Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Zurielle

Ursa wanted me, so she bid on me. It seems simple enough, but there’s nothing simple about this situation. I may be naive at times, but I’m not foolish enough to ignore the connection between her and my father nor to pretend it has nothing to do with her winning the bid on me. Maybe she wants me, but having me for the next week will be a strike at my father and that has to be more attractive to her.

I push the worry from my mind. It’s something to deal with at the end of this week, and maybe not even then. With Alaric free, we can leave Carver City, leave Olympus, just leave and go somewhere my father’s anger will never touch us, move to a city where no one knows the names Triton or Ursa. The thought makes me smile a little, but I let it drift away as the car pulls into a parking garage that looks like any other.

Ursa barely waits for the car to stop before she’s out, motioning for me to follow her. The same Black woman from before climbs out of the driver’s seat. Ursa waves a hand at her. “This is Monica. You won’t see her much this week, but as my head of security, if she tells you to do something for your safety, do it.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

Monica gives me a once-over and shakes her head. “You’re going to regret this.”

For a moment, I think she’s talking to me, but then Ursa’s laugh booms through the echoing space of the parking garage. “You know me, darling. I make a habit of regretting nothing. I’m certainly not going to regret this week.”

“Sure.” Monica rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, darling.”

I half expect Ursa to slap her down over the blatant familiarity, but she surprises me by laughing again. “You missed dinner. Go get something to eat after you check in with our people.”

“Bossy.”

“I am your boss, yes.”

Monica gives a slim smile, but it dies when she turns to me. “I take Ursa’s safety seriously. You fuck with her, and I’ll toss you off a balcony without a second thought.”

I blink. “Um.” I really, really want to believe she’s joking, but her expression is deadly serious. “I’m not going to fuck with her.” As if I would, when doing so would risk violating our agreement. As if I could.

Ursa raises her brows. “If that’s all?”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.” Monica waves us away.

I don’t realize that she’s not following us into the elevator until Ursa pushes the button and the doors slide shut. That’s when my nerves begin to get the best of me. My heartbeat kicks up, slamming against my ribcage. I’m at this woman’s mercy, and I should be preparing to do whatever she asks and bear whatever she wants to do to me. Simply survive it.

I am afraid. But I’m not only afraid.

The thought of her dragging those nails over my skin? Of watching her strip out of that dress and seeing what she has on—or doesn’t—beneath it? Of kissing her and kneeling before her spread thighs…

I shiver.

No, I’m not only afraid. Or even primarily afraid.

I should be. Wanting Ursa might be the worst mistake I’ve made yet, but I can’t help how drawn I am to her.

The doors open, and she steps out. I follow but stop short. I don’t know what I expected. Something minimalist and chic, maybe. That’s all the rage right now, and it seems like everyone with money in Olympus has jumped on the trend.

Ursa’s penthouse feels like a home. The front door leads into a lavish living room with a thick patterned blue rug over the cool-gray marble floors. The couches are a paler gray with blue and gray patterned pillows. A large white stone fireplace sits in one wall and in the corner opposite is a deceptively delicate fountain that stretches nearly to the ceiling. The windows overlook the city, spanning the breadth of the wall opposite the door. It’s remarkably cozy.

Ursa props a hand on her hip and looks at me. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?” The question is out before I remember why I’m here, what the next seven days will entail.

“Strip, Zurielle. One item after another until I tell you to stop.”

I reach for the back of my dress without another thought, responding to the command in her voice. I should be questioning this, should still be demanding answers, but I want to obey. Still… I unclasp the top of my dress and pause. “I thought you and Alaric are friends.”

Ursa’s red lips curve. “We are.”

“You don’t think he’s going to have a problem with you and I having seven days’ worth of sex?” It was one thing when I was giving myself to a stranger. Ursa is a stranger, technically—but only to me. Alaric knows her. He’s known her in the most biblical of senses.

“Alaric understands how things work in Carver City.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Sex is only sex, until it’s not.”

I frown. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The dress, Zurielle.”

I release it and let it flutter to my feet. I was more naked than this on stage, but I can’t help holding my breath as Ursa drinks in the sight of me. She peruses me from the top of my head, down the length of my body, pausing on my feet before retracing the same path upward. By the time she reaches my face again, I’m trembling.

She licks her lips. “First things first. Hercules explained to you how safe words work?”

A word that’s an emergency failsafe if something happens that I don’t want. A way to make everything stop, even in games where “no” doesn’t really mean “no.” It seems strange and almost too good to be true to trust someone to honor a single word, but Ursa’s expression is deadly serious as she waits for my answer. “Yes, he explained it to me.”

“Pick one. Something you won’t use in casual conversation on accident.”

I swallow hard, this entire situation suddenly becoming that much realer. “Hurricane.”

Ursa considers me for a moment and nods. “Very well. Did you like being on stage with Aurora?”

I flush hot. “I think everyone could tell that I did.”

“That’s not an answer.” She snaps her fingers. “Kneel.”

I obey. The rug cushions my knees, the floor catching me even as the room seems to spin. It’s so solid. A strange thought, but I can’t help it as I look up at Ursa. She seems larger than life, a goddess to be worshiped with words and actions. I want to worship her.

“Did you like being on stage with Aurora?” she asks again.

This time, I don’t try to dodge the question. “Yes. I loved it when she touched me. I loved how she whispered in my ear that everyone was getting off on it, and I really loved it when she stroked my clit. I wanted more.”

She nods and moves closer until the hem of her dress brushes my knees. Ursa sifts her fingers through my hair, petting me in an almost innocent way. I’m still trembling, poised on the verge of something I don’t understand. This is pleasure, yes, but it’s something beyond that. Kneeling at her feet, knowing that I’ll obey any command she gives right now, having her touch me… It all combines into a need that takes my breath away. “Please.”

“Please what?” She still sounds warm, welcoming, completely at odds with the look in her dark eyes. I don’t know why the contrast pulls at my chest—lower—but it does.

I want the warmth.

I want the bite.

I want it all.

“I feel…” I’m not sure how to put it into words. “I need.”

“Ah.” She twines my hair around her fist and tugs sharply. She inhales as I gasp, as if she can taste the sound on my lips despite the distance between our faces. Using that hold on my hair, she urges me to my feet. It hurts a little, but the pain does something funny to my head. I feel floaty and warm, warm, warm, my pulse throbbing in my pussy until I’m shaking.

Ursa releases me. “Take off everything. I want to see what my million dollars purchased.”

A million dollars.

She paid a million dollars for me. Or, more likely, for some kind of revenge, but it’s hard to remember that with her staring at me like I’m a dessert she’s about to sample. It takes me several tries to get my bra undone, and even longer to work the clasps on my faux corset. As I slide my panties down my legs, she turns and walks away. I pause. “Um?”

“Did I say stop?” She doesn’t look at me.

“No.”

“No, Mistress,” she corrects.

“No, Mistress.” I listen to her heels click down the hallway and then keep stripping. It’s tempting to just shuck off the garter belt and thigh highs, but I make myself undo them first and take them off properly. I’m removing the last stocking as she reappears with a glass of red wine in her hand.

Ursa says nothing as she circles me slowly, but I can feel her gaze on my bare skin. I’m achingly aware of how lacking I must be. She’s lush and full of curves and soft in the very sexiest of ways. I’m a string bean by comparison, narrow hips and small breasts. I’ve never wanted another body as much as I do in the moment when she’s at my back.

At least until she finally comes to stand in front of me and I see the hunger in her eyes again. As if she can’t decide which part of me she wants to devour first. “You’re very beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” I blurt.

“I know.” She sips her wine slowly. “Sit on the couch. Spread your legs.”

I stumble to the couch and sit on the center cushion. She follows and perches on the heavy marble coffee table in front of me. I hesitate but finally spread my legs, inch by inch, until I can feel cool air against my heated flesh. It takes everything I have not to slam my knees shut as she studies me there just as thoroughly as she studied the rest of my body.

Another slow sip of wine. “You’re very wet, little Zurielle.”

“Zuri,” I whisper. When Ursa arches her eyebrows, I explain. “My friends call me Zuri.”

“We aren’t friends.” She says it almost kindly. “I’m going to fuck you until you come so many times, it’s my face you see when you think of god. But we are not, and never will be, friends.”

I can’t quite catch my breath. “Oh.”

“I’m going to touch you now.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she coasts one hand up my thigh to use her thumb to part my pussy. “So wet and pink. I think you like being on your knees.”

“I—”

“You will not speak until I give you permission.” The sentence comes out absently as she keeps up that slow exploration with her fingers, circling her thumb gently over my clit. “You will not speak, and you will not move, and you will not come. Do you understand me, little Zurielle?” Her gaze flicks to my face. “You may answer.”

Now I truly am gasping. How can she strike to the very heart of my dark desires with a few short words? “Yes, Mistress.”

Another sip of her wine and she sets the glass aside. “The next time you speak, it will be to request my permission to come.” She lightly drags her fingers up my thighs to my hips and then yanks me to the very edge of the couch, my legs on either side of hers. “Better.” She takes my hands and guides them to the backs of my thighs, pulling my legs up and out, exposing me in a way there’s no hiding from. “Hold just like this.”

It’s uncomfortable and embarrassing, and I forget both those things as she resumes touching my pussy. Slow strokes of her fingers as she explores me, circling my clit, tracing my entrance, dipping down to press her thumb against my ass. I jump at the last, but then quiver as I force myself to hold still. Ursa doesn’t press inside, but she watches me, cataloguing every reaction.

She presses one hand to my lower stomach, holding me perfectly still as she goes back to playing with my clit. “Look how eager you are. You sold yourself for love, and you’re so wet for my fingers, you’re practically shaking with the need for more.” She licks her lips. “Would you beg for my mouth, I wonder?”

Humiliation and shame lance me, but somehow they combine to a greater desire. I am suddenly sure I will beg for her mouth. I press my lips together hard, determined to obey and keep the words inside. She’s wrong. She must be wrong. I love Alaric. My body might be confused right now beneath her expert touch, but it’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything.

“So unfaithful, little Zurielle. Such a little slut.” She smiles slowly. “Would you like my mouth? You may answer.” I open my mouth to deny her, but she cuts me off before I can spill the lie. “If you’re going to speak, you do it honestly.”

I don’t want to. We’re barely an hour into the seven days and I’m already dancing across lines I thought were set in stone. I had thought to merely endure, but Ursa is forcing me to be an active participant, forcing my betrayal with both word and action.

All the same, I can’t lie.

“Yes.” I sound like another person, someone needy and desperate, someone on the verge of breaking. “Yes, Mistress, I want your mouth.”

“So eager,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to where she hasn’t stopped stroking me. “I suppose a little appetizer won’t hurt.”

The words don’t make sense, but then they don’t matter at all as she dips down, her locs sliding against my thighs, to drag her tongue over me. Her mouth on the most private part of me is slippery and sinful, and I dig my fingers into my thighs to keep from reaching for her. It feels so good, so much better than I could have dreamed. She licks my pussy like I’m her favorite flavor of candy, like she wants to taste every inch of me.

Pleasure swarms me, buzzing through my veins and making me shake with need. I never want this to stop, but I’m devastatingly aware that I’m on the verge of disobeying her already. “Ursa,” I gasp. “Mistress.”

She barely lifts her head. “Mmm?”

“May I come?”

Her dark eyes flick over me, pausing at my breasts before settling on my bottom lip. It stings from where I’ve been biting it in an effort to keep silent. “Yes.” And then she lowers her head and resumes eating me out.

My toes are curling with pleasure, the room spinning around me. I’m so close.

I barely register an unfamiliar sound in the distance. I’m too focused on my pleasure. Ursa sucks hard on my clit and then I’m coming, the orgasm bowing my back and drawing a cry from my lips. I fight to keep my eyes open, a dark, dirty part of me loving that there’s red lipstick smeared on my pussy from her mouth. A mark that she’s given me, for all that it’s temporary. I don’t know why it’s so hot, only that I don’t want her to stop.

She doesn’t.

The elevator doors slide open as Ursa slips her tongue inside me. I look up and blink, sure that I’m hallucinating. Sure that I’m not splayed out on this couch, Ursa’s mouth all over me, as Alaric walks into the penthouse.

Except he doesn’t disappear. I blink rapidly, but he’s still there, something like shock written across his features as he takes in the scene before him.

The man I love is watching another woman eat my pussy.

Oh my god, what have I done?