Serving Him

Swallowing thickly, heart pumping in drumbeats, I steadied myself again. The future was unclear, but if I wanted to be whole again, if I wanted my heart to heal … I had to try and find Kane.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kane

I looked up at the sky, which was a clear, cloudless blue. It was a beautiful day but instead of feeling cheered and optimistic, the wide expanse was imposing, like a huge weight on my shoulders. What the fuck? What the hell was wrong with me, why was I such a Debbie Downer on a gorgeous afternoon, kids roller skating by in Central Park, the sounds of birds twittering in the air?

But I knew why it was happening, and it all had to do with that girl. Rebecca. Becky. The woman was my maid, I’d hired her as the help, and now look what’s happened. It was insane. She was just supposed to be a two-week fling, totally in line with what the Club offers, but instead I’ve found myself thinking about the female non-stop, unable to focus, unable to eat, drink or sleep normally.

And I cursed myself. This was so fucked up, Becky wasn’t even a woman that I’d dated, wined and dined like a normal female. She was the help for crying out loud. Sure, I admit I’d been drawn to her from the beginning, the moment I laid eyes on that curvy form, pulling strings so that she could stay at the Club. But in no, way, shape or form had I planned for this, the heaviness on my shoulders, the fact that I felt miserable and crummy, like I hadn’t showered in days, my BO probably awful.

So I strolled faster, almost breaking into a jog, forcing myself to do another round of the lower loop in the park. I was a fucking billionaire for crying out loud, Central Park was my backyard, and I had a thousand things to be grateful for, a thousand things to appreciate. What the fuck was wrong?

But unfortunately, the brisk pace did nothing for me. I was still a morose loser, hating myself, unable to detangle my feelings. Why? What the fuck? But inside, it was totally obvious. I loved that girl, absolutely adored the ground those small feet walked on. And the problem was me. I’m a mean motherfucker, an asshole through and through, and there’s no chance for reform. I’m forty-five years old for crying out loud, it’s not like I was gonna grow a new conscience, or suddenly sprout wings. I’m a mean mofo and it’s gonna stay that way.

Because who does what I did to a virgin? My head started pounding as I thought back to our breakthrough session, one where I’d taken her bottom and her puss at once. It’d been so disgusting, and yet so right. I’d rotated between the two holes, pushing into her ass and then pulling out and doing it in her vagina. It was dirty, it was dangerous, it was fucked-up, and I loved every second of it. I’d come so fucking hard, my orgasm furious, balls totally drained, cock shooting like a fire hose.

But that’s the thing. No girl should have to go through such depravity, especially not an eighteen year-old virgin. Sure, Becky was the help, but this isn’t the Dark Ages. Rebecca’s not a slave for crying out loud, her health needs to be protected, as well as her emotional well-being. And rotating between her holes wasn’t safe, there’s bacteria that can move between the two sweet spaces, give her an ugly case of UTI or even worse. Plus, the mental. I’d probably scarred the female for life, she’d have nightmares of everything I’d forced her to do, bent over with no real way to say no.

So I cursed again, muttering under my breath like a madman. The girl had appeared fine afterwards, perky and cheerful, tits bouncing, but I didn’t trust my senses. Because Rebecca’s smart, she’s got a savvy instinct for survival, and I was the man signing her paychecks. She knew that she could make a little extra by pretending to love it, and so all those breathy moans and pants of “More, Kane, more!” were likely just survival instinct kicking into place. The girl was practically forced, for crying out loud, she was trying to support her impoverished family, and would do anything for them, including letting me use her body as my personal fuckdoll.

So inside, I was a mess. I’d done that to her. I’d forced my baby to pretend, to take it, insisting that she spread her legs and harbor my dick again and again. Oh shit, the self-loathing was so great that my vision narrowed to a pinpoint, unable to see anything but the sidewalk in front of me, the air leaving my lungs. Shit, shit, shit, I was gonna pass out. Me, a billionaire alpha, with the world as his fingertips. I was the one who was going to be unconscious in the street for no apparent reason but stress and hyperventilation.