Page 22 of Picture Perfect

My stomach turns but I do as I'm told, unzipping his fly while avoiding looking at him directly.

"Take my cock out, you little slut."

I reach for him, but hesitate. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He's already hard. The feel of him in my hand is revolting. I don't want this. I don't want him.

"You're such a good girl," he says mockingly as he steps closer to me. His hand grips my chin again and forces me to look up at him. "Now open your mouth."

I shake my head frantically, terrified of what's about to happen. But William just laughs cruelly and tightens his grip, forcing his thumb past my lips, past my teeth, until I have no choice but to obey.

"I said open your mouth," he repeats with more force this time.

With tears streaming down my face, I reluctantly part my lips and feel him push into me roughly.

The groan that escapes him is inhuman.

It takes everything in me not to gag as he forces himself deeper into my throat. The taste makes bile rise in the back of my throat but I swallow it back down, not wanting to give him any reason for further punishment.

He grunts and moans, using my mouth for his own pleasure.

My entire body is trembling, the weight of his dominance crushing me. I want to scream, to fight back, but I know it's useless. He is far too strong and I am far too weak. My only hope is that this will be over quickly.

If I leave before I turn 18, they'll hunt me down. Wealth like this buys anything and everything, including the police. Including the social workers.

I have to be smart. I have to play the game even if it scars me. But, I don't think I'll make it.

His movements grow rougher, more frantic with his orgasm building. I know what he wants. But I've already dressed for the day and he can't risk ruining my clothes.

William reaches his climax, coating my throat, choking me.

He pulls away from my lips, roughly shoving me away. The world spins for a moment as I fall to the ground, gasping for air.

"Clean yourself up," he says with disgust as he tucks himself back into his pants.

As he leaves, I curl into a ball, my body and mind numb.

Chapter eleven

Saint

"That little prick is late on his payment," I growl under my breath, feeling my blood pressure rise with each passing second.

I slam a clenched fist down on the table as my frustration boils over. The nearby keyboards jump with the force of my anger.

"I thought that was what we wanted?" Chess quips, eyeing me skeptically.

I shoot Chess a withering glare, my eyes blazing with intensity. "Of course that's what we wanted," I snap back, my voice dripping with irritation. "It doesn't make the disrespect any less palatable."

I push back my chair and rise to my feet, pacing back and forth as I try to contain the building storm within me.

Rich little pricks. The haughty, entitled elite think they run this world. And the fucked up part is, they do. Money buys everything. Anyone.

It's a sobering reminder that in this world, money truly rules all. We live in a twisted reality, but it can't be denied that we exist in a society where money speaks louder than morals.

Hell, I built my business on it.

I shove a finger between the blinds and watch as the trust fund brats strut and preen like peacocks, their tailored slacks and designer dresses proclaiming their status.

I turn back to the room and look at my friends, my business partners. How fucking different we are than the mindless drones beyond our sanctuary.

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