Filthy Beautiful Lies(#1#2)

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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 his 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?

Placing one palm against my cheek, he guides me closer and bends his head to mine, letting our lips touch just briefly. The gesture is unexpectedly tender. I draw a shuddering breath and part my lips, wetting them with my tongue and he presses forward again, tasting the moisture I’ve left on my bottom lip. His lips are soft and generous, and he pulls my bottom lip slightly into his mouth and sucks gently before sliding his tongue against mine.

His kiss is cautious and slow, like he’s testing me – checking for my reaction. I remain still, letting him explore, and carefully return his kiss, my tongue reaching out to lick against his.

I’d be lying if I said having his hot mouth on mine didn’t affect me. I’m warm and flustered knowing his hand remains tucked inside his boxers stroking himself while his tongue strokes mine. My entire body feels alive with energy.

Just when I’m ready for more he breaks away from the kiss, leaving my lips damp and swollen. The hand cupping my cheek moves to pull his boxers down and he lifts his cock free from the material, letting it rest against his belly. I venture a glance down.

Sacred mother of everything holy, that is one giant cock.

It reaches all the way to his belly button, and is as thick as my arm. I can’t possibly be expected to fit that in my mouth. Suddenly his fears about me biting him seem a very real possibility. I’ll need to unhinge my jaw to accommodate that thing. He remains still, letting me take my fill. I open my mouth to protest, but his hand moves to the back of my neck, guiding me closer.

“Come here, Sophie,” he breathes my name, the sound of it on his lips both foreign and enticing. The warm weight of his palm on my nape sends little fractures of heat spiraling down the back of my neck and spine. Still holding me close, he adjusts himself, freeing his balls from the briefs next so all of him is exposed. They are large, round and smooth. Everything about him is so intensely male and perfect, it’s hard not to react.

My body pulses with electric heat, as feelings I never imagined I’d have course through me. Interest. Desire. Lust.

He’s attractive, fit and intelligent. There’s nothing about him, at least physically, not to like, but he bought me for heaven’s sake. I should feel repulsed, not excited and slightly turned on.

He watches me expectantly and I lift his heavy cock away from where it rests against his tight abdominal muscles and lower my head to his lap, my tongue darting out to taste the tip of him. He releases a small grunt of satisfaction and tightens his grip against the back of my neck, urging me closer.

Curling my fist around the base of him, I work my tongue up and down his length, coating him in my saliva so my hand can easily slide up and down. I’ll never be able to fit all of him in my mouth, so using my hands too is a necessity.

A softly murmured curse urges me on. My free hand reaches beneath to gently cup and massage his balls. A warm drop of fluid escapes him and I swipe my tongue against his tip, capturing the bead of salty fluid and swallow it down. Another murmured grunt urges me on.

Keeping up my suction around the head of his cock, I ease open my jaw, trying to fit as much of him as I can into my mouth. While my mouth takes him in, I use both hands to firmly stroke the neglected half of his generous length.

“Oh fuck,” Drake growls. “That’s it, just like that,” his deep voice rumbles in his chest. Warmth and moisture flood my panties and I commit myself fully, sucking, licking and stroking to the best of my ability.

Confusion snaps to the forefront of my brain. No part of me should be enjoying this, but I feel powerful and desirable making this gorgeous man come apart.

His hand tightens in my hair, causing my scalp to tingle and he pulls my mouth away, taking his enormous cock in his hand and stroking it in short, uneven strokes. My core clenches at the sight of him.

“Open your mouth,” he moans. I do as I’m told, opening wide for him. “Let me see your tongue.” I stick out my tongue and he places the head of his cock against it as his fist continues pumping. His eyes fall closed and his head drops back against the sofa. “Oh fuck, sweetness,” he growls as a low rumble vibrates in his chest. “That feels so fucking good.” Watching us once again, he keeps stroking himself, his pace erratic and his eyes dark with lust. “Your mouth looks so pretty on my cock.”

I fight the urge to close my mouth around him and suck, but instead remain kneeling before him, my mouth open, waiting to catch his come. Seconds later, warm drops of semen spurt onto my outstretched tongue.

He watches as the last of his release lands in my waiting mouth. I swallow and sit back on my heels while he tucks himself back into his pants and pulls up the zipper. “I’d say you passed your first test.” His tone is one of pleasant surprise.

Some strange part of me feels proud. I tell myself it was only because I want to make sure he doesn’t return me and request a refund. But our shared erotic experience has left me shaken and feeling vulnerable. There’s no denying that a part of me enjoyed that – enjoyed his fist tightening in my hair and hearing him voice his pleasure when he climaxed. And my damp panties and pounding heart signal that I’m not ready for the night to be over. Feelings of shame slam against me. I shouldn’t have enjoyed any part of that. God, what was wrong with me?

Drake rises from the couch and strides from the room without a backward glance, leaving me sitting alone on the carpeting.

Several moments later I hear sounds coming from a nearby room and since I know it’s just me and him in the house, I go to investigate.

I find him in the kitchen, a bottle of beer lifted to his lips and the thick column of his throat moving as he swallows long gulps of the icy liquid.

The kitchen is immaculate. My eyes wander from the elegant white and grey marbled countertops to the rich wood cabinets to the state of the art stainless steel appliances gleaming all shiny and new. A large basket sits atop the island overflowing with baguettes, heads of garlic, lemons and what I assume are pomegranates. I wonder if he likes to cook.

“You want anything to eat?” he asks, lowering the bottle, but still not turning to face me.

“No thanks.” I haven’t eaten, but food is the last thing on my mind. “Maybe just some water,” I answer.

He shoots me a knowing grin and my cheeks heat. Yes, I need to wash the taste of his semen from my mouth and apparently we are both thinking it. He grabs a bottle of water from the large commercial grade double door stainless steel refrigerator and twists off the cap before handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I murmur, taking a long sip. I feel the cool water sink to the bottom of my empty belly. It’s refreshing and crisp. My first bit of peace since this whole evening started. I drain half of the bottle while gazing around the kitchen.

I spot a block of knives near the eight-burner gas stove and an errant thought passes through my brain. I could hurt him and escape. But why would I do that? He’s given me exactly what I wanted. Instead I finish my water in silence while he continues to watch me curiously.