1. The Deal

Chapter one

The Deal

I chose to be here. I try to remember that as the wind howls outside and the wooden door knocks against its hinges. My heart pounds in my chest and I take a deep breath and step closer to the fire, drinking deeply from a crystal glass of scotch. It makes my eyes water and sets my throat on fire. I welcome the burn.

I arrived moments ago, dropped off from the back seat of a limousine. The fire was already lit when I arrived, and I’m glad for it. I’m naked under my long black jacket, and still chilled from the brief walk from the car to the door. I’m now alone in a cabin in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, warming up by the fire with a glass of scotch in hand.

Cabin is the wrong word for this place. Although it’s dimly lit by the fireplace and a single lamp, this is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. It’s like something out of a magazine. Dark polished wooden floors, a huge gray stone fireplace and two cozy black double couches by the fire. The space opens to a large, modern kitchen to my right. My black backpack sits behind one couch, trying not to interrupt the decor.

This is the getaway of a billionaire. Or maybe a Sheikh, like the girls from work suspect. Tonight I find out. And after tonight, maybe this kind of luxury won’t be so foreign.

A crystal decanter of scotch sits on a small side table between the couches, along with another glass and a black box. There’s a blindfold in the box, with instructions that caused a shiver up my spine - ‘Put this on when he knocks.’

Whoever he is, he’s paying me a lot of money to be here. Five million dollars, to be exact. To stay here for one night until dawn.

To lose my virginity.

My mind skitters away from the thought, and I drink again. But not too much - they paid for my sobriety.

I catch sight of my reflection in the crystal glass in my hand. My makeup is minimal, emphasizing my youth, and my long blonde hair hangs loose down my back, softly curled. I’m wearing sneakers, however, at the request of the client. Maybe there’s a cheerleader’s outfit involved. The hard thought comes from a hard-earned cynicism. Six months of stripping hasn’t improved my opinion of men.

The way I see it, tonight could be another night at the club, but with a bit extra. But I know tonight is more than that. I don’t fuck guys at my strip club. I roll my shoulders out and try to relax.

The room is almost romantic. Maybe I could pretend I’m here with Dave - the Dave I knew before he drained my bank account and took off. I could pretend I finally trusted him enough to sleep with him, and we were on a romantic getaway.

Or maybe thinking of Dave isn’t a great plan. Thinking of him stirs a rage in my belly as warming as the scotch. Thinking of Dave makes me remember he took off with all my money after I worked my ass off to save for college, or my own fashion business, or… anything but the poor, shitty life I’ve been dealt.

I also remember how it felt moving back into my mum’s tiny flat and crying myself to sleep after he left.

I promised I’d never turn out like her, broke and alone. My hands tighten on the glass held in them. Tonight will guarantee I won’t.

Tonight is all I need to finish school and buy her the biggest house she’s ever seen.

It’s just one night - right?

There’s a knocking on the door loud enough to make me gasp. The glass in my hand falls to the ground and shatters at my feet. Fuck. My heart pounds in my chest and I will my pulse to slow down. I can do this. I will do this. I think of my future.

I take a deep breath, walk to the coffee table, and put the blindfold on. I can’t see a thing through the black fabric. Then I wait. I assume he has his own key.

It isn’t long before a blast of wind lets me know the door is open. I’m glad I kept my jacket on.

The door closes. My ears track the movement, trying to glean anything I can about the man to whom I’ll lose my virginity to tonight. My breathing sounds far too loud in my own ears.

Is he large or small? Will he be arrogant or humble? I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help my thoughts from straying. I wonder if he’ll keep me blindfolded the entire time. That might not be a bad thing if he’s an ugly man - strange, but not bad.

Men who are ugly on the outside don’t bother me much. I’ve seen enough to know men can be much uglier on the inside.

I remind myself the agreement said I wouldn’t be harmed. That’s hard to keep in the frame right now, blind and defenceless, far from the civilizing sounds of the city.

I feel him stand before me, close enough to reach out and touch. He feels large and hot, despite coming in out of the cold. Despite the fact his body blocks the heat from the fire behind him.

He smells strange. I thought he would smell like men’s perfume or sweat. Instead, he smells earthy, like he’s been rolling around in fresh grass. It’s not unpleasant.

“Tamara Sanders?” he asks. His voice is low and growly, and strangely accented.

I nod, and say, “Yes.” My throat is dry and my head spins. Maybe I’ve had too much scotch. Or maybe it’s the completely surreal situation I’ve signed myself up to.

“You have signed the pact as a sacrifice for this eve?”

The word sacrifice doesn’t sound good spoken out loud, although it seemed reasonable, if a little old-fashioned, in the contract. Now it makes it sound like I’ve signed up to be slaughtered.

“Yes.” My voice sounds breathy in my ears.

I’m painfully aware of how little I know about this man, and about the organization I signed my body away to tonight. Was my situation so desperate that I would put myself here? I think about my mum’s tiny flat again - about the lumpy double mattress she hasn’t been able to afford to replace since I was a kid thanks to a series of bad decisions in both life and love.

The abject despair I felt when Dave took off wasn’t just about his betrayal - it was about my fear of making the same mistakes I’d seen my mother make over and over again with men. That’s what I’m here for, I remember. Giving away my body, to secure my future, and protect my heart. I just need to get through tonight.

“Yes, I signed.” I say again, more firmly.

“You must call me your Lord tonight, Tamara. Now disrobe,” he says. He sounds like a man used to being obeyed. I’m grateful for it. Following instructions will make tonight easier. I reach for the belt at my waist and my fingers feel clumsy as I unwrap myself. The jacket falls to the floor.

I’m gratified by the audible inhalation when he sees my naked body. “Magnificent,” he says. “You are a rare beauty indeed.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” I say. It should feel weird to use the honorary, but it doesn’t. I feel completely vulnerable, and the words are somehow comforting. They somehow remind me of the contract between us - the money, and my safety.

My body is grateful for the reminder. I’m overly sensitized by the chill in the air from when the door was open and the heat of this man on the other side of me. With the blindfold on, I can’t tell when he’ll touch me.

I thought this would feel like a night at the club. This is nothing like that. I have no sight, and I have no control. My stomach churns a little. I’m determined to stay, but my anxiety is hard to control.

“Calm, Tamara. I can smell your fear. No harm will come to you tonight. We have an agreement. You are in a treasured role this evening.” His words settle me, until he says, “Now put your hands behind your back.”

“Yes, my Lord,” I say, and do as he says, trying not to tremble.

I expect the first of the degradations of the evening, and I’m surprised instead when I feel his lips press against mine.

There is no sweaty impatience, or clumsy ineptitude, in his kiss. There is no uncertainty. He takes my mouth like it is his right, but not roughly. Softly, like he will take his time, cupping my face. Gently, as he knows he has all night.

His lips feel strange - pillowy, but wider than I’m used to. And his tongue is huge. Perhaps he’s disfigured. Maybe that’s his reason for tonight, and the reason for my blindfold. It’s a romantic notion, but I don’t dismiss it immediately.

He kisses and licks at my mouth with slow attention until my lips part and a stirring starts low in my belly. His tongue entwines with mine, not demanding, but teasing, and soon I’m gladly returning his kiss.

He steps further into me until my neck is thrown back. The bulk of him presses against me now. What feels like his bare, hairy chest presses into me. I didn’t hear him take a coat off, but he must have, because it’s freezing outside.

Our kiss intensifies, and I’m surprised at how much I enjoy it. I feel taken, yes, but also cared for, caressed, treasured. Hope swells in me. Perhaps this night will be okay.

And his scent - that earthy, musky scent - fills the room and makes me dizzy.

I’m not completely innocent, despite my virginity. I’d given my ex Dave head, and he’d occasionally returned the favor. This man’s slow kisses make me wonder what it would be like to have his hot tongue elsewhere.

“Thank you, my Lord,” I say, when we break away. I’m definitely breathy now.

He chuckles. “Good girl. Now you’ve had a taste of me, the night will go more smoothly.”

I feel his hand on my throat and alarms ring in my head. Disappointment sinks like a stone in my belly. I should have known it was too good to be true. This is when it gets hard. This is where I earn my money.

But his hand doesn’t tighten painfully. Instead, he gently pushes my body back, and licks and sucks slowly at my nipples.

Dave rarely did this - and never with this level of finesse. His lips are soft when they suck on me.

Before long, my sex is dripping, and my hope returns. He’s bothered to get me ready - that’s way more than I was hoping for. If things turn bad now, at least there were some good parts. And the edge of my fear has faded. The heat of him, the smell of him, and the taste of him, have calmed me, along with the pleasure he’s offering.

“Ah, you smell delicious,” he says, and I hear the growling edge of need in his voice now. “And it has been far too long for me. But I intend to make tonight last. And so, I have a request to ask of you, Tamara Sanders, remembering that you are contracted as mine for this evening.”

“Yes, my Lord,” I say, my arms still obediently behind my back. I’m no longer trembling in fear, but I’m still very aware of being at his mercy. The contract said I wouldn’t be harmed, but he may have a different definition of harm.

He takes my shoulders gently and leads me towards the door. Then he faces me - I can feel his bulk move against me. He really is a large man.

And he reaches for my blindfold.

My breath catches, my body tense. He’s gotten me so keyed up I might not even mind if he’s ugly - perhaps that was his plan? The anticipation makes my stomach squirm.

Nothing could prepare me for what I see when the blindfold is gone.

I see his eyes first - golden irises, an unusual color, and crinkled with mischief. And then the ram’s horns, coming out of his brown mass of hair. And only then can I process he has the head of a ram, and not a man.

He’s at least 7 feet tall, and towers over me, and even on his animal face, I can see his smirk growing larger. I can only stare.

My gaze travels down to his broad, hairy chest and muscular shoulders. Then lower - down to the furry legs, cloven hooves, a waving tail, and a truly enormous cock, erect and ready for me.

Then he smiles and bares his teeth, and it’s a feral, predatory smile, full of hunger and promise. Whatever sedation I felt from his pleasure leaves my body in an icy wave.

I don’t fear sex now. The rush of spiky adrenaline that pricks my spine is more primal. The fear of an animal meeting a hunter.

“Run,” he says, and pushes open the door.

I turn and run.