Chapter 9

Tara

After an hour of kneeling, my knees hurt. I'm not getting up. Mr. Hudson—Sir—is going to learn just how far I'll go to get what I want. My knees can grind holes in the floor for all I care. I will do whatever he says, so I can break out of the cage I've been in for far too long.

The suite is huge and built for seduction. The king-sized bed looks like a cloud-puff dream, the white chaise, leather couch, and sex bench all scream fuck on me. Hell, the hooks and brackets secured to the head and footboard were so discreet, I almost missed them. Wow, this is going to be fun. I can't believe I'm staying here for a month. There's even a kitchen, living area, and I'm sure the bathroom is just as exquisite. I wouldn't know for sure since I'm still on the floor by the door.

Glancing up at the camera mounted in the far corner, I sigh.

Is Mr. Hudson watching me?

I sure hope so. Otherwise, this show I'm about to put on will be a waste.

Look, he said to stay on my knees until he returned, but he didn't say I had to stay in the same spot. Nor did he say I couldn't have some fun while I waited for him to come back.

Biting back my smile, I crawl over to the bed and angle my body for the best camera view with the bed at my back. Dragging my tongue along my middle finger, I get it good and wet while keeping my gaze locked on the camera mounted in front of me. Spreading my legs wide, I finger myself while still on my knees.

I alternate between rubbing my clit and delving my finger inside my pussy, trying to hit my g-spot. It's a slow process. I've experimented with several ways to get off on my own, but without a toy, or other forms of stimulation, I rarely orgasm from only my hands.

Still, I'm no quitter.

Closing my eyes, I imagine what it will be like to have Mr. Hud—Sir—take me from behind. Will he grip my hips and rail me until I can't catch my breath? Will he bite my shoulder and scratch ribbons down my back?

My nipples harden to little buds, and I pinch one hard enough to make me gasp.

With one hand between my legs, the other pulling and twisting my nipple, a weight settles in my lower belly. My arousal becomes slicker. Using it as lube to rub my clit harder, I stare up at the camera.

I want you to watch.

I want you to see what you've paid a fortune for.

I want you to want me.

I want you to fuck me.

I want you to own me.

I want you to break me.

Will Sir tongue fuck me like I'm his last meal? Will he pull my hair and choke me out? Will he make me beg for his cum or paint my face with it while I sleep?

Fuck, I'm getting hotter. My pace quickens until I'm rubbing my clit hard and fast. My other hand drops between my legs and I shove more fingers inside myself. My knees dig into the floor painfully.

Will he fuck me like a whore? Treat me like a princess? Tie me to the bed and use my body to get off with?

Oh God, I'm so close… so damn close…

Will he spit in my mouth and slap me as he fucks me? Will he make me gag on his dick like he did his fingers? Will he spank my ass so hard I can't sit for a week?

Pressure builds. My breaths turn ragged.

Will he use a spreader bar and make me lie on display in obscene positions? Will he smack my cunt and fuck me with whatever is within reach?

My body coils a moment before it explodes. The orgasm's long and mild, but oh so relieving. I fall forward, my knees spreading wider as I buck against my hand, rubbing my clit long enough to ride out the last pulses of my needy pussy.

Panting, I stare up at the camera, even as I rest my head on the side of the bed.

It's been a long day and an impossibly long night. To think this morning I went for a five-mile jog, had a three-hour long conference with my stepfather and his cronies, settled on two properties, followed by a meeting with the permit office, a conference call after that with my stepbrother and assistant, along with completing a pile of paperwork and drafting emails to go out so my family thinks I'm working when I'm not, all before a quick mani/pedi and finally the Butterfly Ceremony. I'm fucking exhausted.

And now that I've accomplished everything I wanted to today and finally took the edge off a little, my eyes close and I drift off.

Still on my knees.

Still waiting for Sir to return.

???

Ryker

It's four in the morning before I've put out every little fire, soothed every whiney rich fuck's complaint, and checked the last occupied room to make sure all is well. My damn eyes burn, legs are like heavy lead pipes and this tuxedo is suffocating.

I've been too concerned about the well-being of my employees and the satisfaction of my members to check on Tara. She's probably in bed, all tucked under the expensive silk bedding, sound asleep with no worries in the world.

The filthy rich are carefree people, right?

And Tara thinks she's entitled enough to weasel her way to being the Butterfly without having to suffer any of the consequences.

Must be nice.

Unlocking her suite door, I step inside and quietly shut it behind me with a soft click.

Of course, she's not where I left her. No surprise there.

I make my way across the room and freeze. Tara's on the floor, propped up against the bed, with her mouth open and head tipped back as she sleeps. She's naked. And still on her knees.

I'll be damned.

It's rare for me to underestimate someone. This woman keeps delivering the unexpected. Looming over Tara, I take in her long, blonde waves, the cupid's bow mouth, full tits, soft belly, slender waist, and dark patch of hair between her thighs.

I was struck stupid on the stage when she dropped her dress, not only by her boldness, but because I pegged her as a waxer. I'd have put money on Tara being as smooth as a baby's ass everywhere. To see she's gone for a more natural look makes the blood flow directly to my cock.

Tara's hand flinches while she dreams.

Squatting down, I brush the hair from her face, and she immediately pops her eyes open and smacks my hand away on reflex. I stay where I am until she realizes who she hit. Something in me stirs and a growl nearly slips from my throat. That's a vicious reaction to have. Are her instincts from abuse or paranoia?

Wait. Why the fuck do I even care?

With a sleepy smile, she mumbles, "Mmmph. Sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"It will only ever be me in this room, unless you invite another in."

She rubs her eyes and yawns. "What time is it?"

"Four fifteen."

"Mmph." Her head flops back, and she stares at me with sleepy eyes. "I'm still on my knees, Sir."

There are a hundred responses I could give, but there's no way I'm saying any of them. Tonight was long, this woman is too new, and I'm fucking exhausted. Scooping her into my arms, I gently lay her on the bed and see how red her knees are. Pulling the covers over her, I whisper, "Sleep. You'll need your energy for what I have planned for you, Butterfly."

"Yes, Sir." She closes her eyes and is out almost immediately again.

Massaging my brow, I stare down at her. What the hell have I gotten into with this woman, and why she was so bent on being the Butterfly? Every woman has some level of desperation for the title, but none sank low enough to trap me in a deal to get it like Tara has.

I can't figure out if she's resourceful or pathetic. Regardless, she's gorgeous and I can't seem to break away from her. The moment I first saw her in my club, she enthralled me. Always quiet, always alone, she flutters from one scene to the next, gathering all the knowledge and entertainment offered by the other couples and groups in my club. But why?

Many members here prefer an audience. Tara's been within her right to admire each scene at her leisure. That she has, as far as I know, stayed away from participating is what intrigues me most.

For her to want to be the Butterfly, only to never indulge in debauchery before now, doesn't sit well with me at all.

And Vault's done his homework on her, even though I told him not to. He filled me in while we took care of more little temper tantrums and pouty man-babies about three hours ago. There is no mention of a Tara Reed across any social media. She works for Brisbane Realty but isn't listed as a top employee, which probably means she's a bottom feeder. A grunt worker.

It would explain why she was sent out in the late night to look at a property under the radar.

My protective instincts light up thinking of how dangerous that could get. Is she sent out to meet strangers to make under-the-table deals on other properties on behalf of Brisbane Realty? What kind of sleezy ass dirtbag bullshit is that? I'd never send a woman out on her own at night. It's unsafe. Unnecessary.

Look at her. She's so fucking delicate.

A dark part of me wants to make her crawl to me on her sore knees and beg to suck my cock. I want to make her come so much that she passes out from dehydration. I want to ruin her for any other man or woman.

Which is exactly why I better do the bare minimum. I don't want Tara to enjoy her time with me. I don't want her to last the thirty days either. The faster I get Tara out of here, the better for all of us.

Tonight, I made concessions. That won't happen again. This woman is bad for business.

Miss Tara Reed has got to go.