Filthy Beautiful Lies (Filthy Beautiful Lies #1) (2 page)

"
She’s yours. No pussy’s worth that much," the other man bites out, shifting in his seat.

My lungs fill with oxygen as I pull in a much needed breath, filling my chest cavity.

"Our final object up for auction has been sold. Gentlemen, thank you for your participation tonight. If you would kindly make your way to the lounge area through the rear door to finalize payments and collect your earlier purchases. Drinks are available and some in-house entertainment if you’re in the mood."

The announcer’s voice buzzes in my head.

I’ve been sold.

Men rise from their chairs and I hear footsteps retreat as they exit the room. A door closes in the distance, leaving just my new master and me alone in the silent room.

I want to step down off the humiliating stage I’ve been made to stand on. I want my clothes. But I remain rooted in place, realizing for the first time that my actions are no longer my own.

"
Come forward," he commands.

I swallow and step down off the platform, my legs heavy from remaining in one spot for so long. I take slow strides across the room like I’m approaching a dangerous animal. Maybe I am. What kind of man buys a woman?

"I won’t hurt you," he encourages and I take another tentative step closer, stopping directly in front of his chair. "Lights," he says to no one in particular and the overhead lights all flick on at once. Blinking several times against the sudden rush of light, my eyes remain downcast as they struggle to adjust.

Disoriented, I continue looking down, studying his shoes, which are now both resting squarely on the floor.
"Look at me," he says.

I lift my chin and take in the man seated before me.
Black suit. White crisp shirt. Thin black tie knotted loosely at his neck.

I inhale again, forcing another breath into my lungs and finally look into the eyes of the man who has just spent one million dollars to purchase me. Sky blue eyes fringed in heavy black lashes stare back at me, stealing the breath from my lungs. He is stunning.
Tall, fit, and attractive. Confusion washes over me. What is a man like this doing here? He could walk into any bar in America and pick up a girl easily enough. My stomach twists in recognition. That can only mean that his tastes are peculiar enough that he requires complete obedience. He’ll want things no normal girl would do. Oh god, I feel like I’m going to pass out. I can’t let this attractive monster lure me in.

"
Just breathe," he says, calming my fears.

I obey like a good little slave, opening my mouth and sucking in air
greedily.

"
That’s it," he says soothingly, his own posture relaxing just slightly. "What should I call you?"

It’s an interesting way to phrase the question. He didn’t ask me for my name. Maybe he’s assuming I’ll give him a fake identity. And I probably would have if I’d been thinking clearly. Instead I whisper,
"Sophie." As soon as it’s off my lips, I momentarily regret giving him my real name. But then I realize I’ll be living with him for six months and I don’t think I can keep up with the lie of a fake identity that entire time. I’ll already be lying to my family and friends about where I am. No sense making this even more difficult on myself.

He tilts his head to the side, continuing to study me.
"Call me Drake," he says finally. I wonder if Drake is his real name.

Just when I’m beginning to think he’s going to make me stand here all night, he rises from the chair. Having his full height in front of me is daunting. I’m average height, and he’s at least a foot taller than me, well over six feet. I stagger back a step.

"Come with me." He turns and heads toward the exit and like an obedient pet, I follow closely behind him.

When we reach the steel door I entered through just thirty minutes before, it feels like I’m exiting as a whole different person. Drake turns to face me before opening the door.
"Would you like my jacket?"

I look down at myself – at my
pale blue panties that now feel childish and my hands which haven’t strayed from my breasts. I nod weakly. 

Shrugging out of his jacket, he’s even more muscular than I first realized. His tailored dress shirt clings to his broad shoulders and defined chest. It sends a ripple of fear through my gut. Yes, he’s attractive, but he’s also strong.
Which means I’ll stand zero chance of defending myself against him if he gets too rough.

Ignoring my visual inspection of his body, he places the jacket over my shoulders, closing the lapels over my chest and buttoning the first button. I thought he might demand to see me – to inspect me for himself, but he only seems concerned w
ith getting us the hell out of here. Which is fine by me.

Once I’m covered by the jacket, I let my hands fall away and lower my arms, my stiff joints crying out from being in the same position for so long. My arms hang useless
ly at my sides and I follow him out into the hall. As grateful as I am for his jacket, I can’t mistake this first bit of kindness from him for more than it is. He doesn’t want other men’s eyes on something he’s just purchased for himself.

We pass several others on the way out and I keep my eyes on Drake’s shoes as I follow him down the hall, a false sense of security settling over me.

He stops outside the dressing room I used earlier. "Are your clothes in there?"

I nod and mumble an unintelligible reply.

"Get dressed," he commands, his tone smooth.

I duck my head and push my way inside the small changing room. Once inside, I cannot
keep my eyes from darting toward the mirror where I stood applying mascara just a short time ago. I can already see that the girl looking back at me is someone different. The black suit coat swallows me up, proclaiming me to belong to someone other than myself.

I shrug it off my shoulders, but not before taking a second to appreciate the fine feel of the feather light wool between my fingers and the crisp scent of cologne lightly permeating the fabric. There’s something masculine and evocative about the jacket and I can’t help but think about his deeper meaning behind dressing me in it. Like a dog marking his territory with his scent.

Shaking the thought away, I fold the jacket neatly and step into my clothes – a pair of jeans, and a long sleeved cotton top, paired with ballet flats. I feel marginally better once I’m back in my old clothes. Stuffing my makeup bag into my purse, I loop it across my body and turn toward the mirror. I take one last look in the mirror, mentally preparing myself to face him again, and say a silent goodbye to the girl standing before me.

I pause at the doorway, my hand resting on the knob.
It’s now or never. I can either go and find Bill, beg to be let out of this contract, and deal with the consequences, or I can walk out of this room, and accept what I have to do. Either way, I know my life is going to change.

Straightening my spine and stealing an anxious breath into my lungs, I push open the door.

I meet Drake in the hall where he’s standing waiting for me with a bored expression.

I feel his eyes quickly survey my new ensemble and I suddenly feel underdressed next to this wealthy and powerful man with his expensive suit and shiny shoes. He takes the jacket from me and begins walking toward the exit without a word. I’m expected to follow, so I do.

Once in the parking lot behind the building, I scan the few cars left in the lot, trying to memorize their license plates just in case he turns out to be a psycho – at least I’ll have some piece of information to go to the police with, since I’m pretty sure his real name’s not Drake.

The motorcycle he stops beside is unexpected and causes a little ripple of fear to cascade through me.

Drake puts his suit coat in the compartment under the seat and removes an extra helmet for me. His thumb smoothes away the worry line etched across my forehead. "You’ll be safe," he says, and places the helmet on my head. The weight of it against my scalp is foreign. This will be my first time on a motorcycle. Apparently I’m in for a lot of firsts tonight.

After securing his own helmet, he climbs on the bike and holds out his hand to help me. The warmth of his large palm against my own startles me. I swallow a wave of nerves,
then I swing one leg over the seat and position myself behind him. The angle of the narrow seat causes me to slide forward until my chest is pressed against his back. There’s no room for anything but close contact between us. The intimacy is unsettling.

I briefly wonder if he’s designed it this way – bringing his bike rather than a car to show me right from the beginning that I have no control and to get used to close physical contact.
Because surely a man who could spend one million dollars owns a car – if not several. Something in his quiet and serious nature tells me everything he does is deliberate and my mind is cataloging all of these things to piece together the puzzle of the man to whom I now belong to.

He kick starts the bike and my arms fly around his middle. I feel his chest rumble and I’m pretty sure he just chuckled at my response.

We pick up speed as he takes the on-ramp for the highway and the chilly night air rushing past my face cools the heat that lingers between our two bodies. I squeeze my eyes closed in an attempt to escape the panicky feeling rising in my chest, but all it does is make my motion sickness kick in and I open my eyes once again. He accelerates and I cling to him desperately, linking my fingers in front of his abdomen.

Just as I’m praying we don’t have a long trip on this bike, he begins to slow and I look up to see that we’re on a service drive in the middle of a dark field. My senses are on high alert as I wonder what we’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere.

I never imagined we’d fly somewhere, so when we pull up alongside a small private jet parked on an abandoned airstrip, bitter acid burns its way up my throat.

Panic zips through my veins at the thought of leaving everything I know behind. Even my zip code, which had never really meant that much to
me, suddenly feels like something that defines me, is being ripped away. 

Without so much as a carry-on bag, I follow him up the narrow set of stairs leading into the belly of the plane. It’s a small private jet with a sleek, sophisticated interior. A cluster of four leather captain’s chairs flank the center and Drake slides down into one near the window. Unsure of where to sit, I sit down in the chair across from him. The leather is inviting and
supple under my fingers and I relax just a little into the seat and take in my surroundings. Night has fallen quickly and it’s almost completely dark outside. The interior of the jet is illuminated by little LED lights lining the pathway on the carpeting giving off a faint glow.

Drake lifts a glass decanter from a nearby table and pours a few measures of amber liquor into a crystal tumbler,
then takes a long sip. He licks his full lower lip and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the plush leather seat.

There’s no overhead announcement, no safety demonstration, and no warning. All of a sudden the jet’s engines roar to life and we’re barreling down the runway. I fumble with the buckle on my seatbelt, latching it just as we take flight. I can feel Drake’s eyes on me, watching me curiously, but I don’t dare lift my gaze.

When I finally look up, Drake’s poured a glass of the alcohol for me and is holding it toward me. "It might help."

I’m not much of a drinker – and especially straight liquor – but I know he’s right. I have no idea what he has
planned for me, and this will probably be the only opportunity I have for pain management if I’m going to lose my virginity later.

He seems so calm and in control, it makes me wonder what might be lurking under the surface of that composed demeanor and expensive suit. A warm shiver races through me and I take a long sip of the drink, welcoming the burning path the
liquor creates down my throat.

Colton

Tonight has been an absolute fucking debacle. One million dollars was more than I’d wanted to spend and more importantly, I didn’t want a virgin. I’d wanted one of the older, more independent girls who’d done this type of thing before. Not someone I’d have to handhold and train every step of the way. Something tells me Sophie is going to take more time and work than I’ve bargained for.

I release a heavy sigh, and take a long swallow of bourbon, letting it warm a path down my throat. The dull roar of the jet engine is giving me a headache and I pour another measure into my glass.

I glance over at the girl, she’s finished her drink, and the way she’s huddled into the leather chair – her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around them –screams of her discomfort. Her eyes are closed as though she’s trying to summon her inner strength for whatever is about to come her way. I can already tell this isn’t going to go well.
Fuck
.

I’d only outbid that asshole who wanted her because he’d gotten the girl I had picked out. She was closer to my own age – twenty eight, and this was her third time entering into this type of relationship. She was tried and tested and would have made a good drama-free companion. But that prick had been the one to take her home, so when he started bidding on Sophie, outbidding him was my way of giving the asshole a taste of his own medicine. Plus, he just seemed like a dirt-bag and I didn’t want him to have her.
The little boy inside me wanted to take his toy and go home. Of course, the terrified, timid girl sitting across from me is now mine to deal with, so maybe I hadn’t exactly thought that plan through.

And a virgin too…would she even be capable of handling me? I hadn’t wanted a project – someone to babysit and go slow with. But shit, I’m the one in control. There’s no real reason to go slow.  I can set the pace of this. And I will.

As I continue studying her, my cock perks up in interest. She’s petite, but with all the rounded curves a woman’s body should have. Soft moldable tits and an ass meant for grabbing onto. Or spanking. Her skin is creamy and pale, except for the apples of her cheeks which are flushed pink. Long dark hair hangs loose over one shoulder. My gaze travels north and I realize her blue eyes have lifted to mine. She’s watching me expectantly, obviously wondering what will happen next. Good fucking question.

I have no idea why I told her to call me Drake. Actually, I do. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that my employees call me Mr. Drake and hearing her call me Colton would feel too familiar.
Too intimate. That isn’t what this connection is about. It’s business. Pure and simple. The business of my dick getting some much overdue attention and having a steady female companion without the hassle of navigating the dating scene.
Get your head in the fucking game, Colt.