He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze meeting mine. “Did he see these?”
My nipples tighten as I remember the hungry gaze of every man in that room. “Everyone saw them.”
“I mean that fucker who put a ring on your finger.”
Justin, who at this moment might be at my father’s house. “He saw them.”
“Did he touch them? Lick them? Put clips on your nipples?”
Deep inside I feel something twist, the turning of a screw. “No.”
“Pretty little virgin,” he says, almost sad.
There’s something feral about this man, a fire that burns inside him, untamed. He could have tossed me down as soon as we got in the house. He could have fucked me on that platform for an audience if he wanted to. As hard as this is, it could have been worse.
Gabriel didn’t buy my hymen, that’s what Candy said. He bought the right to teach me. And in the same way, I didn’t sell my virginity. I bought security. An unlikely tenderness surges within me. I place a hand on his thigh, intimidated by the warmth of him through his slacks, the hardness of the muscles I feel. But I won’t be deterred. Not when I know the gray-haired man wouldn’t have been so patient.
“You can touch them,” I say, feeling almost shy. “You can…lick them. If you want.”
He looks at me, almost disbelieving. “Christ.”
“Or should I do it to you?”
“A blowjob?”
I assume that’s coming, especially if he wants to continue to own a virgin, as he put it. “I can lick your nipples.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “Does that feel good for you?”
He’s completely still a moment, a statue made of stone.
Then he leans forward, grasps my hair in his fist, and shakes. “You’re so fucking innocent. Do you get that? So fucking breakable.”
He seems almost angry, but I don’t understand. I thought he liked my innocence. I thought that was the whole point. In the face of his fury, my lack of knowledge feels shameful. I shrink back, but his grip holds me tight. “What did I do wrong?” I ask, my voice even.
“Nothing,” he says, almost a snarl. “You’re fucking perfect. An angel. A sacrifice on a marble altar. You’ll give up every part of yourself just to save your precious fucking father, won’t you?”
He pushes me aside and strides from the room, slamming the door behind him.
I suck in deep breaths where I’ve fallen on the plush rug. Shock and fear form a toxic mixture inside me. I held out hope that my father’s complete and total ruin would be enough for Gabriel Miller. Held out hope he wouldn’t want to take it out on me. Now I realize how innocent that hope was. The pale-eyed man was right—the debt would be taken out of my skin.
And the fact that he hadn’t fucked me quickly isn’t a kindness. It means that he’ll make it slow. That he’ll draw out my torture. That he will make every penny count.Chapter SixteenWhen I catch my breath, I don’t waste my opportunity. I stand on wavery legs and head straight for the copper liquor cart. There are a large assortment of bottles and decanters, some of them with labels. Jack Daniels and Anejo Tequila.
The only alcohol I ever tasted is a few stolen sips of champagne at a society party. I can’t know that these bottles are expensive, except the rest of the house is expensive. And I suspect that a few of the bottles are made of actual gold and platinum, not just colored metal. There’s a crown of small diamonds on one of them. God, does he just throw this away when he’s drunk it all? The excess of the wealthy bothered me sometimes, but it seems almost cruel now that I’m broke.
Excess or not, I’m not going to drink his super expensive alcohol. For all I know he’d bill me for every thousand-dollar sip. He isn’t actually that petty, especially with the casual way he accepted the responsibility of a nurse for my father without argument. But I still would feel too strange even touching those bottles, like a small child playing with her mother’s jewelry.
Near the back of the cart, tucked behind some wine, I spot a plain-looking bottle of clear liquid. There’s a label, but it’s scrawled by hand, the blue ink faded. I squint and try to make out the words. The date’s about ten years ago—probably the newest alcohol on this cart. And definitely the cheapest. It’s almost full. He wouldn’t notice if I took a small shot. He wouldn’t care.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I rummage through the glasses for the smallest one. It’s small and square-shaped with a thick, heavy bottom. I twist open the top and pour a splash in. So small.
“Here’s to nothing,” I murmur before throwing back the shot the way I’ve seen in movies.