When Marco’s patrons kissed me with sloppy, impassioned ownership, it was for their own pleasure, never mine.
Every now and then I’d get a patron who I knew wanted me to come, but even then, it always seemed to be for their own egotistical purposes. An outward show of their control over my body. Not because they cared.
This felt different. Strangely real. It was confusing and worrisome, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts that came to me.
My mind went back to last night. The way he’d looked into my eyes like I was a woman, not an object. The way I’d sensed something like reluctance from him. I couldn’t place it. All I knew was it felt different. Deep down, I knew he was probably the same as anyone else who came here, but I wanted to enjoy this moment. For however many days he spent at the villa, I wanted to pretend he was just a sexy, normal man, and that I was a normal girl choosing to be with him.
I must have looked starry-eyed when we returned to the slave quarters last night because Josef eyed me with complete seriousness and disapproval.
“Qué?” I’d snapped. What? Though I knew what. Having any emotions was dangerous around here.
He only shook his head slowly and whispered in Spanish, “Be careful, Angel. Guard your heart.”
I loved him for caring, but I wasn’t going to fall in love with a patron—I wasn’t that stupid. However, I would take my kicks where I could get them, and this guy was seriously hot. Nobody who came here was ever hot, except that Latin pop star who preferred Josef.
When I’d first looked up at Mr. Douglas after dinner, a feeling I hadn’t had since Cancun filled me. My first thought was, “Oh, my God. I can’t wait to tell my friends about this guy!” By “friends” I meant my sorority sisters, not my fellow slaves.
It was such a strange, alien thought to have here at the villa, and my heart sunk the moment it crossed my mind. I would never be telling my friends about him, and as that realization struck me I was filled with an overflow of loss and sadness that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Yes, I had to be careful. Guard my heart. And I would.
Under that sexy scruffiness, Mr. Douglas was a heartless criminal just like the rest of them. I had no business letting “old Angela” thoughts into Angel’s life. Still…the way he’d looked at me…and then when I’d heard him speak. Hearing my native language in that roguish accent made something bloom to life inside me that had been long dead. I hadn’t heard English in a year. The sound was a salve to my soul, though I knew I was foolish to feel that way.
When I’d heard there was a Scottish man at the villa I’d ignorantly imagined some big-bellied, bald man in a kilt. Then Jin came in that afternoon giddy. Giddy. Whispering about the Scottish patron.
Still, I couldn’t imagine any patron being worthy of all that.
Until I saw him.
The way he’d watched with those deep eyes as I danced made me tingle all over. And then when I’d unbuttoned his pants and sprung free the most perfect cock in existence—thick girth thrumming under my hands—I actually didn’t mind going down on him. That’s something that rarely happened.
And now. Now he was kissing me with unadulterated passion. Men needed to put more stock in kissing, and less importance on the size of their balls. A good kiss could bring a woman to the brink and make her beg for more, just as I was feeling now, panting against his mouth, the pain in my wrists long forgotten.
I remembered his mouth between my legs. The feel of his five o’clock shadow gently scraping the inside of my thighs. Men went down on me all the time, but it was like the kissing thing—it was for them, not me. Why did this feel different? Was it all in my head, because I actually felt attracted to this man? Whatever the reason, I had to stop analyzing it and just enjoy. I pushed my hips against the hardness at his crotch.
I wanted sex. I actually wanted it, and it was liberating, because that above all was something I could want and actually get.
Mr. Douglas reached up and undid the straps around my wrists, bringing my numb hands to his belt. I was breathing hard. He watched my face as I unbuckled and unzipped. Then he stepped back and undressed himself the rest of the way.
I could do nothing but stand there in his predatory sights, anticipating what was to come and knowing I’d probably relive it every day in my imagination, even envision him while I was with future patrons.