Bartered (The Encounter #1)(13)

“Let’s unwind and relax before we turn in for the night. You look too tense, ma belle.” He cocked his head towards the lounge area, a large u-shaped leather cushion with black and white pillows in different designs and patterns.

Taking his lead, I followed him towards the area before we sat side by side, facing the moon. The fresh breeze, the illicit whispers of the night air, and Hugo’s potent, unrivaled hunger were heady.

Though he may come off as if he had all the time in the world, the way his eyes hovered around my cleavage and how it lingered on my skin as if he couldn’t wait to brand me—searing me with his possession—gave away the fa?ade he’d so carefully attempted to play down. Deep down, I was grateful he wasn’t going all about aggressive on me and was taking his time dancing to my tune. However, was I ready for this? No, of course I wasn’t. But this was my duty to my family—for my mother and brother. And though I despised my situation, I couldn’t very well hate the man who’d agreed to my father’s bartering tactics. Hugo was, after all, a businessman—with a healthy dose of sexual needs and conquests.

“More wine, chérie?”

I needed it more than ever. “Yes, I’d love some more, please.”

We enjoyed a silent moment as he poured my refill, but I was knotted in anticipation. Mind you, I felt like maybe I should rethink that clause I had adamantly demanded about no vaginal intercourse. Truly, the thought of anything going in my behind was mystifying. At that time, I had truly felt compelled to save something of myself in this twisted madness—giving myself away yet not everything of me. I was saving that part of myself because I believed making love was meant for two people in love, and Hugo and I were in no way involved in that sense. Mustering up the courage to go through the process was quite a bit more difficult than I had imagined.

“It’s tonight, isn’t it?”

A breath…

A pause…

Then, gasping for another heave as we eyed each other, him with that look—the look that told me my suspicions were not far off base. Nervously, I gulped half of my wine down before I froze whilst sipping my drink the moment his warmth brushed my skin. The back of his forefinger caressed the side of my arm, teasing. Provoking… antagonizing…

“We’ll take it slow. However slow you want it to be…” he murmured closely towards my face.

Animalistic wasn’t the word I’d describe how he looked. Maybe a little more like a refined, carnal way of letting a woman know you were going to be his, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. In the subtlest yet succinct manner, of course.

My gaze shifting from his lips then to his eyes, each stroke of his caress seemed like a potion to something unhinged. Even though I tried to dispel his irresistible charms and sensual advances, I could only hang on to his words, hoping he meant them because, if the time came and I couldn’t say no, I would count on him to save us both from the tricky predicament.

“Going slow would be a good start.”

“I give you my word, ma belle.” He paused before he brushed his lip against my ear, making my nipples hurt from this profound awareness of him and the intoxicating way he was speaking to me—with that sexy, accented English merely drowning me more in his sexual powers. “But,” he gave me a deadpan look, “I want something from you tonight.”

All this lavishness hadn’t been spurred out of nowhere. I wasn’t na?ve enough not to understand what it all had been about from the moment his eyes zeroed in on me, bearing seduction in their depths. Ready or not, I had to do my duty.

“I know,” I whispered as I met his gaze, unwavering from the promise I had signed a measly week ago.

“Très bien.” He traced the outline of the fabric of my dress, leaving my skin feverish while I tried to rein in my body’s overactive response. “Show me what you’ve hidden from me, Isobel. Strip for me—every single fabric off your body.”

Did he mean in the bedroom, or right this instant , out in the open where anyone could just walk in on us?

“Right here? Right now?” Was he bluffing?

“Exactement.” (Exactly.) Oh, dear me. I knew he was a sensual man, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought he would want me to do something so reckless… so wanton… so vulgar. And even though my mind was protesting, my body’s reaction had just escalated from excited to inflamed.

I watched how he lounged back in the cushions, toying with his drink as he gazed at me, waiting for me to do his bidding. I was half British, even though I had been raised Greek through and through. My beliefs and all the protestations of saving my sanctity had to be set aside to cater to this man. And I knew, once I went through this process, the next time would be bearable. One other thing that tugged at the back of my hesitation was my hoping Hugo would find my body satisfying enough to please him.

Sherry was voluptuous and sensual. She oozed sex each time she sashayed her hips. Chantel’s confidence—her brazenness and exceeding amount of confidence and, not to mention, her gorgeous, fit body—would bring any male in a one mile radius to his knees. Then there was me. Pretty yet dull as I had once been described by my peers. Isobel Callas, slender with little to no experience except for Damen about sex, hoping this wouldn’t dent my already slim sexual confidence.

Pushing myself up on my feet, I slowly walked a few steps away, enough for Hugo to see my entirety before I spun around to face the very man himself, knotted with such nervousness I felt nauseous.