Once a Myth (Goddess Isles Book 1) Page 9

  Her head fell back as another orgasm tore her apart, swift on the heels of the first.

  I let her use my fingers.

  I watched her transcend from meek, trafficked slave to resplendent, gorgeous goddess.

  And I suffered a similar thirst to come.

  My fist worked up and down my cock, punishing with a pressure that guaranteed to bruise.

  She was beyond drenched. So ready to be fucked; her pussy so swollen and slick that my two fingers weren’t enough for her.

  She mewled and panted, sounding as desperate as she was.

  More tears rained down her pretty cheeks, splashing onto my suit as she rode my fingers, seeking something bigger, brutal—becoming frustrated with the lack of girth and length.

  How easy it would be to tell her to get up and sit on my cock.

  How grateful she would be for me to bend her over and crash inside her.

  How fucking stupid could I be to even entertain the idea?

  I gave her my hand so she wouldn’t break entirely. My intention wasn’t to condemn her to despair and ruin. My goal was to set her free. To show her that here, on my shores, there was no such thing as frigidness. She needed to learn her body. Every woman I’d bought was required to become intimate, extremely intimate, with every crevice and hole, accepting their perfections and flaws as one exquisite package because the form they had was the gift that would grant their freedom, along with a thousand orgasms as payment.

  She would learn to beg for another dose of elixir. She would drop to her knees and crawl for a single drop.

  I grew harder at the image. My thighs trembled with an impending release.

  This new girl needed to get the fuck out of my office.

  I needed her gone.

  I jerked as I fisted myself too hard.

  “Get up,” I snarled, masturbating myself while she chased another detonation.

  Her feral eyes met mine. She went to shake her head, but I dug my thumb into her clit with command. “Do it. Do it now.”

  With a pitiful cry, she forced strength that she didn’t have into wobbly legs and gave me enough room to roll out the pain in my wrist. My fingers held threads of her musky desire. The slippery cords of her release sticky and damning.

  With obscene willpower that’d taken my entire thirty-three years to master, I stood and faced her.

  We both breathed hard, our exhales raspy and shallow. Her hand reached out to grab my cock. Her tongue wet her lips as she stood transfixed, hypnotised by the sight of my erection and the blatant invitation dazzling in her eyes.

  It would be so fucking easy.

  Too fucking easy to spin her, shove her, fuck her…hurt her beyond redemption. Beyond resale or profit.

  I grabbed her wrist, stopping her short from touching me. “Don’t.”

  She writhed on the spot, tearing her hand from my hold to rub against her over-sensitive flesh.

  I’d achieved what I’d achieved by not giving in to my diabolical thirsts. I wouldn’t fail now. No matter that I couldn’t remember ever being this fucking turned on.

  However, I wasn’t above torturing her as I splayed my fingers covered in her slimy cum and ensured she saw it glittering like cobwebs in the sunshine.

  She moaned under her breath as I wrapped those fingers around myself, smearing her wetness all over me.

  The pressure to come hinted I could give in right there. The tingle and sharpness just begged for permission—for one lapse of concentration to ejaculate. Every instinct bellowed to command this girl to her knees and come on her goddamn face.

  I was tempted.

  Sorely, fucking tempted.

  I stepped toward her with the order on the tip of my tongue.

  Her gaze forcibly left my fist-wrapped cock, crawling to my eyes and locking there. With trembling hands, she grabbed the hem of her jumper again, bringing it up over her hips, revealing her pussy.

  Her clit was so swollen it glistened through the manicured hair—hair that could stay, as men who visited my island liked women, not little girls. The insides of her thighs were powdery with dried moisture where the flesh around her cunt was drenched.

  She kept pulling her jumper up and up, exposing her perfectly formed breasts and tight, pink nipples. Her face disappeared for a second as she tugged the clothing over her head.

  Her hair crackled as her eyes sought mine again, standing there stark fucking naked. Her ribs were visible as she panted. Her tallness gave her an ethereal quality even while muscle definition said she didn’t rely on false gifts such as good genes. She wasn’t lazy. She used her body for activities and adventures…and now she wanted me to use it in every dirty and demeaning way possible.

  I grunted as the first spurt of my orgasm hit me by surprise.

  She gasped as the pearly droplet shot from my cock and splashed against the floor.

  On the precipice of giving in and milking every delicious clench, something flashed in her gaze.

  A ripple of disgust.

  A coil of abhorrence.

  She still hadn’t given in entirely.

  She still hadn’t accepted her fate.

  With meticulous slowness, I pressed my rock-hard cock, still pulsing with cum, against my stomach and winced as I struggled with my zipper. Tugging my shirt over the tip still visible above the waistband, I let my belt hang on either side, casually buttoning up my blazer while she stood weaving before me.

  It was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever done.

  My teeth cracked with self-control and denial of my climax.

  Her cheeks blazed as I continued to study her nakedness.

  Once again, it’d seemed my ego had come to bite me in the ass. I should never have used my own fantasies as a shopping list. Her body was flawless. Prim but limber. Lean but curvy. Her skin held bruises, rope burn, and ink from her time with the traffickers and the bandage on her neck hinted she’d end up with a little scar from her ordeal.

  If she could drive me this close to breaking my infallible rules while dirty, injured, unwashed, and exhausted…what the fuck would she be like after my staff had taken care of her?

  She wouldn’t require time to get into shape. She wouldn’t need special meal plans or exercise regimes like some of my other ‘recruits.’ She was perfect in every fucking way and the stormy grey depths of her gaze, still battling lust and loathing, made rage overshadow my hunger.

  I wanted to break her into goddamn pieces.

  I wanted her to know just who her life belonged to.

  Four years wouldn’t be enough.

  Cursing those black-coated thoughts, I yanked my cell from my pocket and dialled without ever looking away from Ms Eleanor Grace.

  She dragged fingertips down her waist, shivering as goosebumps sprang over her skin. I didn’t know if she was aware that she constantly touched herself, seeking, seeking, always seeking a release.

  “Yes?” Cal, my manservant, for all intents and purposes, answered on the second ring. “Need something?”

  “Come and collect our newest goddess from my office. Take her to her villa. Ensure no one goes near her, do you understand?”

  Eleanor shivered again, her nipples peaking to an all-new tightness just from my voice.

  Fuck.

  All it would take was one tiny command, and I could be inside her. I could break her apart. I could ensure she learned her lesson that I owned her. Breath, heart, and fucking soul.

  With my fingers clutching my cell so tight, the casing cracked a little, I added, “She’s high on elixir. If you let her near any of the guests, I’ll castrate you, got it?”

  Cal chuckled in my ear, nonplussed by my threat. He’d heard worse. And he knew what the girls were like when they were drugged.

  Watching them in their heat always made me hard to partake in what they so violently wanted and also pity them in their desperation.

  However, today, I felt no pity for this girl.

  This Jinx…this purchased mistake.

&nbs
p; “I’ll ensure she’s kept well away from anything she can fuck.” Cal snickered.

  I hung up.

  I cupped Eleanor’s cheek.

  She immediately turned her head, trying to bury herself in my touch. Her lips met my fingers, and she recoiled, only to suffocate under another wash of elixir and lick my thumb.

  “Please.” Her throaty beg made my imprisoned cock ooze another drop of cum. “Please…I need to be filled. I need…” She swallowed hard. “You.”

  My stomach knotted itself into an agonising mess.

  My balls throbbed with excruciation to shoot the remainder of my pleasure into her.

  My entire body could no longer fight the blend of wanting to destroy her, coupled with the hunger of consuming her.

  But she wasn’t worth ruining myself over.

  She was nothing.

  Merely an acquisition to make me richer than I already was.

  And fuck, she’d make me rich.

  Grabbing her chin, I murmured harshly, “Fuck anything without my permission and the sharks will enjoy a snack, after all.” Tearing my hand from her cheek, I walked around her, stiff, hard, and achy. “Now get out of my fucking office.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I LOST COUNT OF my orgasms after I hit ten.

  Hours blended into each other.

  My system revved at a million miles a minute, keeping me alert, alive, and entirely too reactive to any stimuli, yet beneath that thirsting drive for more and more pleasure, I was exhausted.

  My limbs had turned into useless noodles. Any sensation against my skin sent me into a full shudder that almost crippled me. The only serenity I’d found was in the lapping ocean outside my villa.

  My fingers and toes had wrinkled from staying in liquid for too long, but the thought of dragging my aching, wrung-out form from the weightlessness of salty sea was too much.

  I can’t.

  I’m…I’m done.

  More tears squeezed from my eyes as I floated on my back, mingling with the ocean that kissed and soothed my traitorous body.

  Sunset slashes of mauve and mandarin Picassoed the sky above me.

  The air temperature had fallen from unbearable to temperate, and the ocean continued its non-judgemental embrace. It cocooned me gently, washed away my abominable behaviour, and rinsed away the finally fading dregs of debilitating need.

  I didn’t have a bikini on.

  I didn’t care I was naked.

  I’d blindingly run into the sea after my fifteenth or fiftieth orgasm, sobbing in fatigue and unable to stand another touch. Even though it was my touch. My fingers that wrung bliss after bliss from my bruised and throbbing body. My hands that couldn’t stop even though I begged for a rest.

  I’d put my jumper back on, trying to prevent myself from torture.

  I’d tried tying my wrists together with a towel.

  Nothing worked.

  Unable to take it another minute, I’d bolted from the villa, past the security guard posted so I couldn’t enlist some despicable paying guest to rape me, and over the glittering crystal sand. The beach undulated beneath my bare feet in erotic ways. The splash of cool water on my legs threatened to become sexual, but I threw myself headfirst into the wetness, staying under until my breath grew thin and my heart pounded for another requirement other than drugged desire.

  My grey jumper had become waterlogged, dragging me to the shallow bottom where sand glittered through turquoise clarity, and sparkly, metallic fish darted suspiciously around me.

  By the time I’d come up for oxygen, I was able to take a breath that didn’t hunger for yet more pleasure and, in utmost relief, threw off the sodden jumper, watched it sink, then gave everything I was to the sea.

  That’d been at least two hours ago, and I still hadn’t moved.

  After a man in another suit had carted me from Sinclair’s office and dragged me down yet another sandy pathway, I’d ached with a need so painful I’d almost fallen to my knees when his fingers locked around my elbow.

  Sinclair hadn’t looked at me as I was unceremoniously removed from his picture-perfect office. Even after everything that’d happened between us, he looked unruffled and entirely unmoved. No sweat on his brow, no dampness crinkling his clothes.

  How cold-blooded must he be to not feel the humid heat or show any signs of the lust scalding his veins? And I knew he had felt lust because he’d almost come. He’d stopped himself. He’d tucked himself away mid-release as if I was an abomination and didn’t deserve whatever consummation we could’ve shared.

  My back had slicked with as much moisture as my pussy. My temples and hair were damp from sweat—perspiration from desire as much as the tropical mugginess.

  He was the most callous and cruel person I had ever met, and, floating weightless in the sea surrounding his island, my hate returned a thousandfold. Lust didn’t overshadow my every thought anymore. The boundaries and borders that allowed civilisations to evolve from rutting beasts to intelligent humans were well and truly back in place.

  What an absolute asshole.

  What a monster to drag me here against my will, feed me a drug—also against my will—and then watch me flounder for something I abhorrently didn’t want yet couldn’t stop begging for.

  He could’ve had me.

  I would’ve done anything in that moment to have him enter me and give me what I was so empty for.

  But now…

  Now?

  God, now I was prepared to murder him with my bare hands. I wanted to slash his jugular with that condemning pen I’d used to sign his awful contract. I wanted to swim and swim until some fisherman scooped me from the sea in his net and tell the police about this sick and twisted island that he’d trapped me on.

  What would Scott think?

  I blushed a deep crimson. Even though my behaviour wasn’t my fault, and I’d fought it at every step, I still suffered guilt so thick it made me nauseous.

  How would I ever look him in the eyes again, knowing how I’d acted?

  My guilt turned to homesickness.

  Had he enlisted the authorities to look for me yet? Did my parents know I’d gone missing?

  My eyes burned as another cascade of tears began.

  I hiccupped and swallowed them down. I honestly didn’t have the strength to cry. I’d reached the end of my limit. I needed to sleep, to rest, to forget.

  Allowing my legs to sink beneath the surface, I hovered vertically instead of horizontal. My eyes met those of the guard who’d never left the sand, even in the beating sunshine. He’d kicked off his loafers and hovered around on the edges of the lazily lapping waves, ready to launch after me if I did make a swim for it but content for me to bob if that was my only intention.

  He was young. Probably only mid-twenties, yet he willingly worked for a monster like Sully Sinclair.

  My fists curled in the water.

  Don’t think about that bastard.

  He was yet another topic I had no energy for.

  For the first time in hours, my thoughts were my own again, and my throbbing body licked its wounds rather than drove me to do unspeakable things.

  I could no longer ignore my wrung-out tiredness.

  I hadn’t slept since I’d been corralled from the room I’d been held in with Tess, forced to shower, been tattooed, tagged, and knocked unconscious to fly halfway across the world.

  After today and what Sinclair did to me, I had no energy left for escape.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow…I’ll get free.

  With a groan and a thousand pounds pressing on my shoulders, I stood in the waist-deep water and made the agonising trek from the cushioning ocean back to harsh gravity.

  The guard watched my every naked move, but he didn’t approach me; he didn’t give me any signal that I was in danger of him molesting me. Instead, he allowed me to inch my battered and lust-broken body up the beach to the private villa I’d been tossed into.

  I didn’t know what part of the islan
d I was on or if I even had neighbours. The way the villa had been constructed made it seem as if I existed entirely on my own. No hint of cages or locks. No obvious imprisonment or signs of co-inhabitation.

  My feet ached. My back ached. My core ached. Even my fingers ached from making myself come over and over again.

  All I wanted to do was to sit down in a sprawl and never move again.

  But…I also wanted to shower away the last week of my life. I wanted to be clean when I finally succumbed to sleep.

  Dripping saltwater over the white sandstone tile, I cut through the lounge with its matching silver driftwood furniture, gauzy curtains, and high thatched roof and rafters like Sinclair’s office. Unlike his office, though, this one had an annex with a huge king bed, crisp white sheets, mosquito net slung over the carved bamboo headboard, and a bathroom off an alcove where a kitchenette waited with a fridge stocked full of water and icy beverages.

  In my exhaustion, I didn’t even care I was held there as his prisoner.

  In another world, this was a beautiful hotel. In a previous existence, long travels equalled jet lag, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open much longer.

  Stepping into the bathroom, I tried not to marvel at the exquisite vanity carved like a wave with the bowl curved and sensuous along the entire wall or the glass door leading to an outdoor shower surrounded by palm fronds and a rock wall for privacy.

  Sluicing off salt and shampooing my hair, I barely managed to dry off and face plant onto the inviting bed before I passed out cold.

  * * * * *

  A phone.

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a phone.

  My heart rate spiked from exhausted dreams to manic hope. Jack-knifing off the bed, I launched at the innocuous phone waiting on the simple side table holding a lamp with a rattan lampshade and a box of tissues.

  Grabbing the receiver, I checked for a dial tone before punching the emergency number.

  Nothing.

  Clearing the call, I tried again, only to hear a click and a pleasant feminine voice, “Good afternoon, Jinx. Are you ready for something to eat? We can have room service delivered, or you’re welcome to come to the goddesses’ private dining villa.”

  I froze.