Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

I looked around me, soaking in the high ceiling and the twinkle of the chandelier above. He was talking to the receptionist just a few seconds later, and I watched her watching him. She was smiling bright. Really bright. She gave him a giggle as she handed him over a key.

He paid in cash and signed nothing more than a flourish from the looks of it on the admission form.

I wished I was close enough to see what his name was. If that was even his real name he signed the slip with.

I’d have to ask him. Have to. But as he turned to me with the room key dangling menacingly from his finger, I wasn’t sure when I’d ever pluck up the courage.

He was fierce. Terrifying. The most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen in my life, even though he was more than enough to give me nightmares.

I resumed my little lost sheep routine of following him as he headed straight upstairs, pacing at speed along the first landing and around a corner.

Our room was on the left. He put the key in the lock and shoved the door open. I wasn’t expecting it when he grabbed my arm and shoved me inside with the same force.

The door closed behind him before he flicked the light switch on.

I could barely swallow as he stalked to the window and surveyed the view of the front outside.

He didn’t close the curtains as he turned back to me. I dropped my bag on the bedside cabinet and hovered nervous.

“Another grand at stake tonight,” he said, and pulled a wedge of cash from his inside pocket. He dropped it on the dresser. “But this one isn’t for your fucking sister. It’s for you. It’s to make sure you eat properly and buy your fucking college stationery. It’s to make sure you’re in a half decent state when I come calling for the main event.” He paused. His eyes burned. “Do you understand me?”

I nodded.

His expression darkened. “I said, do you understand me?”

I nodded again. “Yes, I understand you.”

He tipped his head. “Did you learn nothing from my little run in with Rebecca earlier?”

My heart was racing. I took a stab at his meaning. “Yes, sir. I understand you, sir.”

“Good girl,” he said. “But unfortunately, you haven’t been all that good so far. Sneaky girls need to learn their lessons. Bad girls deserve their punishment.”

I couldn’t hold back the shiver. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.

“Strip for me,” he said. “I want you naked. I want those pretty little tits bared ripe for what’s fucking coming to them. I want that sweet little cunt ready for what’s due.”

My fingers were trembling so bad I could barely even unfasten my shoes. I kicked them off as neatly as I could manage, propping myself against the wall as I reached for the zip at the side of my dress.

I’d never felt so exposed as I slipped it down. It tugged on my hips for just a moment before it dropped at my feet. I stepped out of it with my eyes on the floor, cheeks on fire.

“Look at me,” he said, and I had to suck in a breath.

His hands were in his pockets when I dared to raise my eyes. His stance was firm. Huge. Every bit the god that Rebecca Lane had talked about.

My hands were clasped in front of me, my tits feeling tiny in my scrappy little bra after seeing her impressive cleavage earlier.

“Tits bared,” he barked, and I flinched.

I hated the way I fumbled with the clasp. Hated the way my bra was so old and faded as I pulled it free from my shoulders.

He didn’t need to ask about my knickers. I hooked my thumbs in the waist and tugged them down fast, kicking them off into the rest of the pile and struggling to stand steady.

“Rebecca Lane is a beautiful piece of pussy,” he told me, and my stomach panged hard. I knew she was beautiful. Knew she was sexy as all living shit. Knew she was everything he’d have wanted to pay for and more.

“Rebecca is–” I began, but he stopped me with a raised finger.

“I haven’t finished,” he said. “Polite little girls don’t interrupt when I’m speaking.”

I nodded and blurted out the obvious. “Sorry, sir.”

His nod made me feel surprisingly warm inside.

“Rebecca Lane is a beautiful piece of pussy,” he said again. “But you’re more than enough to knock her to the side-lines. Don’t ever doubt your own worth, Miss Emmerson. I never waste good money on bad investments.”

My eyes slammed into his. Checking for humour. Checking for malice. Checking for any single tell that he was laughing at me.

There was nothing.

Just him.

Staring.

Wanting.

Even in my half-drunken state I knew he was wanting.

Wanting me.

My scared heart soared high.