Filthy Beautiful Lies (Filthy Beautiful Lies #1) (3 page)

The plane safely touches down after only about thirty minutes or so, and once again, we climb on Drake’s motorcycle, which I learn has been stored in the bulk luggage compartment underneath the plane. Darkness has fallen all around us, which fits my slightly buzzed and melancholy mood. I want to hide in the night shadows and pretend that none of this is real.

While I hold on to him for dear life, he expertly navigates us down the highway, the single headlight illuminating our path. I pay close attention to the passing signs. We are near Los Angeles – a place I’ve never been. Soon he takes an exit for Malibu and once we’re on the surface streets, my heart begins pounding. We’re nearing our destination and I have no idea what’s in store for me.

When we pull up to the gated drive, Drake stops the bike to punch some buttons on the key pad, and I peer around his shoulder, eager for a look at what will be my new home for the next six months. It can’t really be described as a home…it’s a full on mansion, complete with a stone drive leading up to a sprawling estate.

Little twinkling lights illuminate our path and provide me with just enough light to make my jaw drop open at what I can see. The house is stucco in the color of warm honey and two huge columns flank the rich mahogany front door. Drake cruises right on past the front of the house and parks beside a six-stall garage before cutting the ignition. 

Here we go.

Butterflies take flight in my belly as he leads me toward the house. We navigate a winding stone path lit with landscape lighting toward a side entrance. I suppose it makes sense we aren’t going all the way around to the massive front doors. That entrance is probably only used for guests, yet it’s too strange to think that I live here now, that I’m not just a visiting guest.

I wonder if he’s just going to leave his bike parked outside all night, but then realize he probably has someone on staff to pull it into the garage. I can’t imagine he’d have a home this large and not have people hired to help him take care of it. I doubt he personally dusts the knick-knacks in the one hundred rooms, or however many this monstrosity has.

We enter through the glass-covered side door into what appears to be the world’s finest mud-room. Tall pale wood lockers reach from floor to ceiling, a wire basket of umbrellas, a large tufted bench with a few pillows artfully arranged and a large area rug to cover the marble floors.

He tosses his suit coat and the helmets onto the bench and continues toward
the hall. My eyes scan everything as I trail behind him.

"
Front entry," he says, pointing to the darkened foyer that’s even more impressive than I imagined. Dual winding staircases meet at the base of the foyer where there’s a round table sporting a huge vase of pink peony blossoms. They smell incredible. Like sunshine and happiness. It seems like a girly touch, but I shrug off the thought. Again, I’m sure it wasn’t chosen by him. Then again, I can’t imagine anything in his world that he doesn’t exercise complete control over.

"
Formal living room," he points to the left, not even bothering to turn on a light or enter the room he’s indicated. It looks cavernous and anything but welcoming with stiff, modern furniture. I struggle to take in every detail as he continues moving.

I realize he’s giving me a tour, but it’s rushed and impersonal. For someone who owns such a spectacular mansion, it seems like he’d take a little more pride in showing it off. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on what.

He points out several more rooms, a cold dining room with a humongous table, a darkened library filled with books I get the sense he doesn’t care about, and rarely bothers to read. "It’s a beautiful library," I murmur. I want to run my fingertips along the dusty spines and go hunting for a treasure to read.

A look of dark emotion flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away, his carefully composed mask safely returning, before leading me away.

"Where do you spend your time?"

My question stops him in his tracks and he turns to face me, his eyes focused on mine. He studies me for a moment as if trying to decide why I want this information. Call me crazy, but knowing a few details about the man I’m now living with and expected to service might be a teensy bit helpful, and so far this tour and his home have revealed nothing. He tips his head toward a far corridor.
"This way."

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so nosy, because now as he leads me further into the belly of the house, all my fears rush to the surface. Does he have some weird sex room like Christian Grey’s red room of pain?

He opens the door to a large office, complete with an executive style mahogany desk, black leather chair, charcoal gray sofa, and a mini bar built into the far wall. This room has a cozy feel to it with its rich wood furniture, plush carpeting and the subtle scent of his cologne that I smelled earlier. A set of glass doors lead out to a balcony. "Out here." He motions me forward as he crosses the room.

He opens the glass door and steps out onto a large deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean and I am stunned into speechlessness. The soft whoosh of waves in the background and the gentle breeze blowing my hair back from my face are immediately calming.

I can see why the opulent rooms of the house don’t interest him. This is like a private oasis out here. Two wooden lounge chairs outfitted with comfy looking cushions and a small round table nesting between them are the only pieces of furniture, but it’s perfect. Anything more would clutter the space.

He lets me take in the peaceful setting, and when he breaks the silence a moment later, it temporarily startles me.
"You’ll probably discover I work too much." He points toward the office. "And I come out here to unwind."

I nod in silent acknowledgment.
It might not be much, but he’s exposed a small piece of himself, and I tuck the knowledge away. He’s a workaholic and perhaps a contemplative man, spending his time alone with the sounds of the water to keep him company.

We head back inside and Drake completes the tour – there’s an outdoor swimming pool and garden that I only peek at through the window,
as well as a home gym one level down. 

Finally he leads me into a den with huge windows that overlook the ocean and has a sectional couch and large flat screen TV mounted above a fireplace.

"This is it," he says, somberly.

All this just for him?
It must get lonely.

He stands in silence studying me for what feels like too long. Realizing that the tour is over, my eyes fall to the floor. Are we going to have sex now? Here in the den? I imagined it’d be in his bedroom, but I suppose this is better than a weird sex dungeon or some other strange alternative. I have no idea what his interests and preferences are
, but I suppose I’m about to learn. My heart thuds dully in my chest.  

"
Eyes up," he orders again.

There’s something he dislikes about my refusal to meet his eyes. Is he ashamed he bought me? It’s as though he wants to pretend all this is normal. I’ll play along.
For now. I don’t know what he is capable of, and I don’t want to anger him. I meet his gaze. What I see is an intense man – his dark eyes speak of pain and past trauma, and someone fighting to practice restraint - if the tick in his jaw is any evidence.

"
You don’t have to be so skittish around me. I’m not going to hurt you, sweetness."

I draw a fortifying breath. I want to believe him. His tone is sincere, as is the nickname, and the way he’s gazing over at me feels non-threatening, but still, all my senses are on high alert. I need to keep myself on guard until I have my bearings.

"Come sit down." He crosses the room and sits in the center of the large gray sectional sofa.

I sit down in the spot next to him, my breathing erratic. I should thank him for the money but I don’t know his intentions.
"I’m sorry. I’m just new to this whole sex slave thing," I say instead.

He runs one hand through his hair, looking
deep in thought. "Yeah, me too."

"
I’m your first?"

"
Something like that." He grins at me and my belly flips.

"
I’m not sure how it works…or what to expect," I admit.

"
Would it put you at ease if I explained some things to you?"

I nod, and
fold my hands in my lap.

"
I’m a busy man, Sophie. I run two companies and have little time to pursue extra-
curricular
activities. You’re here to satisfy my physical cravings – to take care of my needs. I will satisfy your financial needs. Half of the money is being transferred into your account tonight and as long as you remain with me and comply to the contract, you will receive the remaining balance at the end of the six months. Your discretion is very important to me. I know you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement, but I need your word that you’ll tell no one about our arrangement." His eyes lift to mine. "Not even your best friend. No one."

The thought of telling
Becca the truth about what I’ve done never even crossed my mind. "I won’t. I don’t want anyone knowing about this either." I knew I’d need to explain the money somehow, but I figured I could tell my family it was from an anonymous donor at the hospital. The first installment – five hundred thousand, minus what I owed Bill, will be in my account tomorrow. It’s more than enough to pay for Becca’s treatment. The fleeting idea of ditching him once I have the money crosses through my brain. But realizing there’ll be no way I could ever pay him back, I know I need to fulfill my end of the contract.

"
Good. We’ll need to craft a story for the public, friends and families about why you’re here, but as long as you prove to be trustworthy, there’s no reason I can’t give you some of the freedoms of a normal life. In the meantime, you’re free to use the house as your own – the pool, gardens, and gym are all open to you."

I nod again. I wonder if I’d be free to leave the premises and go for a jog, but for now I keep my lips sealed. I don’t want to push my luck the first night. Besides, if he is the vindictive type, once he knows that’s important to me, he could hold it over my head as punishment. I look up at the giant television screen in front of us and wonder what he intends for the rest of the night.

"What do you want?" I murmur, gathering my courage. It’s better to know what’s coming at me, so I have a chance to mentally prepare.

His eyes wander over to mine and he smirks
. "I want what all men want when they spend a cool mil for a virgin."

Oh god.
It’s happening tonight. I hadn’t even had time to prepare. I’m still tender from my waxing. I wonder if he’ll give me an extra day or two if I tell him.

"
I want a cold beer and to watch the sports highlights," he finishes.

All the air rushes from my lungs in a whoosh.
"That’s all?"

Still watching my reaction, he lifts one dark brow.
"Honestly, I’d love a blowjob, but considering the mistrust in your eyes, I’m not sure having your teeth that close to my dick would be the wisest decision."

"
I wouldn’t…"

"
You wouldn’t what? Blow me? That’s part of the agreement, sweetness, and if you tell me you don’t like sucking cock, we’re going to have a problem."

"
No, I meant I wouldn’t bite you." I’m not a violent person.

He smiles at me, his full lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. Apparently that news has made him happy. He looks friendly and relaxed when he smiles at me like that and I imagine him being a regular guy – someone I’d meet out at a bar and flirt with. I’d let him buy me a drink and fantasize about kissing those soft lips as we spoke. Blinking several times, I realize I’ve been watching hi
s mouth for too long and my eyes dart back up to his.

His smile fades and his hands go to his belt buckle, unlatching the silver clasp with a soft click and sliding it free. Seeing the thick leather belt in his hands makes me nervous. I don’t know his sexual tastes – will he want to restrain and whip me? But he drops the belt to the floor and pops open the button on his pants, then slides down the zipper, all the while keeping those intense blue eyes on mine.

My heart hammers in my chest.
Holy shit
. This is really going to happen. I’m going to give a blowjob to a complete stranger.

"
On your knees." His voice is rough and filled with an edge of desire.

With my pulse thrumming wildly at the base of my throat, my body obeys his command, moving from the couch to the floor to kneel between his feet. Having removed his shoes, I notice his feet are long and narrow and encased in black silk socks.

Pushing his dress pants down his hips, his hand disappears under the fabric of his black boxer briefs. His stormy blue eyes hold mine while he strokes the growing bulge, as he seems to wordlessly inquire if this is okay.

What choice do I have? I can’t have him returning me. I give him an imperceptible nod. And god, the truth is
, I’m curious. What is wrong with me that I want to know if his cock is as glorious as the rest of him?