I choke on a swig of bourbon and clear my throat. "No." My voice is gruff. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. I have. Almost constantly. I imagine lifting her up with her ass in my hands until her legs hug my waist. Pressing my fingers to her warm center while biting the soft skin at her throat. The waiting and wanting is pure torture. Christ, I’m screwed. How did I not think this through when I brought her home?
"No shit?" Both he and Collins turn to face me, like this is breaking news.
"Please tell me you’re not still hung up on Stella," Collins asks, his sympathetic eyes locked on mine.
Fuck no. I’m not hung up on her. I’m just trying to do the right thing – without having one fucking clue what that means.
They watch me, cataloging my contemplative mood and Pace chews on his lower lip. "Seriously dude, Stella is ancient history, even if she refuses to get the fuck out of your life, there’s nothing wrong with moving on."
"I know that," I grumble. I’ve told myself the same thing, over and over, yet some unknown force holds me back. Of course they don’t know it’s been two fucking years since I’ve been intimate with a woman, and being in such close proximity to a beautiful girl like Sophie is the worst kind of torture.
"So, what’s the hold up, man? I’d be tapping that sweet pussy every night." Pace gives me a goofy grin.
"She’s a virgin." As soon as I’ve said it, I want to take it back. It’s too intimate a piece of knowledge to share with them. It’s Sophie’s personal business. I don’t tell them how I’ve come to possess this information, or that I’d bought the right to that particular privilege; I just sit there staring down into my now empty glass, wondering if and when I’ll do something about it.
"Wow." Collins says while Pace’s cocky grin widens. Asshole. "Not what I was expecting you to say," Collins continues, "I thought you’d feed us that line again about her being your buddy’s little sister."
Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten the story I gave them. Just another testament to how messed up my head is right now.
"We all know things aren’t totally finished with Stella – so I’m not going to pretend like they are, but really, is that honestly what’s stopping you?" Pace asks, his eyes full of genuine confusion.
"I don’t know." It’s partly that – partly that I’m not sure if Sophie wants me, or if I even deserve to take something so precious from her. Part of it is her innocence, the sweet way her eyes follow me around the room, her trusting nature, the selflessness she displayed to save her sister in the first place…she’s entirely too good for me to use for my own pleasure. I already feel guilty – but after, I know I’ll feel guilty as fuck. And even though I tell my brothers nearly everything – my participation at that auction is something I’ll take to the grave. Not for my own sake, but because I doubt Sophie would want anyone knowing she’d sold herself that way.
"You need to figure it out, bro." Pace slaps me on the back before pouring another measure of liquor into my glass. "Otherwise I have a feeling you’re in for a massive case of blue balls."
He’s not kidding. I’m certain I have enough pent up semen to father three-quarters of the world’s population. My dick aches constantly and my brain swirls with thoughts I shouldn’t be having, but worst of all is the way my heart beats faster when she’s near and all my senses tune into her completely.
My life for the past two years has been a lesson in order and self-control. I worked hard, and logged long hours at the gym, but I haven’t been really living. Sophie's brought out a different side to me. Just the act of her curling around me at night had softened me, made me remember life wasn’t only about coping. There were things worth living for. I wanted more of that mixed in.
Chapter Ten
Sophie
The mid-morning sunshine and the fact that there’s still a warm male tucked against my side, remind me that it’s Saturday. I stretch leisurely in the bed, already daydreaming of the delicious frothy cappuccino I’m going to make myself. I feel quite proud that I’ve mastered that damn over-pretentious coffee machine. It only took me three weeks.
Colton surprises me by reaching out and tugging me back against him. I’m greeted by a rather impressive erection nudging my backside. Gah! It's warm and solid and my body clenches uselessly, responding automatically at the mere thought of him.
Aside from those first two nights, we’ve had no other sexual contact. I should feel relieved, but instead I find myself increasingly frustrated and confused. Almost a month has passed. I had figured he would take my virginity right away, but after several days and then weeks, I've become increasingly anxious and curious about it. Now I just want to get it over with, I'm tired of waiting and wondering when he’s going to do. I was purchased as a sex slave and I know I'm not living up to my end of the bargain.
In the evenings he stays up late, working in his office and all but ignores me. Does he not find me attractive? Is he gay? Were my blowjobs that bad? The wait is maddening. Is there something wrong with me that my master refuses to fuck me? The belly churning anticipation is worse than the actual event. I need to get this over with. I’d often suspected he took care of his needs during his morning shower, but I’ve never been brave enough to venture into the bathroom for confirmation.
At first I wondered if he was waiting for me to make a move, to climb into his lap, or kiss him…but I know that’s not it. He wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted from me the first two times. He’d ordered me to my knees, undone his pants and stroked himself while I’d watched. I knew he wasn’t timid, which made this all the more confusing.
You could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife – it’s a real and visceral need permeating the air around us. And each night I’m expected to cuddle up to a shirtless, buff, delicious smelling man, lay in his arms and be the perfect little obedient bedmate. The problem with all this? It’s fucking confusing. He’s spent a million dollars to bring me here, and I’m all too aware of the money – every time I call home, when I hear about Becca’s progress, every time I wander the various rooms of his mansion, or catch my reflection in the mirror and remember where my new designer wardrobe came from, it sends another wave of confusion rattling through me. I need to know what’s expected of me – where we stand – what this arrangement involves.