Page 28 of Once Upon A Sale

The whole day has been a fuckfest of epic proportions. Now, Ophelia is having a nap on the sofa in front of the fire while I make our dinner. The potatoes are almost done, so I get the pan prepared for our steaks and stir the peppercorn sauce. I hope she likes it medium-rare, because I’m not cooking it any other way, it would be a travesty to the steak.

Wait. What am I even thinking? I don’t give a fuck if she likes it. Why would I? I can’t.

It’s so easy to forget our real-life situation while in this cabin, away from the rest of the world. The fact of the matter is, she’s a vigilante taking down members of the organization I work for. And I’ve been tasked with keeping track of her movements and habits so that The Firm can kill her in the most effective and discreet way. It’ll need to look like an accident.

Trouble is, she’s working her way beneath my skin, like a fucking parasite.

In just over twenty-four hours, when I return her to the auction house, our little sex bubble will pop, but until then…fuck it and fuck the outside world.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had these thoughts; I feel like I’m in a constant battle with myself this weekend. It’s fucking exhausting so I’m pushing it aside again for now.

“Oh wow. What’s that smell?” Her tired and husky voice pulls me from my inner torment, and I turn to find her heading toward the kitchen area with the large blanket wrapped around her naked body.

“That smell, my sleepy kitten, is dinner.”

She stands behind me and rests her chin on my arm, looking around me to the pans on the stove. It’s such a casual move, and I twist my neck and bend a little to kiss her on the forehead. I have to stop myself from breathing her in. She smells like sex and I want to bottle it to take home.

“Do you need any help?” Wrapping her arms around me from behind feels like the most natural thing in the world, but it’s like she catches herself and moves away real quick, instead, leaning back against the fridge.

I chuckle because she’s fucking cute.

“No.” I wink. “Go and get yourself comfortable at the table on the balcony. I’ll bring it all out when it’s ready.”

Ophelia slept for about an hour, which was plenty of time for me to get a quick shower and set up the table outside for dinner.

The way she pushes away from the fridge and sighs deeply makes me think she has something to say that she’s holding back, but I choose to ignore it because dinner is ready and I’m fucking starving. Eating Ophelia’s pussy is amazing, but it’s not enough to sustain a man of my size. If I’m gonna keep pleasing this woman, then I need real food every now and then.

After plating up the steaks with mushrooms, fried tomatoes, potatoes, and a drizzle of the peppercorn sauce, I take themoutside where she’s waiting patiently. The sun is beginning to set on the horizon, making the view even more incredible. The bright colors bounce off the lake and the light reflects off her blonde hair…for fuck sake. My dick is not catching up with my brain here. These kind of thoughts are detrimental to fucking everything.

I set the plates down on the tablecloth before pouring us both a glass of wine. All the while, she’s ignoring my existence and staring out at the lake view. I’m determined to separate this weekend from real life, but also, I could use it to find out the things I don’t already know about her.

“Thank you.” She speaks so politely, like it’s ingrained into her very being.

“You’re welcome, Princess.”

The new nickname makes her twist in her chair and scowl at me, gripping the blanket around her chest.

“I amnota princess.” Her words are dripping with an anger I haven’t experienced from her before and I don’t think I like it. “You can call me whatever you like, but that is not the one.”

My first instinct is to question her, to ask why she’s so against being called Princess, but then I remember who her father was. He was a member of The Firm, and he bought Ophelia’s mother to be his submissive. Back then, there were a lot more women taken and sold against their will than there are now. Her mother was one of them. And her father was not a good master.

Clenching and unclenching my fists as we endure this stare-off, I take a deep breath and pick up my cutlery, stabbing into a mushroom before holding it to her mouth.

“Open.” Her scowl deepens, but ultimately, she makes the right decision and separates her lips.

“Good girl.”

She clamps down on the fork and I slide it out slowly, then watch her chew.

“Why are you doing this? This weekend is all about sex, isn’t it? Why bother making sure I eat? I don’t get it.”

The question doesn’t sit well with me. Has nobody ever looked after her?

“This weekend is about sex, yeah. But I’m not a fucking monster, Ophelia. I want to look after you.” That statement is truer than she could imagine, and it fucking scares the crap outta me. Not that I’ll be telling her that any time soon.

“I can look after myself. I’ve been doing it since I could walk. Pretty sure I can still do it now.”

There’s that sass again. I smirk, but it’s hiding the anger I’m holding onto over the reminder of how she had to grow up. I did my research; her dad was a proper wanker. The kind of man I’d deny selling any girls to. The fact that he kept Ophelia’s mother alive for so long was, quite frankly, very fucking surprising. According to hospital records, she had a lot of accidents. He had even put in some paperwork to start the process of selling Ophelia with The Firm, though it would’ve been packaged as more of an arranged marriage, but either way, I’m glad the cunt died when he did.

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