Bartered (The Encounter #1)(18)

Was she out of her loony mind? What she was suggesting was shameless. Besides, if I said yes, what did that make me? A very curious individual? My mind kindly provided.

Her hold tightened, pulling me farther into the house while I tried to stop her, but she didn’t care. Maybe because she had no clue about some of my secretly hidden insecurities when it came to Hugo.

“You’re such a shy girl. We can hide if you want.” She kept on pulling us farther in, and the sounds became harsher. It was much more profound, echoing against the walls, and I couldn’t help that I was getting goose bumps from Sherry’s animal dying-like sounds.

“Come on, you have to see.”

Dammit. As much as I hated to admit it, I was beyond curious.

“And you promise he won’t see me?”

“He won’t if you don’t make a sound…”

Feeling like the ultimate peeping tom, the temptation of seeing him in action overrode rational thought. The two hadn’t even bothered shutting the double doors in his library. They’d simply gone at it, uncaring of the helpers and other people that could easily witness them mate like rabbits—well, more like Hugo not having sex, but f*uking to be precise. Yes. I hadn’t known what f*uking meant until that very moment.

“Look at how he thrusts. Only a man with enough muscular strength on his lower back and arms and a great sense of rhythm can thrust perfectly like that,” said the woman, whisper-hissing into my ear, who thought Hugo was the ultimate sex god. She’d admitted as much.

As much as I would like to quietly think of a snarky comment to make myself feel better, I couldn’t help noticing the power he exuded with each thrust. The only thing I could think about was him thrusting and how it would feel to be spread eagled on his antique desk, wide-eyed, gasping for his next invasion, feeling thrilled and utterly consumed by one man—Hugo.

“Watch how he dominates. He makes you come undone. With one touch, you just want to do anything to please him,” she went on with her words of awe and worship.

I couldn’t fault her. No wonder she was fine with this arrangement. A part of me wondered what it would be like to have him like this. At the same time, I knew my imagination would never turn into reality. I was a controlled woman who didn’t give in to her urges of sexuality. I wasn’t carnal; I was in love with Damen. No more, no less.

“He makes a woman tremble.” Chantel gave me a quizzing look. “Don’t you think so?”

Her whisper-hissing aside, it annoyed me she was saying the right words about Hugo’s masculinity and sexuality. Because, yes, as much as I would hate to openly admit it, I, too, trembled. I, too, became so sexually aroused I felt the wetness in between my legs before I realized what it was, and it bothered me greatly.

Six months, and I would be out of here in a heartbeat. Hugo and his odd sense of lifestyle wasn’t my problem. I was his plaything, yet I couldn’t allow myself to subconsciously submit to him even if my body had never felt so entranced until Hugo touched me seductively. Damen’s techniques were mediocre compared to his, but I would never submit to them. This was obligation. He was obligation, nothing more.

Loudly grunting my dissatisfaction, I was about to spin around and leave Chantel to her voyeurism when those dark depths snapped at me, connecting our eyes, when it struck me.

I had met him before.

But the question was, when? Because I couldn’t recall.





Chapter 12


Isobel


I immediately fled the scene with my heart pounding against my chest. Seeking the comfort of my own space, I rushed towards the right wing of the house and inside my bedroom. Once in there, I shut the door behind me before leaning against it, eyes closed as the images of him played in my mind, as I tried to remember where and when I had seen Hugo before. Maybe it was something about his side profile that seemed to have triggered a sense of familiarity about the man.

My God, what was that downstairs? Was this how he conducted his private life? Whereas his public persona held him in high regard, the opposite applied to his personal affairs. Yet everyone seemed to have accepted it. There was no talk of protest or any disgusting comments. Why was that? I wondered.

It was infuriating if I came to think about the fact he had left this morning without saying anything to me personally because he was in a rush to take care of a “personal matter.” Then he books me a spa appointment, only to find him engaged in his sexual exploits in his library upon my return. Whatever good opinion I had possessed of him had just turned to nil. It was obvious I wasn’t truly needed. Couldn’t he be less narcissistic and assign me somewhere I could use some brain activity? I was majoring in Journalism, I was certain I could be of some use somewhere in his vast selection of businesses. Being his plaything was boring, and that’s all he ever did, play He played with my mind and my emotions.

Sex was already covered by Chantel and Sherry. I was the fourth wheel he only summoned when the first two options were both exhausted.

I had always wondered what it was to be a socialite, what it meant to be pampered to the point one’s main goal was simply to look pretty and shop until you dropped. Being chauffeured around with a limitless credit card where I could shop for whatever I wanted. Doing whatever my heart desired only proved what I had known all along; I simply couldn’t be a man’s trophy.

Watching my mom deteriorate had only made me want to thrive harder to become the polar opposite of how she had gone about her life. Everything had halted the moment she’d gotten engaged. From then on, it was wedding, marriage, making a home, and then having babies. She said it herself before she had a miscarriage, that this was a woman’s role in life; to provide a home for her husband and children. I had nothing against marriage or having children, but I would certainly make sure the man I chose to marry would accept and respect my choices, that I would have a job of my own, regardless if we had children or not. Because one thing was clear to me; women felt obligated to give up their hopes and dreams the moment they said their I dos. Then they started losing their identity because they’d be too consumed in their new life, trying to please their in-laws and husband so hard they’d lose track of what had made them happy in the first place.