Dirty Ugly Toy (8 page)

“Tell me when you’re close,” he mutters, no longer interested in spanking me but instead pleasuring me. “I want to hear it.”

His punishing hand leaves my ass and travels around to my breast through my sweatshirt. When he pinches my nipple through the fabric, my eyes once again slam closed. An aching in my core spreads outward and my legs quiver in anticipation of the ecstasy that’ll soon steal over me.

“Close,” I hiss.

He finger fucks me expertly and I ride his hand. “How close?”

My calves tighten and the walls of my pussy clench around his fingers. “Now, I’m about to come now!”

I expect him to intensify his efforts—to give me another mind-blowing orgasm but instead, he yanks out his fingers and presses his body against mine. I’m shuddering from being on the edge of bliss but never tipping over. Rage ripples through me and his thick arousal pressed against my back does nothing to help the situation.

“You motherfucker! I was so close!”

He laughs but the humor is missing. His voice drips with pleasure at having denied me. “That, Bunny,” he says with a grumble as his hand encircles my throat, “was your real punishment. Every time you misbehave, you’ll be denied something you crave.”

Angry tears well in my eyes as our gazes meet in the mirror. His fingers on my neck are still wet from where they’d just been inside me.

“I hate you,” I seethe through clenched teeth.

He smirks and releases me. “That’ll change soon.”

His smug behavior pisses me right the fuck off. I’ll never feel more than hate toward this bastard. He reminds me too much of a life I gladly left.

“Whatever, just go so I can finish myself off.”

“Finish yourself off and I’ll take my belt to your ass next. Last time was nothing compared to what I will do this time,” he threatens.

We have a silent standoff, each of us glaring at the other. Finally, he pulls away. “Clean yourself up and redress. I’ll have Janet prepare some refreshments.”

He pulls the door back open and slides out, leaving me a heaving, shuddering mess in the bathroom. I slam the door shut and mutter a
fuck you
under my breath. He can kiss my ass. My entire body aches for that orgasm he should have given me. I don’t even care if I get whipped for it, I’m finishing the job he wasn’t man enough to do.

Slipping my fingers between my thighs, I locate the throbbing bundle of nerves that crave to be touched. One swipe and my body jolts with the need to come. Being a prostitute, I never indulged in masturbation. My life consisted of sex and heroin was my climax. It wasn’t something I ever needed to do.

But now?

Now, I crave it more than the drug I’ve lived for the past six years.

I massage myself in quick circles, chasing the high that was nearly within reach. The pressure builds but never to the level he brought me to. Soon, my body begins to numb and it’s clear I won’t find the edge again, much less dive over.

“Fuck you, Braxton,” I growl again under my breath as I jerk my clothes back up my thighs.

Once my pants are up, I storm from the bathroom back toward my chair. As I pass the dickhead, I shriek in surprise when he seizes my wrist, twisting it painfully toward him. He brings my fingers to his nose and inhales. An evil, stormy scowl washes over his features when he catches my scent. And, as if to be sure, he flicks out his tongue and tastes my middle finger.

“You stupid, stupid girl,” he snarls, squeezing my wrist. “Don’t listen to a damn thing I say.”

I jerk my hand from his grasp and wave the offending middle finger at him. “Don’t worry,
master.
I couldn’t get off. So get your knickers out of a wad and keep your fucking belt on.”

Braxton bursts out into boyish laughter that should be cute but I’m too pissed off and unsatisfied to give him any more thought.

This is going to be the longest six months of my life.

T
he trip back to Washington is long and exhausting. By the time we land, I can barely keep my eyes open. Bunny sleeps peacefully curled up in her seat and I can’t help but stare at her. She’d really fucking pissed me off when she tried to get off knowing I was going to whip her ass. The woman has an impenetrable will and that worries me. I need for her to learn her place and submit to my desires.

They always do.

But Bunny scares the shit out of me.

What if she doesn’t submit and fights me every step of the way?

What will I end up doing to her because of it?

“Shall I wake her and blindfold her?” Dubois asks, flailing the scarf.

I shake my head and stride over to her. “I’ll carry her to the car. I don’t think she’s going to wake up.”

He nods and I pick her up while he sets to gathering our bags. I catch a whiff of her musky scent which still lingers on her fingers and I groan when my dick hardens. I’m dying to fuck her, even in her still ugly state. None of my past toys were worth touching until Cartier worked his magic.

But Bunny?

She’s already fucking with my head.

Her wide, pretty green eyes, are always blazing with a thousand different emotions—emotions that I crave to understand. Her tiny body responds to me, even when she’s pissed which really turns me on. And her mouth—Jesus, that fucking mouth—says things that I want to both punish
and
reward her for.

I want to do so much with that mouth.

A gust of evening Washington fall air swirls around us and Bunny whimpers in my arms. I hug her tighter to me and stride down the cement walkway to where the car is waiting. Dubois has already started it and it’s warm when I climb inside with her. I mean to set her on the seat in front of me but instead keep her in my arms. Once again, I find myself wishing for a pause button in life. If only I could step outside of my fucked head for a second and just hold her with no other thoughts brutalizing my mind. To simply inhale her and get drunk off her scent.

Her palm is on my chest and her face pressed up against my neck. I like my toy like this. Normally, I don’t want to hold them. But Bunny is different.

The thought is a dark one that I don’t understand. I’m selfish enough though that I ignore it and continue to hold her. It feels good to keep her warm and secure in my arms. I’ll have to simply adapt to the fact that my rules are ever changing—my game ever evolving.

I end up falling asleep for the long ride from the small airport to my sprawling estate on Lake Sammamish. I’d purchased the nearly fourteen-thousand square feet waterfront Italianate four years ago from a retired engineer. His son was disabled so he’d put in a top of the line elevator that went from the basement indoor pool and sauna room where the child could do his water therapies all the way up to the rooftop floor that was the child’s toy room.

The top floor is what sold me. A circular skylight is above the entryway as you exit the elevator, four doorways leading to exciting rooms fit for a child. The first door on the left is the Theater Room which is decorated with comfy leather chairs, windowless, and houses a stocked candy and soda bar. I added the vintage popcorn machine once I moved in.

The second door is the Fun Room. When I bought the house, it had a couple of arcade games and a pool table. I’d added some pinball machines and board games. It has a wide window that overlooks Lake Sammamish and sometimes I sit up there for hours staring at the lake.

The third door is the Princess Room—a bedroom and is the largest of the four rooms. My toys sleep there. That room was the one that required an entire renovation as it was used for storage before I got my hands on it. I carpeted it with thick, white shag carpet, painted the walls a pale lilac, and purchased a fancy four-poster canopy bed. In the corner is a vintage vanity for my toys to doll themselves up for me when I allow it. The room also has an adjoining small bathroom with a standup shower and toilet. Next to the bathroom is a decent sized closet that I stock with all of my toy’s dress up things. Each toy I’ve shown the room to has squealed like a little girl.

But the fourth room . . . the fourth room is not at all for their enjoyment. It remains locked until I’m ready to play with my toy. The fourth room, I call the Hole. It’s small, windowless like the Theater Room, and holds pieces of my dark soul.

My toys all hate the Hole.

A rush of bitter cold air rushes in the moment Dubois opens the door. Bunny sits up, groggy from the trip and bunches her brows together in confusion to see me holding her. I push her off my lap and she reluctantly takes Dubois’ outstretched hand. He’s parked in the circular drive behind the house in front of the three car garages.

“Wow, this place is gigantic,” Bunny gushes as she climbs out of the car.

I follow after her and peer up at my mammoth of a house. From this spot, you can’t see the lake, which encompasses the entire front of the house and allows for stunning views of the sunsets when it’s not raining. I know she’ll be impressed once we get inside. The stucco and stone on the outside of the home has recently been pressure washed and it sparkles to my liking in the moonlight. After all these years, I never tire at admiring the beauty of my home.

My home.

The moment I bought my first home back in LA, was the first time when I felt like I was able to shut the door on my past. Poverty, struggling to stay warm, starvation—they were all on the other side of the door. Along with her. The woman who couldn’t stay clean long enough to care for her only son.

“Come on,” I bark out in a harsh tone, eager to rid the memory of my mother. “Let me show you the house.”

Bunny lets me take her hand, despite being pissed at me, and follows me in through the large doors. She gasps as the warmth swirls around us once we step inside and I inhale the scent of cinnamon and orange. I’d happened upon the scent while shopping in downtown Seattle a few years ago and it calmed my angry spirit. Now, it’s a required scent in my home. Christine, my housemaid, learned how to cook a lovely concoction of ingredients that wafts through the house. Where it doesn’t reach, she’s plugged in countless flameless burners that are a mixture of orange and cinnamon wax cubes. She changes them out often and I am happiest while at home drinking in the calming air.

“It smells good,” Bunny gushes, mimicking my thoughts.

I flash her a smile of approval and drag her through the marbled floor entryway. If we go straight, the front doors lead out to my sprawling yard overlooking the lake. To the left is my massive kitchen, dark cherry cabinets and tan specked granite encasing smooth, stainless steel appliances. Beyond the kitchen is the dining room, with an expensive table which seats six, overlooking the lake. Between the two rooms is a doorway leading to my wine closet. It’s only about fifteen by fifteen feet but it’s stocked floor to ceiling with imported wines from all over the world.

Across from the kitchen and dining room on the other side of the marbled entryway is an enormous den with dark, hardwood floors, leather furniture and a massive fireplace. The salon and my office are at the other end, with my office having the lake view.

“You can poke around tomorrow while I work. Tonight, I’ll show you to your room so you can get some sleep. Cartier wants to see you first thing in the morning and tomorrow evening we’ll be entertaining guests,” I tell her as I press the button that goes up on the elevator between the den and salon.

She nods, still greedily drinking in all the details of my home. We enter the simple elevator and I press the button with a four on it.

“Top floor is yours. You can play all you want. It’s also where I’ll play with you,” I explain as we ride.

“What’s in the basement?”

“The pool and sauna.”

She nods and a small smile plays on her lips. “Where’s your room?”

“Second floor is the staff quarters. You don’t have access there. There’s a special code to access that and the third floor which is my master suite.”

“When are you going to show me your room?”

I scan her face and frown at seeing her shitty dye job. Cartier can’t fix her soon enough. “You’ll see my room if I feel like showing it to you. Don’t hold your breath though. Everything we need is on the fourth floor.”