from my soul. The pictures reveal to Matthew all the things I wanted to hide from. Pictures of men twice my age or more forcing themselves on me. Close-ups of my face twisted in pain, my mouth open on a silent scream. Me cuffed to my bed naked… In some, I’m waiting for one horror or another. In others, my face is lax with sleep, my body covered in bruises and worse.
I feel Matthew tense beneath me, and I know what’s coming next. Hot tears track down my cheeks as I wait for him to tell me how disgusting I am. I can’t stand it. I won’t survive his rejection. He doesn’t try to stop me when I stand. I don’t know why I thought he would, but it hurts that he didn’t. I cover my breasts with one arm feeling more exposed than I ever have before.
“I’ll see him,” I say, pulling on my abandoned dress.
Matthew still hasn’t said anything, and Kisten is looking between the two of us like there’s some kind of mystery to be solved. No mystery here, Matthew knows the truth of what I am and no longer wants me.
“Am I doing this alone?” I ask. My question is meant for Matthew, but it’s Kisten who responds by silently stalking ahead of me to the elevator. He pushes the button, and my stomach lurches.
“Kisten?”
“What is it, sweetness?” If Matthew didn’t own my heart, I would’ve fallen a little in love with him for trying to pretend things are normal.
“You won’t leave me alone with Damon, will you?” My voice is small and weak. I sound like prey, and that will never do. I need to find my courage before I come face to face with the devil.
“Never,” Kisten says fiercely. “You’re not alone anymore, Rose. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Tears prick at my eyes again because I know that despite the things he saw in those pictures, he’s still willing to protect me. I hate that I’m gaining a friend just in time to lose him. When Matthew sends me away, Kisten won’t be around anymore. Hannah and Slade too. I’m going to be all alone again.
I nearly choke on the sob as I try to force it back down.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROSE
Damon is lounging on one of the plush couches outside a door marked ‘private.’ I assume the door leads to Matthew’s office. “Where’s Bennett?” he sneers.
“You didn’t ask for him. You asked to speak with me,” I throw my arms out to my sides. “Here I am.” I pat myself on the back for sounding a lot more self-assured than I feel. So long as I can keep the façade in place, he won’t know I’m about two seconds from falling apart at the seams.
I will myself to show no fear. Showing fear is a weakness. It’s how predator becomes prey. I’m so sick of being the prey. A little burst of anger flits through me, and I latch onto it. Encouraging it to grow by siphoning off all of my self-hatred, turning that hate outward where it’s deserved.
