Page 7 of Balthazar's Fire

Sebastian? Cherie twisted in Oliver’s direction. That was the name of Balthazar’s brother—the one she’d met briefly the day before. Could he be talking about the same man?

“Right.” Oliver shook his head. “There are too many of them.”

He paused, glancing her way and winking as he listened.

Horrified to have met his eyes, she turned away in a hurry, wishing she could at least close her legs now he’d shimmied her underwear to one side. This was turning out to be officially the worst day of her life.

“Seems a bit of a coincidence doesn’t it?” His voice reverberated around the damp space. “That Sebastian should turn up at my door the day after I knocked out his brother.”

Time lapsed as the man on the line gave his opinion, but all Cherie could do was focus on not making her excitement too obvious. The brother Oliver was referring to was Balthazar, which meant that Sebastian was definitely the one she’d fleetingly met. She didn’t know how, but that was a good omen—a sign that somehow, Balthazar was acting in her favor and would help her. After all, the call alone had been enough to halt his molesting hands.

“I suppose so,” he answered eventually. “You’re right. What difference does it make? One man can’t do shit and this Sebastian has no way of knowing his brother’s piece of ass is even down here.”

Cherie’s eyes squeezed closed at his callous description of her. What had happened to Oliver to make him such a heartless piece of shit with no regard for women at all? Sitting there, she couldn’t recall why she’d stuck it out as his assistant for so long.

“Whatever offer he has, I’m tempted to make the fucker wait.” Oliver walked back to her, snickering as his free hand dangled past her neck to her breast. Finding her nipple, he pinched the bud, eliciting a pained gasp from his captive. “I’m a little busy down here.”

“Oh, God,” she whimpered, unable to hold back her reaction to the sudden hurt.

“But yeah, you’re right.” His laughter was quiet as his hand rose to her throat, silencing her as he held her in place against his hip. “This little bitch isn’t going anywhere. I guess my cock can wait twenty minutes.”

A well of nausea knotted in her belly at his inference, fresh tears brimming as her fear escalated. It was one thing to guess what he had in mind, and to be subject to his roaming hands, but another to hear such base insults coming from the man who’d failed to show her respect even before he’d kidnapped her.

“You can tell him that, though.” Oliver’s digits tightened at her throat, forcing her closer to his suit trousers. Rising to her cheek, his fingers compelled the side of her face against the fabric, and to her horror, her cheekbone grazed along the outline of what felt like his erection.

The well of bilious unease rose in giant waves, threatening to make an appearance if he didn’t stop, but with her limbs restrained, there was little she could do to prevent his disgusting approach. Grinding his excited cock through his pants and along her face, his breath quickened as he listened to the caller.

“Yeah…” He sounded close to the edge as he answered. “The prick can wait until I’m ready.”

Oh God! Blinking away her emerging tears, she fought for composure, to not let him see how much his depravity disturbed her, but Cherie sensed she was failing. At this rate, not even the phone call would be enough to save her from his assault.

“He only has twenty minutes though.”

Couldn’t the other guy tell how aroused Oliver was? The scent of his excitement wafted through the fabric, provoking the bile that was edging closer to her throat

“Yes, twenty!” he barked. “Probably only fifteen by the time I’ve got back to my office and am ready. I don’t have an assistant right now, so I’ve got to make my own damn coffee!”

Chortling, he finally moved away, allowing Cherie’s head to fall free as she blinked away tears.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, breathing deeply as he presumably fought to quell his grotesque ardor. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Ending the call, he slid his phone away as he bent and planted a kiss on the top of Cherie’s hair.

“Sorry, baby,” His fingers tugged at her hair, drawing her head back. “I gotta go.”

Gulping down her fear, she couldn’t even bring herself to reply to the sick bastard, her eyes closing as he released his grip on her tresses. She’d thought the way Oliver treated her couldn’t get any worse than the office, but she’d been so wrong. If she didn’t get away from that dark place, she might be destined to become his private concubine for as long as it suited him, and frankly, even a slow and painful death sounded like a better option than that.

“Seems I might be able to score that Vaughn deal after all—the one your lover boy called about yesterday.” Running his hand through his hair, he actually had the audacity to grin as he met her gaze. “But don’t worry. You sit tight. I’ll still take you as the sweetener and once I’m finished upstairs I’m going to use your pretty mouth and come all over your face.”

She quivered at his sickening laughter, praying to God, to Balthazar, or to anyone else who was listening, for help.

Get me out of here!

“And that’s just for starters. Maybe I’ll video the scene and send it to loverboy. I bet he’d like that.”

Please. Cherie wasn’t even sure if she’d said the word out loud or if it only echoed amongst the alarm in her head. Please, someone!

“Or, at the very least,” he purred as he finally relented and retreated toward the only door to the basement. “I can use your pussy until a younger, better model comes along.”

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