Dollars (Dollar #2)(43)

I bowed my head. Not out of respect or acceptance of his so-called apology but because I couldn’t look at him anymore.

I couldn’t stare into ebony eyes and try to read what he kept hidden. It gave me a headache.

Agreeing to go to Morocco is a mistake.

“Look at me, Pimlico.” His fingers tugged the sheet, forcing my fists to tighten to keep it in place.

My face pointed at the sky with fake bravado, but I refused to meet his eyes.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

I shook with adrenaline but not fear. I’d been in his company long enough now not to expect a fist, but I couldn’t read him. I couldn’t pre-empt or stall whatever it was he was about to do.

What is he going to do?

His grip on the sheet turned aggressive. Yanking hard, he caught me by surprise, spinning me on my feet like a carousel. The white cotton escaped my broken hand while I held on with my other as tight as I could.

But it was no use.

Half-naked with the sheet draped over one shoulder, I crashed into Elder’s arms only for him to turn around and slam me against the mirrored wall.

My spine screamed as the bite of coldness activated the humming sensitivity in my body. I gasped as his face twisted into a tortured mask.

He breathed hard and harsh, my inhales and exhales in total sync with his as our eyes locked in shock.

“Goddammit.”

Goosebumps broke all over me as his hands suddenly landed on my shoulders, kneading me like a cat. His nose brushed mine as he bowed closer. “What is it about you that I can’t ignore? Why do you have this power over me?”

I daren’t move. Even though I couldn’t.

I didn’t know what he meant. The one with the power was him. Only him.

He bit his lip again as his fingers trailed from my shoulders to the hem of the sheet covering my left breast. My right was exposed, totally vulnerable to the brush of his chest just like our midnight swim.

I pursed my lips, fighting his control over the rest of my ill-conceived dress.

“Let go, Pim.” Ever so gentle but with a ruthless, lethal command, he tugged.

I fought, but he was stronger.

My fingers hurt as the rest of the cotton fell away, leaving me naked.

I should be glad. I preferred this state. Normally, I felt nothing when the air caressed my flesh. Nothing but freedom from suffocation. Only this time…this time with his hungry eyes and the pinot noir replacing my blood, I was too hot, too alive, too damn conscious of everything a body could do and everything mine had been forced to endure.

My bruises ached.

My nipples pebbled.

My bones throbbed.

But it was nothing compared to my heart. She enlisted that damn traitorous emotion I thought had died the day I was sold.

Lust.

Damn rotten lust that I wasn’t acquainted with and would never, ever tolerate. It was a sick, sick emotion. It caused men to buy young girls and break them. It turned rationality into insanity. It ended the lives of so many.

Stark fear sprang like a hare as his large hand cupped my hipbone, dragging me forward until his cock bruised my belly.

He groaned long and low.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the snap I knew would come. He’d spoken of giving me time—fixing me not raping me.

I’d begun to trust his promises.

I was stupid.

This was payment for all he’d done for me. I would shut up, shut down, and deal with it. I could handle it. I’d handled worse.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I merely squeezed my eyes tighter and cocked my chin. I kicked the pooled sheet off my feet, balling my hands.

“Fuck, you’re too brave for your own good.” His fingers curled around my chin, holding me tight, pressing my skull against the mirrors behind me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me standing there so regal and unbroken when your body tells a completely different story?”

I clamped my lips together, ignoring the fresh throb in my tongue.

His mouth skated over mine in a barely there kiss, his breath hot and angry. “I’ve been able to restrain myself up till now, but every second with you, it gets harder and harder.”

With a feral growl, he pushed away, pressing himself against the other side as the doors chimed merrily, announcing our arrival.

The lift swung open.

The corridor was empty.

Elder stepped out. “Get dressed. Meet me on deck seven in half an hour.” Before I could collapse under the colossal weight of just happened, the doors swung closed and trapped me.

Morocco suddenly wasn’t the playground I’d hoped to play in—it was more of an executioner’s holding pen.

For the first time, I craved white because white kept me focused on who I truly was.

I’d begun to forget.

Elder had successfully just reminded me.

I won’t forget again.





YOU FUCKED UP.

You f*cked up.

You f*cked up.

The ceaseless mantra echoed in my head with every step.

I didn’t know why I’d slipped. Why that moment was the moment Pim drove me insane enough to contemplate taking her in the lift. It went against everything I thought I wanted. But f*ck me, having her body wedged against mine had been far too bloody tempting.

I had blue balls from trying to be the perfect host. I layered frustration upon frustration trying to be her councillor, protector, and friend.