Chapter 11

Ryker

God damnit.

I set out to make her exhausted and I think I just fucking broke her.

That's disappointing. I thought she'd at least make it to lunchtime.

Tara passes out the instant I lift her body into my arms. Mouth open, head flopped back, she's completely unconscious.

Shit, shit, shit. I should have known better. I lost focus on what mattered most and now look what's happened.

"Miss Reed." Tapping her cheek does no good. "Butterfly." I smack her face a little harder. "Tara!" I shake her.

Her eyes crack open. "Mmph."

"You need to drink some water." And eat. And get cleaned up.

After that many orgasms, she's not just a quivering mess, she's soaked and boneless. She'd squirted twice while I had my fun with her, and it's all over the front of my tux and bottom of the bedding. Good thing I'd placed a waterproof blanket under her before we started—not that I think Tara noticed.

Christ, this woman is going to destroy me. First her little brat move of defying my orders to stay in bed, then snapping her teeth at me before getting on her hands and knees.

But the way she looked at me when I tied her legs to the bar shook me the most.

Tara made me feel like I was her escape from Hell.

As if being bound and used by me was the salvation she craves.

It made something inside me turn feral. And now she's suffering the consequences of both our actions. Rushing to get her something to drink, I work hard to keep my composure and grab her a bottle of water. I have a business to run, and what I just did to her was only to exhaust Tara enough to get her to sleep a while longer so I could leave, but I wasn't expecting to feel bad about it.

Technically, the Dom never leaves their Butterfly. The forced proximity ends with one of us spent and the other transformed. My men often need breaks after being a Butterfly's Dom because they sometimes allow their emotions to get involved. It's hell on the psyche if you get attached because at the end of the month, the Butterfly will leave, and she won't return.

No matter how many times I tell my men to keep a line in the sand and remind them this is a job, not a relationship, someone fails to remember.

I'm in danger of blurring that line already with this woman.

Don't get this wrong—I'm not in love with Tara. Not even close. I might have been infatuated with the vision of her on my surveillance feed, but that's it. After she put me in this fucked up position, I now loathe her more than lust after her.

But when she looked at me with those big, beautiful blue eyes shining at me with unshed tears, and put her feet against the spreader bar so willingly, so eagerly, like this was all she's waited for, what she needs to escape the voices in her head, I'll admit a part of me felt protective and possessive of her.

"Drink, Tara." Using her real name isn't smart. It's like naming an animal you know you can't keep as a pet. It fosters attachment. Butterfly is most acceptable. But there's also slut, whore, princess, and a bunch of safer options. Still, she's so out of it, only her real name seems to penetrate her brain fog and sub drop. "Tara, take a few sips for me."

Her glassy eyes flutter open again when she attempts to drink the bottle of water I'm holding to her lips. After a couple of small pulls, she grows greedy and starts chugging. Snatching the bottle from my hands, the plastic collapses under her grip and she drains the whole thing.

"That's my good girl." Relief makes my head spin.

Tara wipes her mouth and lays back on the pillow. "I need sleep," she says in a raspy voice.

Good. That's exactly what I want to hear. I didn't think I'd be able to scare her off with a single course of intense orgasms, but it buys me time to come up with a better plan.

And it gives me a chance to shower and rest.

After tucking Tara in, I close the curtains and head out. The club is empty of members and housekeeping is in full swing. The rich scent of fresh-brewed coffee invades the air. My stomach growls. My head's pounding.

"Didn't expect to see you here." Dmitri stares up from my desk monitors as I enter my office. "She didn't last very long."

"Do they ever?" Yanking on my bow tie, I head to the bathroom, desperate to scrub last night off me. "Can you have the kitchen staff bring her up a high protein meal, water, and chocolates?"

Not bothering to wait for his answer, I kick the door shut and lean against the counter. I barely recognize myself this morning.

"Fuuuck." Squeezing my eyes shut, I slip into an old memory…

"The trick is to keep them so satisfied, they're too exhausted to keep track of the time, and you."

"How do I do that?" I shove the hair out of my face for the tenth time since I've been in here. It's getting too long. Tonight, maybe I'll chop it myself with the kitchen scissors. Or shave it.

"First," Natalie says, "you must learn to use that tongue of yours better." She spreads her legs while I stand across from her. "Start practicing, Ryker."

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and stare at the escort's pussy. Natalie lives in the same building as me, and always wears nice clothes, and has her hair and nails done. I bit the bullet and asked her if she could help me. She said yes.

Now here we are.

I stand on her wooden table, my combat boots landing heavy on the wood. Staring down at her, I wish I felt intimidating, but her non-reaction tells me I'm not. I step down on the other side and position myself between her legs. My jaw aches from how much I've clenched it. My stomach is in knots because I'm ashamed and hungry. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning but what little food is left in my house isn't for me.

I have to learn how to make money fast, and this is the best way. I mean, I've eaten girls out before. I like pussy. I just don't like Natalie's waxed up cunt. She's twenty-six and I'm sixteen, even though I told her I was eighteen. Most guys my age would give their left nut for a chance to be with a skilled slut like her. I should be grateful she's willing to be with me at all.

"Stop overthinking it, Ryker, and get on your fucking knees like a good boy."

Hate and anger consume me until my vision darkens. I drop to my knees, wanting nothing more than to smack that smirk off her face. But what would that say about me? No man should raise a hand to a woman. Ever.

Besides, she's doing me a favor.

I need money and she's going to teach me how to make it.

"See this?" Natalie runs her finger over her slick pussy and spreads her lips, exposing her clit and fuckable hole. "This is where you need to concentrate your efforts."

"I know how to tongue fuck, and I know where the goddamn clit is." The smell of her cunt makes me hard and nauseous all at once. "This isn't my first time."

"Women are different than girls, Ryker. We expect more. We demand more. If you want me to teach you how to get the most bang for their buck, you better do exactly as I say."

My throat tightens, and it hurts to swallow.

"Now eat me like a good boy, so I can teach you how to improve."

Humiliation makes me shiver as I lower my face down and make her orgasm in less than ten seconds because I want this over with as soon as possible. And like I said, I'm not new to eating pussy. I know how to get a girl off.

"Holy shit." Natalie laughs, even as she struggles to catch her breath. "Again," she orders me. And when I don't automatically comply, she grabs my overgrown hair and yanks my head down to her pussy. "Again, Ryker."

Splashing water on my face barely brings me out of my headspace. I can't believe I'm thinking of that old bitch again. Tara's nothing like her and yet I haven't been able to stop thinking about Natalie for weeks. Her memories, and what came afterwards, keep me up at night. They make me lose focus during the day. They cause me to—

I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up.

Heaving until my already empty stomach aches and muscles burn, I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth out. Then I brush my teeth and shave before getting into the shower. Scrubbing as hard as I can, I want to peel layers of my skin off, but that's never helped in the past.

Braced against the tile, I let scolding water rinse off my issues and reset my emotions back to zero. Tara needs a Dom who can handle his shit, and hers. I have to pull myself together long enough to get her out of my system.

I mean out of my suite.

Shit. Why'd I just say that? Tara's not in my system. She's not under my skin. She's nothing but a cheater who used me to win the Butterfly privilege.

But goddamn did she look divine in that bed.

Why did she have to choose me as her Dom?

Why didn't I leave before she made her selection?

Why can't I stop thinking about her?

Last night, instead of catching some much needed shut eye, I stayed up staring at her. Fantasizing about every little depraved thing I wanted to do to her, I jerked off twice into her discarded dress. Then I set up a plan to make her miserable, so she'd quit early and walk away from me.

The sooner the better.

That plan backfired before I even had it set in motion. I want more of Tara. I want to play with her. Pleasure her. Break her and remake her. Mold her into a perfect masterpiece of sexual depravity.

That look in her eyes when I strapped her to the spreader bar has burned into my soul. I've never had a woman look at me like that before in my fucking life. I'm not someone's salvation. I've been their toy. Their paid for fuckboy. And then I became their desire and prize they'd never win. Now I'm untouchable.

At sixteen, I learned a hard lesson about how low life can drag you. Now, at thirty-two, I can honestly say that life has a basement, and at least fifteen floors below that.

Hell, maybe even more. I'm still digging.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out of the bathroom and head straight to a closet where I keep spare suits. Dmitri still hasn't left. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Yeah. And instead, I'm doing your job."

I arch my brow at him while stuffing my legs into a pair of pants. "Vault's team can monitor the club."

"I'm talking about watching over your Butterfly." He leans back in my chair as if he's the owner of this place. "You shouldn't be out of that room, Ryker."

"I shouldn't be in it."

"The rule is you don't leave her side. She's had to give up her life for a month. So do you. That's what's been paid for."

Paid for.

Bile rises in my throat again, but I swallow it down. "It's my money that was spent. My rules. My club."

And I'll change them as I see fit.

"Don't do that." Dmitri stands and makes his way over to me. The man's got me by two inches and a good fifty pounds. Where I'm all lean muscles, Dmitri is brute strength. I spent my teenage years on my knees, while he spent his swinging his fists. We both have scars that only we know about.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't weasel out of this somehow."

"I can't let the club go to shit for some princess's cunt."

"Then negotiate."

The terms and conditions of the Butterfly's time here are always negotiable. But I don't want to give Tara the power to allow or deny me time to do my business.

"She's not going to be a Sleeping Beauty for thirty solid days."

I deadpan him. "Then you've forgotten how harsh I can be with pleasure."

"Oh, I'll never forget it." Dmitri's smile is more scary than sexy. "And that's what I'm worried about. She's not Natalie, Ryker."

"Never said she—"

"I heard you puke in the bathroom."

My gut sinks. "I ate something that didn't agree with me for breakfast. That's all."

He grips my shoulder and squeezes. "The only thing you've eaten in the last fifteen hours was Tara's pussy. Want to try another excuse? Let me guess, you're nervous? No, maybe it was the pasta from the night before? Bad milk in your latte?"

I smack his hand off me. "Fuck you."

"I'd allow it if I thought it would do you any good."

Raking my hands through my hair angrily, I rip a shirt from the closet next. "How much did you watch?"

"All of it."

Possessiveness flies out of my mouth with a growl. "Don't watch us again."

It's hypocritical. I know that. I keep my eye on every Dom that's with a Butterfly in that suite—including Dmitri. To act like him following protocol is wrong makes me a dick. Still, I don't care. I don't want anyone seeing Tara's body, or the things I'm going to do to it, except me.

"Rules are rules, Ry. You'll be watched."

"Then you're fired."

"No, I'm not." He crosses his arms over his chest. It makes me want to punch him hard enough to break his fucking jaw.

But I promised to never do that again, so I settle for, "She's got to go. She's fucking me all up."

"Or she's making you face things you haven't been willing to work on in a while." He doesn't budge, so I have to walk around him. Asshole. "What's up with you lately, man? You've been more tense than usual. Got a dildo stuck up your ass or something?"

If only. "23 Greene Street is for sale."

That changes his mood entirely. Dmitri drops his arms and his shoulders droop. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm buying it."

"Jesus Christ, Ryker, that's—"

"I don't care. I'm fucking buying it."

"And then what?" He tosses his hands up. "What the fuck are you going to do with that shithole? Turn it into another sex club? Think that'll calm your demons? Because I know you're not going to tear it down."

He's right. I won't. "It's got potential."

Dmitri stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.

His voice drops to a low whisper when he says, "You need to let it go."

My hands ball into fists. I don't need his opinion or his approval. "Get the fuck out of my office, D."

He tips his head back just to look down at me a little more. Fucker. I'm vibrating with the need to hit something, and I know damn well Dmitri is fantasizing about knocking me the fuck out right now, too. He always gets this extra vein in his temple when he's furious enough to fight, and he's got it now.

"You're making a mistake, Ryker."

"You're making a bigger one by standing here when I said to get the fuck out."

Dmitri shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath as he walks out my door. Once he's gone, I get a goddamn grip and regain some composure. Pouring three fingers of whisky into a glass, I take one sip and the burn hits my gullet, making my stomach clench.

Furious, I throw the glass against the door. It shatters, splashing bourbon all over the place.

A gentle knock makes me storm over and swing the door wide open. "Dmitri, I swear to fu—"

Sophie stands in front of me with a tray of food, her eyes wide with fear as she takes a step back. "I'm sorry. I thought Dmitri was in here."

"Why aren't you home, Sophie?" Her shift ended hours ago.

"I… I'm bringing Dmitri breakfast."

"He's not here." Knowing him, he's in his "office" which is nothing more than a dark room in the basement with a punching bag hung in the center and a cot against the far wall.

She slumps a little. "Oh."

Fuck my life. Running a hand down my face, I sigh heavily. "Leave it here for him. I'm sure he'll be back." I step out of her way, then wait for her to drop the tray on my desk. "Go home and get some rest, Soph."

"I will." She yawns and stuffs her hands in the back pocket of her jeans while she steps towards me. "You okay, boss?"

No. And I won't be until Tara fucking Reed gets out of here.