Page 14 of Hidden Heir

“I will,” he weeps. “I will. Thank you, Brooke, thank you. You’re saving me, thank you.”

It’s just sex.

I keep repeating that to myself while waiting at my shop for the car Paul sent. I’m forced into a skimpy silver dress that shoves my tits up to my chin and leaves half my ass exposed, a gift he dropped off earlier at the flower shop for me. I drag a brush through my hair and slap on some lipstick then I’m blindfolded once I enter the car.

As soon as it comes to a stop, strong hands painfully grip my upper arms and I stumble, barefoot, across rough ground.

My ears become my eyes. Doors creak as low masculine voices murmur around me. I’m hauled at a rapid pace and soon the rough ground changes to smooth tile flooring. When I’m pulled to a stop, a touch at my ankle makes me jump, but it’s justsomeone placing high heels onto my feet with straps that pinch the bruise on my ankle left by the box the other day.

I’m forced to walk again. It’s hard to tell where I am, or which way is the way out after so many twists and turns. By the time we stop, I’m dizzy and far too hot. My head throbs and my heart pounds painfully in my chest.

How am I going to get through this? I haven’t slept and all I can think about is Tiff. If I fail to do this, my daughter suffers and Ant dies. I have no choice.

It’s just sex.

I can lay back and close my eyes.

It’s just sex.

Fuck.

Suddenly, the blindfold is ripped off and I’m under a light so bright that I’m forced to squint.

“You’re dessert,” says one of the men roughly holding my arm. He forces me forward and I open my eyes to see a man reclining on a black sofa in front of me. He’s older and portly, a thick cigar hanging from lips hidden beneath a bushy mustache. His shirt strains for dear life over his belly, and thick glasses balance on the end of his long, pointy nose.

“Enjoy,” says the man who removed my blindfold then abruptly leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound sends a cold chill down my spine as sweat breaks out all over my body.

“When they told me I would be entertained tonight,” the man wheezes, coughing out clouds of smoke, “I did not expect something so beautiful.”

I have no idea what to do. I was given no instruction other than an order to obey the moment I was dragged out of the car.

I don’t know if I’m supposed to speak or how I’m expected to “entertain” him and the uncertainty drives me crazy. I force asmile through the fear. I clasp my hands together in front of my body and the man lifts one chubby hand.

“Show me,” he barks, motioning with his hands to turn.

I obey.

What I see behind me as I turn around makes my blood turn to ice. The surrounding walls of the small room are filled with floor-to-ceiling metal racks filled with sex toys. I’ve never been a prude and have always enjoyed spice in the bedroom, but there’s one thing that always occurs in my bedroom that will never happen here.

Trust.

As I take in each whip, flogger, vibrator, clamp and blade that seems to mock me, my heart slams wildly in my chest. It causes the tremble in my hands to return and I tighten my hands into fists. By the time I turn back to the man, my smile has faltered. He’s on his feet and standing in front of me. One breath and the stink of his cigar clogs my lungs.

“I—” As soon as I try to speak, he slaps me across the face with strength I didn’t expect. Clearly his rotund shape is hiding impressive muscle. My teeth slice into my cheek and blood pulses across my tongue as my ears ring. Somehow, I manage to stay upright in the ridiculously high heels they forced me to wear.

“I don’t want you to speak,” the man says with a growl. He lifts one hand and grabs me by the hair, pulling sharply as he jerks me down so violently that I fall to my knees with a whimper of pain. “But” he continues, “I do want you to scream.”

Suddenly the mantra ofit’s just sexmelts away in my mind. This isn’t just sex, and it becomes abundantly clear as he uses the grip on my hair to force my face into his crotch.

“Get familiar, my dear,” he chuckles above me while I struggle to hear him over the wild thunder of blood rushing in my ears. “You will worship me by the end of the night.”

His hips thrust into my face with force as he releases my hair. The impact sends me sprawling backward with a soft grunt. I lay there, staring up at him as he laughs and wheezes over his cigar, and pure terror grips me.

Even my determination to do this and keep my family safe isn’t enough to stamp out the terror when he looms over me and grabs me by the front of my dress. When he hauls me upward, I pray the fabric holds because it’s the only defense I have between me and him. Face to face, he grabs me by the throat and shoves me up against the nearest wall where the rack of toys bites into my skin and presses painfully against my ribs.

Then sudden pain, sharp and loud, flares against my shoulder and I can’t hold in the scream that tears from me. He’s putting his cigar out on my shoulder. The pain is unlike anything I’ve felt before, and the putrid smell of burning flesh fills the air. My stomach rolls and I fight against his grip but it’s useless.

“Yes,” he hisses behind me. “The first scream of many. Do you know how erotic it is to see some stuck-up bitch down on her knees, crawling over pins just for a taste of your cock? They tell me that you are desperate, that you will do anything to protect what is precious to you, and I intend to test that, my dear.”

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