Deep (13 page)

My breath shuddered out of me. “
Philip.
”

“Starting right now. You’re going to take off those clothes for me, just like you did years ago. Do you remember that?”

I could never have forgotten. “Philip, please. Wait.”

“And then you’re going to make yourself come. The whole time, I’ll be watching. Does your skin get flushed when you finger yourself? Do your nipples get tight? I can’t wait to find out.”

Arousal held my body in a tight clench. How could he do this to me with only his words? “Wait. I only came to talk about…to talk about my brother.”

“I’ve made inquiries,” he said, his tone dismissive. That was already considered, already planned. “I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about how you make yourself come. Is it fast and focused? Or do you play with yourself, draw it out?”

My cheeks burned hot. I wasn’t even sure of the answer. Which one did I do? Probably fast and focused most of the time. But sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep late at night, I would think about Philip and draw it out. That only made me blush harder.

His mouth tilted in a predatory smile. “Lovely,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Last time you didn’t like what you saw.” My voice shook, my whole body tense and hot as if I were already baring myself, already naked. “You said I embarrassed myself.”

A shadow crossed his eyes. “Last time you were a broken little girl who’d just gotten roughed up by ten dickheads in a penthouse suite.”

I flinched at the cold description of me. “I’m still scared.”

“Maybe so, but you’re definitely a woman. You’re also brave and smart and kind.” His expression turned wry. “And yet I still like you.”

I fought a smile, flushing at his praise. “If you like me so well, then why make me do this?”

That made his eyebrows rise. “Because I like you. I want you. I’m not in the habit of denying myself. And I’ve already waited long enough. Your clothes. Take them off.”

The authority in his voice turned my will liquid. I felt like I was supposed to fight him, like a strong woman would fight him. Except my brother’s life may hang in the balance.

And in the deep, secret part of my heart, I didn’t want to fight him. I wanted to be with him—that had been true since I was a
broken little girl.
Now that I was a woman, I wanted more than that. I wanted to submit to him, to be owned by him. I had dark dreams about being used by him in ways that should have been degrading. They
were
degrading, but also incredibly, painfully arousing. At least they were in my dreams. I hadn’t been sure reality would work as well.

With a deep breath I grasped the hem of my tank top and pulled it off. Trembling fingers worked on the zipper of my jeans, and then I was shoving them down too. There was no finesse in my actions, no sensual grace. I felt disturbingly similar to the way I had all those years ago, exactly the same.

Broken little girl.

I held my breath, waiting for the harsh words, the rejection.

Except I couldn’t deny that Philip’s response was different. Then he had been distant, almost angry. He’d pushed me away—hard. Now his onyx eyes burned with black fire, with dark promise. And the rise in his slacks told me exactly how his body reacted to the sight of me, no matter how ungraceful my little strip show had been.

“Touch yourself,” he said roughly.

I put one hand between my legs, cupping myself, more because it covered me than being in a rush to obey. I was shamefully wet, and he hadn’t even touched me. Was this normal? It didn’t feel normal. It felt wrong—and incredibly hot.

There was a light dusting of dark hair covering my mound. I kept myself trimmed but not bare. I imagined that the women he’d been with had fancy Brazilian waxes.

“Touch your clit,” he said. “Circle it with your finger until it’s good and hard. Imagine it’s my tongue. Because believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now than tasting you.”

Oh.
His dirty words alleviated some of my fears about my body. Although if there was nothing he would rather be doing, then why wasn’t he…

He laughed silently. “Impatient, aren’t you? And demanding. I can’t wait to see that side of you. I can’t wait to get you worked up and begging me. But for now I’m not going to touch you. Not with my tongue. Not with my hands. I’m only going to watch.”

My forefinger slicked over my clit, and my whole body shuddered where I stood. I drew the circles just like he said, imagining it was his finger, his tongue. That was all it took, and my body hovered at the precipice, ready to go over. My hips rocked into my hand, begging silently for release.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Already? I knew you’d be hot, but this is fucking incredible. I could make you come five times with just my hand, and then another five with my mouth. You’d be begging me to stop, wouldn’t you?”

My mouth opened on a silent cry. Oh God. “Please, please.”

I was begging, but he didn’t stop. “Your body would feel raw, too sensitive, but I’d keep touching you, keep probing you, keep fucking you everywhere—and you couldn’t stop me. Your hands would be tied up. Maybe I’d have something in your mouth. My tie? Your panties? Your voice would be muffled. I’d have no idea what you were asking for, really. To stop or to keep going, so I’d just keep fucking you until tears were streaming down those pretty cheeks.”

I was close to tears already, my body shaking, holding back the orgasm. He hadn’t said I had to wait for him, but I knew. It was instinctive, the way my body followed his lead.

“Stop,” he said softly. He sounded almost sympathetic. But firm. “Stop touching yourself.”

My eyes widened.
No.
He couldn’t make me. I couldn’t stop now. “I’m so close.”

“Now.” His voice cracked across me like a whip. “Don’t make me punish you this early. Hands by your side.”

It was almost a physical pain to obey him. My hands jerked to my side. My chest heaved with restraint.

He smiled, a little rueful. “Put your clothes on. Have dinner. We’re going out tonight. There’s someone who might have information we need.”

“You can’t just leave me like this.” My voice trembled. I had known he was cruel, but this was a new form of torture—a sensual ache so acute it felt like pain.

“You aren’t allowed to touch yourself.” He swept a hungry gaze over my naked body. “Actually, you are. You just aren’t allowed to make yourself come.”

Chapter Twenty-One

T
HE FIRST THING
I noticed was the bass that seemed to reverberate from beneath the streets, shaking the car even while it was in motion. I felt each throb of the beat through my entire body, matching the pulse between my legs. My arousal hadn’t gone away since this afternoon. When Philip opened the door, I saw the true source of the sound—a club with a crowd of people clamoring outside.

There was no sign above a metal door, but I recognized the place. It was the place of my darkest memories, my nightmares. The Meat Market. The metal door opened, revealing a haze of smoke and flashing lights, before closing again. This was a shady underground club in a shady underground part of town.

Philip stepped out of the car. “Wait here.”

What? “Why bring me here if you’re going to make me wait in the car?”

I was still pissed off about earlier. Pissed off and painfully turned on.

He sent me a knowing look. “If I left you at the safe house, would you have stayed put?” Without waiting for an answer, he spoke to Adrian in the front seat. “Don’t let her leave.”

Then he shut the door.

“Really?” I said to no one in particular, falling back against the seat.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Adrian said. “He wants to keep you safe.”

I knew that, but all I heard was:
he wants to keep you.
Locked up. That was the only way he knew how to interact with people, his own personal form of caring. His brother, his lover, his sister—and one by one, they’d all broken the chains. I felt sympathy for Philip even while I understood why they left.

It hurt to be locked up, even in a warm leather interior that probably cost a fortune. It hurt to watch the world through tinted windows and droplets of rain. It hurt even worse for someone who had been held down, grabbed, groped—knowing this wasn’t all that different.

And some dark part of me wanted those chains.
Family.

Across the street, the line of people persisted despite the drizzle, music and smoke bursting from the door at regular intervals.

I studied a group of girls in trendy halter tops and miniskirts. The door opened, releasing another spill of light and sound, admitting more people. A line remained, people shivering in skintight clothes and shielding their phones from the rain.

The door opened again, and a light strobed across two new arrivals as they walked inside—a couple of men, though one looked more like a teenager. More like the child I’d been when I came here.

My heart skipped a beat.

Tyler.

The profile of my brother was unmistakable. But how could that be him? He was supposed to be held hostage right now.
Chained to the pipes in the bathroom, used by a bunch of drunk men in suits.
I didn’t want that for him, but this didn’t make sense.

It was impossible.

But I had to check. What if it
was
him? And once my brain started on this track, I couldn’t stop. What if he had simply
left?
I wasn’t sure my mother had actually talked about armed men invading the home, dragging him away at gunpoint like they’d done with me and the club. She had just said there was no ransom note.

What if he had simply run away?

My parents would never have believed it of their golden boy. I didn’t love that idea much more than the idea of him being kidnapped, but it would change things. Drastically. And if by some chance that was him, I could talk to him, convince him to go home.

It was a long shot, but it was all I had—especially with Philip disappeared into the night.

I looked down at my tank top and jeans. Not exactly club wear. It would have to do.

Without pause, I bolted from the car and crossed the street. I heard Adrian’s shout behind me, but I didn’t slow down.

I made it to the door and went directly up to the bouncer, cutting in line. Breathless, amid angry cries from the other people waiting, I told the bouncer, “Please, someone is bothering me. Can you keep him out?”

The bouncer’s cold eyes studied me, then flicked behind me to where Adrian must be crossing the street to catch me. A short nod. Then he opened the door.

I blinked into the miasma of flashing lights and shadowy bodies. Adrian would kill me. If Philip didn’t kill me first. Maybe there was still some spark of the rebellious teenager inside me, after all—because I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me. I knew without looking that the bouncer wouldn’t let Adrian in.

The inside of the club was a shock to my senses, lights and sounds assaulting me from the ground up. It seemed to vibrate through my legs, throbbing by the time it reached my heart. I didn’t see my brother or the guy he was with—but I hadn’t gotten a good look at him.

I circled the crowd of grinding bodies and passed through a seating area made sweet with pot. No sign of them yet, but it was hard to tell if I was simply missing them. Too many people.

There was a particular place that two people might go—the back rooms, perfect for privacy. I didn’t relish peeking inside, but I couldn’t leave without checking.

A hand caught my wrist. “Claire?”

I glanced back. My body went cold. His name was Donny, a dealer I’d known back in the day. And a major asshole. He’d tried to trade sexual favors for drugs more than once. I moved to shake him off, but his grip just tightened.

“No,” I said, panic clawing at my chest. I hated being restrained. “I’m Ella.”

And I
was
Ella. I’d been christened with that name not by my birth mother or my adoptive mother, but by the first woman who had truly loved me unconditionally—by Shelly. I had been reborn.

When I’d returned home, I’d made the change legal. It hadn’t endeared me to my adoptive parents, but then nothing did—and I had realized that the partying and rebellion had only been hurting myself.

“No, it’s you,” he insisted. “I wondered where the fuck you went.”

The years hadn’t been kind to him. He had loose weight around his neck and belly, his eyes glassy and red from repeated highs.

“I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “I’m not who you’re looking for.” I moved away, but he tugged me back. I pulled harder. He didn’t let go.

Raw fear clutched my chest.

Oh no. Not now.
Not again.

I couldn’t breathe. Air wheezed through the tight knot of my throat, but not enough. The people seemed to close in on me. My vision dimmed.

And still he held on to my wrist.

I batted him away, helpless in this state.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. There was a wall supporting my back and a clear space in front of me. My breathing resumed—still wheezing, but I could think again. The desperate clawing for survival eased. And my vision cleared.

There was Philip, holding the other guy up against the opposite wall by his neck.

“Did he hurt you?” Philip asked between clenched teeth.

It took me a few seconds to answer. My wrist still felt sore, my lungs tight. But I knew saying yes would mean that someone died tonight. “I’m fine.”

“Apologize.” This to the man in front of him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Donny stuttered. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

Philip’s voice dropped to lethal softness, somehow completely audible over the pounding of the bass. “Apologize to
her.
”

“I’m sorry. Claire. Or—or—”

“Ella,” Philip supplied.

“I’m sorry, Ella!” A desperate shout, tinged with pain. Philip must have applied pressure.

“You’ll tell everyone that she’s not to be touched.”

“Yes, yes.” He was babbling now, making promises and incoherent sounds.