Brett won’t fuck up. He’s being perfect, attentive at dinner, thoughtful at dessert, his typical dominant sex-god-self when we shut the door and are alone in the room. And at 1 AM, when I couldn’t sleep - he rolled over and began rubbing my back. A slow trail of fingers across the bare skin, feather light, the scrape of occasional nails just enough to keep the skin from getting itchy.
I swallowed. “I have got to get to that work tomorrow.”
“That’s fine, just let me know when you want to work on it.”
I kicked a foot out from underneath the covers. Let the cool air hit it. “It doesn’t really matter. Do you have meetings tomorrow?”
His hand never paused in its delicate journey over my skin. “I don’t need to go, we can do whatever you want.”
Don’t need to go? I frowned. Not that I wanted to encourage drug-running, but didn’t the main guy have to be present at these things? And this was my weekend to figure this out, to step closer to this man or break everything off. A decision I couldn’t make if he changed his entire MO this trip.
“No, please.” I forced a playful lilt into my words. “Please get out of my hair for a few hours and let me knock this stuff out. I can get room service for dinner and call you when I’m done.”
“I don’t want to abandon you this weekend. Are you sure?” His voice was closer, his hand moving around my side, the settle of his body against my back so perfect that I sighed, looping my fingers through his and holding them to my chest.
“I’m sure. Trust me.”
Trust me. Part of me wished he did. The other part of me was grateful he didn’t.
Tonight, I will be sold. I repeated the line over and over again. I would not be rescued, I would not escape. I would be sold and become the property of a new man. And the chances of freedom would be further reduced.
As much as I hate to say it, He was right. I would, if I presented myself correctly, be more valuable to buyers. And I had to imagine that, the more a buyer paid, the higher the investment, the better I would be treated. And vice versa - the more worthless I was, the less kindness and care I could expect to receive.
So... I should behave. Act subservient, act broken. Become valuable. Sell for a high price and invest in my future. Pray for the type of owner who is kind to his sex slaves. An impossible prayer yet I whispered it anyway.
Tonight, I will be sold.
Turns out repetition of the phrase doesn’t make it any less painful.
***
Tonight I would get answers.
Everything started to fall into place around nine, after a long dinner, then drinks. My foot jiggled under the table, I barely touched the food, and I checked my watch so many times that Brett signaled for the check. “I’m sorry babe. Do you need to get to that work? They can cork the wine.”
I glanced at the wine, freshly opened, a bottle worth more than my car, and hated to nod, hated to throw away the wine - and the moment - of which there’d, most likely, never be another. I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
He grinned. “Don’t be. I hate to see you stress. And I’ll be drinking all night with the clients. It’ll be better if I stop now. Keep my wits about me.”
I returned the smile and studied the lines of his face, the loose freedom of his posture, the compliment he gave the waiter as he scribbled a generous tip on the bill. I just didn’t see it. Maybe I was blinded by love but I couldn’t picture Brett engaged in an illegal drug ring. Or arms trafficking. Or questioned over missing drug mules. Despite the red flags, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he felt innocent.
Or was it just that I didn’t want to see the truth? Was I just so blinded by love and the thought of love that I washed over anything to the contrary? I watched Brett shake the waiter’s hand and stand, pulling out my chair.
Can’t be. No way.
We walked back to the room, he stole a kiss in the elevators, pinning me against the wall. “Time for a quickie before your work?”
Not this man. Not Brett. Anyone else.
“I can’t baby. But when you get back,” I promised, smiling at the glaze of his eyes, a glaze of arousal that wouldn’t wait till later, a hypothesis proved when he lifted me over his shoulder and carried me to our room, tossing me on the bed, his fingers quick, cock ready, the access of my dress making his first thrust easy and incredible.
I am wrong. I will prove it tonight. I will follow him, and watch him sell a boat. Woo a perfectly legitimate client. Be the man that I desperately want to believe that he truly is.
I rolled off of him, moving to the bathroom, running the shower before unzipping my dress and stepping in. “That’s not fair,” he groaned from his place in the doorway, his hands busy at his cuffs, the rest of him in perfect place except for his hair. I watched him pull on his jacket and shot him a grin, stepping into the shower and wiggling my fingers at him. “Go. Sell your little boats.”
I kept my hair out of the spray and ran a bar of soap quickly over me. Wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when the door opened and Brett’s hand stole in, caressed the soap bubbles on the closest breast.
“I can’t leave you without a kiss.”
I stepped forward, rinsed the soap off and turned the knob. Waved off the steam and stepped out, into the fluffy towel that he held open. Blushed as he wrapped the terrycloth around and rubbed me down, lingering over his favorite places and finishing the process by tugging at my hair tie, his eyes smiling as my curls bounced free, his mouth coming down soft and sweet on my own. I smiled against his mouth. “Happy? You got your kiss.”
He stole another. “Completely,” he whispered.
I am mistaken. There is nothing wrong with this man.
I heard the door click behind him, and sprang into action.