Escape From Paradise (24 page)

I craved sunshine and night sky. I longed for the wide, open world.

And that loss, more than anything, had become a symbol of my lost freedom. The outdoors became a metaphor for everything I’d once had. Things like family and holidays, friends and school. Driving. Flirting. Shopping. They were all fantasies to me now. Fairy tales. When I thought about the sky, a painful, heavy depression threatened to settle on my soul.

Being stuck in a windowless room most of my days didn’t help.

I sat on a throw rug of the tiled floor in the slave quarters doing stretches. Alone. I pushed myself, enjoying the burning sensations in my muscles. It was hard not to think about how all the others were outside at the pool. Sure, it was more work time, and I didn’t envy that. But I would have done anything to be out there.

Marco was paranoid. Any sailboat floating by was assumed to be spying. He didn’t care if they saw people screwing poolside, or snorting coke on his veranda. Just as long as they didn’t spy his precious stolen American girl.

I was still kind of surprised he’d let the Scottish man see me. Mr. Douglas. Just thinking of him sent warmth shooting through me.

Was another slave servicing him right now? In the hot tub or pool? Did he enjoy them better? An acidic feeling sliced at me.

I bent until my nose was almost touching the floor, and hissed from the pain of the stretch up the back of my leg. Jealousy over a patron was stupid and ridiculous and unheard of. What was wrong with me?

I jumped to my feet at the sound of the door opening. Luis stood there.

“Ready yourself for lunch,” he said in Spanish.

I nodded, feeling entirely too enthusiastic. Strange, strange, strange. Maybe Josef was right. Maybe I should be more careful. Tone down the excitement. Mr. Douglas wouldn’t stay forever. Most patrons only stayed a couple nights. Some a few weeks, but that was uncommon. For all I knew the Scot could be long gone. And damned if that didn’t send a flare of disappointment through me.

I rushed to the closet and put on a skimpy black, silk dress that drooped down one shoulder and stopped just below my ass. Then I fluffed my hair, which I’d put waves in that morning, and I reapplied my make-up. I usually went for pink lips, but today I grabbed the red.

Luis gave me the once-over as I approached, fitting the collar around my neck. He led me out until we neared the dining room, then I went to my knees the rest of the way. I sat against the wall with my head down, waiting to be called upon. In my peripheral vision I could see all the others lined against the wall, as well, in their bathing suits. I caught the scent of body oils and chlorine, which made the old longing surface like a swirl of hot sadness.

I was about to attempt a stealthy peek at the table when I heard his voice in the hall. That brogue rumble sent a shiver through me. He was walking with Marco, and they both laughed about something. Happiness and relief overflowed. He was still here.

The two men stopped near me in the doorway and I stilled, holding my breath. Marco was in his slacks, as always, but I could see Mr. Douglas’s legs—the dark hair and tanned skin on his calves. His feet in sandals, which almost made me want to smile. He was wearing shorts like guys I used to know. The cargo kind. Another surge of emotion stirred inside me—emotion for old, familiar things.

Yeah…I definitely needed to be careful. This stranger made me feel way too many things. Things I’d stopped feeling long ago because they weren’t good for me. Things I couldn’t afford to feel.

“Ah, there you are, Señor Ruiz,” said another patron approaching—a wealthy man from Italy. “I was hoping to propose a trade. My African beauty here for your blonde white girl. Just for the day.”

No…
I tensed.

“Actually, Sir, I’ve claimed her for the day,” said Mr. Douglas.

My heart pounded at the sound of his declaration and Marco’s ensuing chuckle.

“Have you, Señor Douglas?” Marco asked.

“That is,” Mr. Douglas amended in a dangerously calm, low voice. “I
wish
to claim her. With your permission, of course.”

I couldn’t breathe. I saw the other patron shift his feet and shuffle, maybe crossing his arms.

“My apologies, Señor Bellini. I had planned to offer her to Señor Douglas here. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I leave,” the man said gruffly.

“Ah. Pity.” Marco’s voice was cold, completely lacking said pity. I could tell he wasn’t happy with the slight attitude Mr. Bellini gave him.

The Italian cleared his throat and said, “Very well. Perhaps next time.” Then he went to his place at the table. He kicked his kneeling slave in the hip to make her move so he could sit without having to pull his chair out. I forced myself to look away from the dark-skinned girl and the way she trembled.

Marco bent and gave my collar a gentle tug, bringing me from my sitting position to my hands and knees.

“Angel, you will accompany Señor Douglas this afternoon and evening. Remain at his side.”

My breaths began to return to normal.

I crawled between the men and followed them to the table, kneeling between them as they sat, and feeling entirely too relieved. My face must have appeared pleased because when I shifted and caught Josef’s eye, he was glaring at me with disapproval through strands of hair, his head tilted down. I quickly looked away.

I wished I could reassure him. I would be careful.

Once again Mr. Douglas fed me more than I usually received. Eating from his hands was so sexy it was almost like foreplay for me. I could feel his eyes watching as his fingers lingered against my lips. And at the end of lunch I didn’t experience my usual growl of hunger pain. I crawled at his side to the sitting room where everyone went to smoke cigarettes and cigars, the far windows open wide to let in a breeze and keep the room from becoming stifling with smoke.

Marco had arranged for entertainment to be brought in, something he often did. This time it was a group of five belly dancers. As they began, Marco motioned Perla to sit on his lap, and several patrons did the same with their slaves. When Mr. Douglas patted his lap I stood and sat between his spread, muscular legs. I put an arm around his neck and leaned into his chest. I sat on mens’ laps all the time. It was an act of ownership for them, not to mention the sexiness of having a woman on their crotch. But like everything else with the Scot, this felt nice. Natural.

Mr. Douglas never looked at me. At one point during the seductive dance he shifted me right over his semi-hardness. His hand trailed up my hip, dipping under the silky material. It remained there, absently petting my skin, his thumb moving back and forth as he watched the women. My mind began to whirl with boyfriend/girlfriend thoughts, and I had to grit my teeth.

Even pretending such things secretly in my head was dangerous. This is what Josef was worried about. It was one thing to enjoy Mr. Douglas physically, and a whole other thing to allow any unsafe thoughts into the mix.

He feels good
, I told myself.
That’s all.

When Mr. Douglas reached down and took a cigarette I picked up the lighter and lit the tip for him, something I’d been trained to do for patrons. That’s when our eyes met.

Oh, my gosh. I needed to breathe. The intensity there was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was startling. So much more than lust was going on behind those dark blue eyes. He looked away, dragging in a breath and blowing a plume of dark smoke to the side. My hand shook as I set the lighter on the table. The clanking caused Marco to look over at me and I gave him a quick, small smile of apology, dropping my eyes.

I needed to stop shaking. I focused on Mr. Douglas’s hand, trying not to let the allure of the Middle Eastern music and my own crazy thoughts sweep me away. He held his cigarette in that sexy, manly way, between thumb and middle finger. His lips as they went around the filter made me tingle between my legs. I shifted and he gripped my hip as if to stop me from stimulating him further.

The dance ended and everyone clapped politely. One man got up, clearly aroused, and left with Jin. Another dance began, the music mournful and sultry. Mr. Douglas made no move to get up. He seemed happy to sit there song after song, touching my skin, kissing my neck, but mostly staring at the dancers with far-away eyes, as if lost in thought. I wondered if he was day dreaming about his next painting.

People came and went from the room, but Marco and Mr. Douglas remained. I couldn’t help but notice the look of peace and contentment on Perla’s face as she sat on Marco’s lap, her long, slim legs crossed, and her fingers in the back of his hair.

Across the room the Italian man was sitting with his slave on her hands and knees next to him. He was fingering her roughly from behind. Her eyes were closed and her forehead creased with discomfort. My stomach churned and I looked away. Any second he’d be on his knees behind her. I was so thankful that wasn’t me, but I couldn’t help but empathize.

I snuggled even closer to Mr. Douglas and then wondered if I’d done wrong, because he abruptly stood, catching me around the waist. I dropped to the floor in kneeling position.

“I think I’ll have a walk,” Mr. Douglas said to Marco. “I thank you for allowing me such beautiful company. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Until then,” Marco said with an incline of his head.

“Come,” Mr. Douglas said to me.

I crawled at his side as he strolled through the house. He stopped to admire every piece of artwork he passed. It started to feel like he was purposely wasting time. He’d chosen me, but he was making no rush to get me alone. In fact, so much time passed that we were back in the dining room for dinner without ever having made it to Mr. Douglas’s bedroom.

Paranoia rose up inside me. Why wasn’t he making use of me? This was unknown territory, and I didn’t know how to take it. What was I doing wrong? I felt scared, like at any second he would change his mind and ask for a different slave. It’s not like he wasn’t a sexual man. So what was the problem?

I felt like I’d somehow failed to entice him enough. I wanted to be wanted by him, and that was a rare, overwhelming feeing. To be denied was a sting of rejection. My head hung low, and I accepted morsels of tender scallops and seared tuna without joy.

After dinner I followed him back to his room.

“Make yourself comfortable on the bed,” he said to me.

As I climbed up into the downy comfort he went on his balcony for a cigarette. I lay in the middle on my back with one knee up. When he entered the room he didn’t even look at me; just strode right past into the bathroom. I heard the shower come on and I felt completely dejected.

Were all artistic people this confusing?

I lay where I was without moving until he came back in the room. My head turned and my breath caught at the sight of the towel around his waist, and the fact that it was slowly rising as the hardening length of his arousal became apparent.

I made the mistake of looking in his eyes again. Why did he seem so at odds? Almost…pissed off?

I desperately wanted to wipe the menacing look from his face. I slipped from the bed onto my knees and crawled forward, stopping in front of him to give him full access to me, but letting him have the first move, as always.
Please want me.

He gave the towel around his waist a tug and let it fall to the floor alongside my fears, because it was pretty safe to say he wanted me.

“Señor,” I whispered, staring at the solid beauty of his body.

“Stand up,” he commanded. I lifted myself to stand in front of him, staring at his chest.

He moved forward and pulled the silky material down my shoulder, placing his hot mouth against my neck. I cried out and reached down, wrapping my hand as far around his cock as I could. The sound of his deep groan gave me shivers. He grasped my wrists and pinned them behind my back, devouring the skin at my neck and shoulder, nipping my collarbone, running his warm tongue down the trail of my jaw. My chest rose and fell rapidly.

In a quick motion he was on the bed, grabbing me around the waist, lifting me, and pulling me to straddle his face. He shoved the material of my dress up and held it around my hips.

Oh, yes. His tongue delved into my core, all hot softness, and he squeezed my thighs as I moved against him. I circled my hips so that I felt the scruff of his chin against my most tender parts, then the sensitive nub of my clit. When I vocalized my pleasure, he lifted my hips and spun me to face the rest of his body in a sixty-nine position. The dress pooled silkily around my waist.

I immediately went down, taking as much of him as possible in my hands and mouth. He groaned loudly against my thighs and raised his hips to meet the bobbing of my head. Then his attention went back to his mouth on me. I squirmed a little when he reached up and kissed the bud of my anus, flicking his tongue against that dreaded hole, and shocking me by sending a delicious throb up into my belly.

His mouth ventured back down and attached over my clit, sucking and flicking at the button of nerves as I moaned, taking him deeper, pushing his head to slide against the back of my throat as I kept my hands squeezing and pumping at his base. All at once we were both crying out, tensing, pleasure rippling through our joined bodies. His hot come shot into my mouth and I swallowed the waves as they came.