Owned by the Billionaire(7)

     



 

The tempting smells of breakfast led me down the hall, past a few closed  doors. On the right, an open door beckoned, and I gingerly walked  through. My brief dash of confidence had been quashed by the cold  opulence of the mansion, unlike anything I had ever seen before. I felt  awkward and gauche, totally out of my element. The dining room that met  my eyes only increased this feeling of alienation.

A long table crossed the room, the rich wood gleaming under a  crystalline chandelier. Intimidatingly ornate flower arrangements graced  the table, and complex table settings baffled my eyes, even as the  delicious scents drew me further into the room. Miles sat at one end,  frowning down at a newspaper. Unsure what to do, I cleared my throat. He  looked up, still frowning, and my unspoken question died on my lips at  his forbidding expression. My shoulders tightened and I nervously  smoothed my skirt, looking down.

"Don't just stand there, sit down!" I jumped, then hurried forward,  drawing out a heavy chair a few places down from the moody man. He  jerked his chin at the dishes set along the table. I served myself, and  started to eat. A heavy silence descended over the table, as I ate and  he read, studiously ignoring me. My appetite dwindled into nothing as my  stomach twisted in growing anxiety, and after a few bites I started  picking at the rich food.

As I stared at my plate, glumly wondering what was going to happen next,  a loud clatter caught my attention. I glanced up, then stared as Miles  slammed the newspaper down, angrily shoving back the remnants of his  breakfast. He saw me watching and scowled, and my gaze shot back down to  the table as my nerves tightened painfully. The air nearly seemed to  simmer with his repressed anger, but even as the tension rose, depraved  arousal twisted through me. I fought it down, aghast at this perverse  response to his temper.

Lost in this wicked internal battle, I jerked when he finally spoke,  painfully slamming my elbow against the edge of the table. He rolled his  eyes at this display of clumsiness but went on, cuttingly sharp.  "Aren't you done yet? We're on a tight schedule today."

I gaped at him. "What? Why? What are we doing?"

"For starters, I'd prefer not to see you wearing my ex-wife's old  clothes." His tone was icy and I winced, mumbling an apologetic  agreement. My pleasure in wearing the pretty dress vanished. "I also  have an appointment at two, so we'll have to hurry." Standing, he tossed  his napkin onto the dirty dishes. He'd changed clothes, and now seemed  stiffly reserved in a tailored grey suit, the very image of a successful  businessman. I stumbled to my feet, painfully self-conscious once  again. His eyes narrowed as they swept down my body, and I crossed my  arms, my shoulders hunching inwards. Raising his eyes to my face, he  continued. "And I believe you have a phone call to make very soon."

I nodded hesitantly. Part of the contract I'd signed had stipulated  regular contact between the purchased virgin and the auction house, as a  safety precaution. I was supposed to call in every twelve hours, around  ten o'clock, until the contract was fulfilled and the final payment  deposited. The auction manager had made me memorize the phone number,  and when Miles passed me his cell-phone, I entered the digits with  trembling fingers.

A brusque woman answered the phone. She demanded the pseudonym I'd taken  for the contract, and then asked me a series of increasingly intimate  questions. The level of detail she insisted on left me feeling dirty,  and her barely-hidden contempt drove home the intense shame I still felt  over the whole sordid situation. Her probing questions and sneering  tone went on and on, until she was finally satisfied that I was safe  and, clearly more importantly, still technically a virgin and bound by  the contract. After a curt reminder to call back in twelve hours, she  hung up without farewell. Nearly in tears, I gave Miles back his glossy  phone.

With his current black mood, I had been almost tempted to ask the rude  woman for a rescue, but I hadn't quite dared to in front of him. It  hadn't seemed terribly likely that the judgmental bitch would have sent  help even if I had asked for it! I reassured myself that at least he  didn't know about the agreement I'd made with my best friend. If I  didn't call her the next evening, she was going straight to the cops. I  tried to convince myself that I wasn't as horribly trapped as I felt.

Clutching that pathetic comfort, I wrapped my arms tightly around myself  and turned my back on Miles, glumly staring at my toes. My left big toe  had chipped nail polish, a soothingly normal detail in this bizarre  situation I'd so willingly thrown myself into. To my surprise, a warm  hand dropped onto my shoulder. Without thinking, I nuzzled my cheek  against it, wiping away the tears I'd failed to hold back.         

     



 

Quietly, Miles spoke, the words halting and strained. "Sophia, darling.  I... I'm sorry. I can see that you're upset, and I know I'm at least  partly responsible." He sighed, a weary sound. "I just read some  disturbing news in the paper, and then seeing you in her clothes...  well, it just reminded me of some bad times. But I'm not mad at you, and  I'm sorry that that horrid woman gave you such a hard time. Please give  me a chance to make this up to you."

My heart melted at this sincere apology. I turned to him, and his tight  lips eased into a smile as I wrapped my arms around his lean waist. I  relaxed against him and he laid his cheek on my hair, rocking us  slightly. My voice was muffled against his chest.

"It's alright, Miles, I understand. Let's just try to enjoy today, alright?" I felt him nod against my head.

He held me close for a peaceful moment, before easing me back and  clearing his throat. "Yes, of course. Today." He seemed a bit adrift,  and then some thought struck him. "Ah, here, I almost forgot! I have a  gift for you, darling." Reaching into a jacket pocket, he thrust a  cream-colored envelope into my hands. Curiously, I turned it over in my  hands, then slid a nail under the flap. A hard plastic card was all it  contained, and I held it up.

"A... credit card?" The pleasant greed of receiving an unexpected gift  dissolved into dismay, as my searing shame about selling my body roared  back into my mind. He's already bought my virginity, what else does he  want from me? I shook off his hands and stepped back, holding the card  between two fingertips, shocked and hurt at this thoughtless cruelty. He  frowned at my lack of gratitude, crossing his arms.

"Really, darling. As though I'd just hand over a credit card! No, it's a  gift card for a clothing store." I stared at him, not appreciating the  fine distinction he seemed to think he'd drawn. He raised his eyebrows  arrogantly. "So you can buy clothes?" He prompted, as though I simply  didn't understand the concept.

I held the card back out to him. "I don't want any of your money." My  voice hissed out between my teeth, nearly strangled by outrage and  guilt. Prostituting myself once was quite enough! His frown deepened,  but he took it back without protest.

"Fine. You can buy your own clothes, then." He smirked when I flinched  at the jab. Like I could afford the kind of clothes he'd want to buy!  Ruthlessly, he pressed his advantage. "As I thought. Perhaps you would  like to re-think accepting my gift?"

I scowled and shook my head. "I'd rather wear your ex-wife's clothes  than let you buy me anything! Fuck that, I'd rather go naked!" Shaking  with anger, I bit off the words viciously. His head reared back at my  foul language, and then his jaw set ominously.

"Sadly, darling, that is not an option. Although keeping you naked is a  tempting thought, I am not willing to tolerate further defiance on this  subject." My chin lifted, and I held his eyes stubbornly. After a tense  moment, he looked away, thoughtfully tilting his head. "Well. Since we  seem to have reached an impasse, perhaps we should open negotiations." A  wicked light suddenly bloomed in his dark eyes, and I stepped back  warily.

"What do you mean?" I was sullen, but realized that I didn't want argue  any further and risk some warped punishment for 'defiance'. Perhaps we  could reach an agreement that would satisfy him and let me keep a few  shreds of self-respect intact.

"It seems that you won't accept a perfectly normal gift from me, for  whatever foolish reason, but perhaps you'd be willing to spend your own  money, instead." He leaned forward, eyes hot and intent. "Let's make a  bet. If you win, I'll arrange to forward you some of the money from the  auction, and you can buy the clothes yourself, with your own money.  Hell, you could even return them when we're done, if you absolutely  must."

I rolled my eyes at this one-sided prize. It seemed that buying new  clothes was not going to be negotiable, after all! He ignored my  expression. "If I win the bet, I buy your clothes, and you'll have to  thank me for the gift." His voice lowered to a suggestive murmur. "An  extremely gracious thanks will be expected from you for this act of  generosity."