Page 262 of Bad for Me

Michaels lets out a long sigh. “Spoilsport. I guess that means I’m going, too. But I wasn’t kidding about needing more product. There’s a few high-powered businessmen down south who are clamoring for… well, the usual.” He glances down at me again. “Maybe you aren’t wrong about the older ones though. I might need to try out one for myself.” He laughs. “And as a bonus, you know nobody is going to want to steal him from you.”

That sounds so pointed. Who would steal me?

I hope that’s a coded message. I hope it means he’s going to send somebody for me.

Except I don’t, because I haven’t gleaned nearly enough information.

Because part of me wants to stay here and relish in the absolute and total submission, even though the guilt fills me every time I see one of the other slaves in the house.

Raul gets up. “I’d like to see them try,” he mutters, and I’m surprised to hear the sentiment uttered in front of another slaver. His blatant possessiveness could get him into trouble, but then, he doesn’t seem to really care what people think about him. “Anyway, Fifi will see you out.” He opens the door, where the slave woman is waiting. “I’ll touch base when I get word about a new shipment.”

They say their goodbyes, and Raul lets out a slow breath once Michaels is gone.

“Fuck, I hate him,” Raul mutters.

I wonder what, exactly, he dislikes about Michaels. Maybe if I weren’t gagged, I would ask. All I can do is lean into Raul’s touch when he strokes my head.

He shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. I have a fucking headache now.” He unfastens the gag, helping me to my feet without unbinding me. “Water?”

I nod, obediently opening my mouth when he holds a glass of water up to my lips.

It’s awkward, but drinking like this has me sinking into submission again.

Which I shouldn’t be doing.

I have too much to think about.

I meet Raul’s eyes again, and dread pools in the pit of my stomach once more.

I have the sinking sensation that I won’t be looking at those eyes for much longer. Even if he survives the storm to come, he’ll never get out of jail.

I’ll never see him again.

Why does that bother me so much?

7

RAUL

In moments like this,I can almost forget Misha doesn’t want me.

He moans so prettily, so loudly, and the way he begs is downright intoxicating because he begs for more.

He begs forme.

“Tell me again,” I tell him roughly, grabbing his shoulders to pull him back, hard, onto my cock from behind him.

“More,” Misha says breathlessly. “Please.”

He’s so out of it, his body succumbing to me easily. He’s so open to me, drawing me in and squeezing in ways that make it clear how badly he desires this.

It’s been a long night, one fraught with frustration, and only Misha’s pliant body has managed to make me relax. I keep my pace slow, enjoying taking my time, but I’m still circling the edge when a knock on my door makes me freeze.

I growl.

My father has been a real pain in the ass lately, wanting me to get rid of Misha since I’m “not paying enough attention to the business.” Apparently, I’ve got my head so far up Misha’s ass that I’ve forgotten how to be professional. He’s probably here to berate me for fucking instead of sleeping when we have an early morning meeting.

Fucking hypocrite.

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