Bang (Club Deep #3)
I laugh softly, and lean down to kiss her head. “No. Definitely not.”
But she’s not the only one who feels different now. I frown, lost in thought about what just happened, why that felt like so much more than a revenge-fuck…
When I come to again, I realize she’s staring up at me, a crease between her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I lift my arm from around her. Run it through my hair instead. “Nothing.” I flip over, back on the table, and then smirk down at her, sideways. “Well. Nothing except for the fact that you aren’t sucking my cock again…”
6
7 days left. 7 more days and I’ll have fulfilled my half of the bargain. I can leave this place, go back to my real life. Go to California and start college, at last.
I frown, thinking of that. I haven’t had contact with anyone since I got here. Dad must have known I was coming, since he set all this up—my stomach still churns with hatred at the thought that he’s capable of something like that—but what did he tell Mom? Did he call the school and tell them I’d be late? Did he explain to Cece what happened?
Neither Mom nor Cece know anything about the auction site—thank god. Not yet, anyway. But they must have been worried sick when I didn’t show up that night, three weeks ago now. And then they didn’t hear anything from me for weeks…
I wonder if they’re searching for me. I wonder if Dad set up the timing of this, if he knew I’d be delayed from school. If maybe he timed it like this because he didn’t want me going to California.
Did Dad put Cece up for auction too? Or was that Farrow, knowing that I’d have to go with him if it looked like Dad was willing to auction off my little sister?
I hate not knowing. I hate being trapped here against my will.
And yet…
I shake my head, going to my private bathroom to splash water on my face.
The sex, admittedly, has been amazing. My first time was hotter than any virgin’s should be. It’s almost as if Farrow really does have some kind of hold over me… Like we have some kind of connection.
But no. It’s just because I’m stuck here and there’s nothing else to do but see him, fuck him, try to figure out his secrets, like those portraits of his mother in the halls. If I had a choice, I’d leave this very second.
Wouldn’t I?
I’m counting down the days, and yet, when I think about that actual day, the day I’ll be able to get into a car and drive away, my stomach turns itself into knots. Because after that day, I know, I’ll never see Farrow again.
So what?
He told me his sickening plan three weeks ago when he first brought me here. He told me he’d make me debase myself on video, beg for him. But I’ll never do that. He’s getting 30 days from me, and not a thing more.
It’s strange, though. That plan is so dark, so twisted, but the man I’ve seen over the last few weeks is usually anything but. Just yesterday, I came back to my room to find a new easel and sketchpad, complete with a full set of charcoals waiting for me. He noticed what made me happy—my art—and he made sure I could pursue it.
That person, the man who bought me art supplies and who wrapped his arms around me, held me against him after we had sex… He’s not the same person who told me he wanted me to humiliate myself. It makes no sense.
But I have to remember the dark side. The part of him that wants to use me. Break me. That’s what I need to remember.
One more week, and then I’m more than happy to never see him and his evil face ever again. His evil, sexy face. His hard abs, his perfectly sculpted chest… His huge, stiff cock…
I storm out of my room so fast that I nearly collide with one of the maids. She gasps and steps back, dropping what’s in her arms. I reach for it, but miss, and something shatters on the ground between us.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, already knowing this will only make her and all the other servants glare at me even more. I stoop to pick up what she dropped, a frame that landed facedown. But when I turn it over, it’s my turn to pause and stare.
I recognize it right away. It’s hard to mistake something when you made it yourself.