Precious Gems (A Blake Brothers Novel) (The Blake Brothers Book 1) Page 5

  “He sold you. Or rather, he offered me your virginity as an incentive to finalize this deal.”

  Chapter 9

  “He did what?”

  My jaw drops, the room shifting and blurring as I try to come to terms with what Faron just said. An acute and very sharp pain stabs me in the middle of my chest. A knife being jammed in and then slowly removed by the audacity of my father’s actions.

  Mudd Phillips has never disguised his dislike of me since the day I was born and as long as I can remember. I wasn’t the second son he wanted, and I drove my mother away, according to him. I was a nuisance, an annoying female complication that he couldn’t figure out how to use to his advantage.

  Yet, once I hit puberty, his entire outlook changed. When Mudd was sober, he drilled into me the importance of keeping myself pure because he didn’t want to raise a grandchild. And when he was drunk, he would do a one-eighty, calling me names and slut-shaming me just for being a woman.

  I ignored all of it because I had no desire to be any of those vile names he’d labeled me so cruelly and so often. I believed my virginity was the one and only thing I truly owned and had control over, so I protected it with everything I had.

  Whereas every other aspect in my life was managed and controlled by Mudd. He dictated when I ate, what I ate, where I went, who I went with, when I would or would not attend school, where I lived, who my friends were, and what I would do to contribute to the family business.

  In essence, I wasn’t his daughter. I was his servant.

  But this time? This time, it isn’t just names. This time, he’s created some sick game with my life, sending me on a mission to fence a fake diamond, and then disrupts the entire scheme by changing the rules.

  Mudd has what Faron wants - the diamond – still in his possession, and Faron has the money to pay for it. And now I possess something of value, that has been factored into this crazy, convoluted equation.

  I growl angrily, jumping out from the warm comfort of the bed to pick up the pile of clean clothes Faron hands me.

  “He has no right to give what doesn’t belong to him.”

  Faron tilts his head, an arrogant smirk painted on his face. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it could’ve easily been mine for the taking ten minutes ago. Your body seemed ready to willingly offer it up to me.”

  I stop in my tracks on my way to the bathroom, spinning around to stare at him wide-eyed at how casually he just threw that out there.

  He steps in toward me, prompting me to stare up into his dark cavernous eyes. Getting lost so quickly in the pull between us. Losing all semblance of how fucked up this situation is and falling into a trance his gaze produces in me.

  He flicks a loose strand of hair behind my shoulder, brushing over the bare skin that sends ripples of sensation down to my toes. A flock of birds taking flight in my stomach.

  “Trust me when I say, Gemma, that I don’t buy innocence,” he assures me, his head bent to whisper in my ear. “But I will take it. And before this thing is over, you’ll give it to me freely.”

  It’s shocking. I want to deny it. Tell him he’s wrong. That there is no way in hell I’d ever hand over my virginity to him, this arrogant asshole of a man holding me against my will.

  I open my mouth to refute his claims, to push him away so I have room to breathe, but the words get trapped in my throat when his lips meet the sensitive skin below my ear. My hands flutter wildly before they land on his firm, solid chest. I try to push him away, but instead, grab his sweater to draw him closer.

  His warm breath fans out, the scent of minty fresh breath with a tang of bourbon lingering over my neck, the masculine spice of his cologne activating some chemical reaction in my bloodstream.

  My eyes close on their own accord, as I tilt my head to the side to offer him more canvas to explore. The sensitive buds of my puckered nipples rub roughly against his shirt as it grazes Faron’s chest.

  A squeak of excitement escapes my lips when his hand wraps at the base of my neck, drawing me closer, my belly doing crazy acrobatics from the thrill of being handled this way.

  I want more, more, more.

  And he seems to answer the call with the firm press of his hard length between my legs, his foot kicking at my ankle to give him room.

  Our bodies are tangled in a dance of possession and need. Desire and control.

  Without disengaging his lips from the spot on my neck, Faron walks me backwards in calculated, measured steps until my back is pressed to the wall and Faron’s cages me in from the front. His fingers weave through my hair, tugging it into a fist, his fingernails biting into my scalp.

  And then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is punishing and cruel, as if a means of transferring all his frustration out on me. His mouth maliciously attacks as his tongue stabs between my lips so that our teeth clank noisily together.

  And it is everything I’ve ever wanted.

  It’s not the soft peck of my first kiss. Or the grossly sloppy and underrated teenage make-out session with Pete Hanson in the ninth grade.

  No, this kiss is powerful, shaking me to the core, rendering me lightheaded as my knees wobble and my heart wickedly thunders in my chest from the roguish manner he masters my mouth. I’m vibrating with need, but as Faron ends the kiss, I realize the vibration I feel against my hip is actually his phone.

  Faron backs away so suddenly, I feel as if I’m falling from a dizzying height. He drops his hands from my neck and hair, staring at me with a disassociated scowl. As if he can’t quite believe what he’s just done with me. Or why.

  Everything in me turns cold, shivers manifesting over my skin, skittering down my arms that I cross in front of my chest, hugging my torso tight in a protective gesture.

  “Fuck,” he curses, his voice roughened by lust, blinking a few times before shaking his head. “What the fuck?”

  His question is rhetorical, as he shoves a hand in his pants pocket and removes a phone.

  “What?” His answer is brittle and terse, and I wonder if the caller on the other end of the line is surprised by his tone.

  There’s now three feet between us, but he remains watching me with scrutiny as I try to blend into the shadows as much as I can.

  “Roman, I’m busy. What do you want me to do about it?”

  I turn my head and notice the mirror on the other wall, seeing my reflection for the first time. My hair is a disheveled mess and my lips are swollen and puffy from the way they were devoured just moments ago. I smooth down my fly-aways as best I can, hoping to regain some semblance of modicum, even though I like my sexy, mussed-up look.

  Out of the corner of my eye, Faron edges toward me until he’s within inches again. One hand grips the phone to his ear and the other he places at my chin, turning me to face him.

  “Yes, I understand. If that’s what you want to do, I agree with you. But this has to be sorted out tonight. I have other pressing matters I have to deal with.”

  His thumb glides over my bottom lip, pressing down at the center so I’m forced to open my mouth. He’s so casual about it, looming before me, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth. In a bold gesture, I flick my tongue over the smooth edge of his thumb, watching as his dark eyes stoke like black charcoal. And then he shoves it in my mouth forcefully, demanding that I suck.

  He narrows his eyes, as if this brings him as much pleasure as it does me. His thumb plunders and explores my mouth, my cheeks hollowing out in suction, electrifying me with bolting currents of lust between my legs.

  I’m dizzy with this heady feeling as it courses through me, yet Faron just stares at my lips, his tone flat and unaffected, continuing with his conversation as if nothing is happening.

  But his arousal in his pants tell another story entirely.

  I grin, circling his thumb with the tip of my tongue, extracting a husky groan from his throat.

  “Fine, I’ll be there in ten.”

  And then without warning, his thumb leaves my mouth empty and he turns an
d walks toward the door. I’m lost in a sea of confusion and lust-filled haze, as conscious thought returns, slowly bubbling back up to the surface.

  “Faron?” I ask, my voice sounding brittle and thin.

  He breathes harshly but doesn’t turn around.

  Almost resigned to some decision he didn’t make, he says, “I’ll send someone up with dinner and an outfit. You’re to be ready by nine p.m. sharp. I’ll send a driver for you then.”

  Reeling, I reach a hand behind me, grabbing the wall to keep me steady. It’s the only thing that makes sense or has definition at the moment. Everything else just seems foreign, like a French movie without subtitles or dubbing. I’m lost in the beauty of it but understand none of it.

  A sharp snap of his head over his shoulder and his gaze locks on me, and a visceral heat forming in the space between us.

  “If Mudd won’t hold up his end of the bargain, you, Gemma, will be his substitution. And I will get what’s owed to me one way or another.”

  Chapter 10

  I wait a little over an hour before there’s a knock on the door and the arrival of an exotic-looking woman with long silky black hair and a heavy accent.

  “Monsieur Blake requested that I attend to your needs and help you get ready. May I enter?”

  I gesture her in with a half-smile. She has with her several garment bags and boxes in her arms, another bag slung over her shoulder. Far too much for one petite woman to carry and I immediately offer to help her out.

  “Non, non. I’m perfectly fine. Why don’t we set up over here?” She points with a chin nod to the desk on the far side of the room. “That will do.”

  Following blindly behind her, I notice how lithe she is, how elegant. I wonder who she is to Faron. Or Mr. Blake as she referred to him. Is she simply an employee? A family member? Or maybe a lover or girlfriend?

  I shake my head free from the ridiculous jealousy slapping me in the face over a man I’ve only kissed once and who clearly regrets his actions. Or at least, I think he does. Honestly, I can’t figure out which way the wind blows with him. One moment he’s pissed at me for being associated with my dad, and the next thing I know, he’s making grand gestures like this, bringing me fancy clothes and a personal attendant.

  As I sit down at her request, she runs her hands over my hair, pulling it back into a pony and out of my face.

  “I am Serene, by the way,” she says with the eloquent French roll of her R. “First, I will apply your make-up and then we shall do your hair. And finally, we will choose the perfect dress for you to wear tonight for Monsieur Blake.”

  I blink several times, squinting in confusion as she laughs at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Non, non, mademoiselle. We do not want premature lines on this beautiful face of yours.” She massages the wrinkles in my forehead with her fingertips, shaking her head as she does.

  Her touch and voice are almost hypnotic, as I close my eyes and allow her to work out the stress I’ve been carrying in my temples and brows.

  “Do you know where I’m going tonight?”

  I glance at her reflection standing behind me, a tight smile curving at her lips, dark beautiful eyes that catch mine. They express cautious concern.

  “Je ne sais pas.”

  I don’t know a lot of French, but I do know that one. She doesn’t know where I’m going. Great.

  Dropping my chin to my chest, I wring my hands in my lap in frustration until I feel the weight of her hands on my shoulders, drawing my gaze back up and my posture straight.

  “There should be no sadness for you. You shall be the most beautiful woman there. I will make sure of that.”

  I roll my eyes and laugh, but give her a smile, nonetheless. “Good luck with that.”

  She laughs a dainty, wispy sound. “Nonsense. Vous êtes très belle.”

  I don’t respond but shake my head, as she begins the prep work to get me beautified. This is the first time I’ve ever had my make-up done and been made to look “pretty.” Having always worked hard to downplay any of my feminine features and looks to avoid male attention, it’s only now that I have a desire to seek the spotlight from one dark and mysterious man.

  Serene continues to work her magic with all the highlighters, brushes, tubes of gloss and powder, and while she does, I sit taller and stare in wonder at the transformation.

  “Where in the world did you learn to do this?” I ask in awe, rolling my head side-to-side to seek a different angle.

  “I was a model in my teens. Moved from my home country to Paris after my family was killed. But the profession wasn’t something I could sustain. And then I met Rome…”

  I wait for her to say more, but she busies herself by selecting a sleek black, strappy dress for me, that I slip on and then gush over her genius.

  “Wow…just, wow. You do amazing work.”

  She waves an elegant hand in the air, repacking all the paraphernalia she brought with her.

  “Nonsense, darling. When you begin with the perfect canvas, it is simply enhancing the beauty.”

  I stare at myself in the mirror, running my hands over the sleek lines of the dress, hugging my curves and showing off so much leg it makes me blush.

  I’m not the girl that arrived here two days ago.

  I’m 100 percent a different woman, ready to prove myself to the world.

  But mostly to Faron.

  Because the woman standing in the mirror is seductive.

  Beautiful.

  Powerful.

  And she’s determined to finish what she came for.

  Faron didn’t return home as he said, and instead I’m whisked away by a car and then ushered into a building with Hulk leading the way, his thick legs eating up the space in the long corridor as I struggle to keep up.

  It’s a hard thing to do when I’ve had no practice walking in high heels. I’m clumsy and awkward, growing more irritated by the minute.

  “Can you please slow down?” I ask in a breathy voice because I’m nearly winded by the speed in which he’s walking.

  He doesn’t stop or slow down as requested. “No. We have three minutes.”

  “Three minutes for what?”

  He simply grunts and turns a corner, which I obediently do as well. We near a doorway that has two men standing on either side, their dark suits fit nicely over broad shoulders, arms hanging down, crossed in a very militant pose in front of their groins. They appear to be well-dressed bouncers.

  I glance at them both as Hulk nods in greeting and unlocks a door with a card. Neither says anything, nor do they move, their arrow-straight backs positioned against the walls in a sentry-like fashion.

  The door opens to a bright light ahead, music and hushed voices, and beautiful women dancing on platforms stages centered throughout the room.

  It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I try to keep up to Hulk like a puppy on a leash. But I get distracted by the women dancing on the platforms.

  I think we may be at the same club I was in the first day I arrived, but if it is, it’s definitely a different section. From the looks of the men sitting around the room at small cocktail tables, dressed in fine suits, along with the clearly guarded doors, I can only assume this is not open to the general public.

  My feet have stopped moving as I watch one woman on one of the stages bend over, presenting her ass and backside as a man takes some sort of whip and hits her with it. I rear back in surprise, my eyes flitting between the two, as he reaches out and rubs a hand over the red mark he just left. Then he grabs her thighs, shoves his head between them and begins licking her pussy as she grinds in his face.

  “What the -” I mumble in shock before a strong hand clamps down on my wrist and jerks me forward.

  Hulk impatiently pulls me along as I stumble behind him, my gaze never leaving the two displaying very intimate PDA. But then my attention is drawn elsewhere as we pass the next platform where a woman is sprawled out on a chaise lounge chair, legs spread
wide to hang over each side, her hand between those legs touching herself. Her fingers dipping into her own pussy as she grinds and moans and masturbates in front of the crowd.

  My throat is suddenly clogged, parched from both thirst and shock, my mind whirling in alarm as I try to digest what it is I’m witnessing for the first time.

  Is this some sort of sex club? Private stripper club? A fantasy-land of kink?

  If so, I know I’m way out of my element. This isn’t a life I’m familiar with or accustomed to seeing.

  A zap of humiliation courses through me, the heat rising like a Phoenix over my neck and face until I’m flushed with embarrassment, mortified over what I’m watching. And, I’m absurdly aroused.

  There’s no time to analyze my thoughts on the subject matter as Hulk brings us to a screeching halt in front of a table where Faron and two men sit in quiet discussion, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on in tantalizing form right in front of them.

  Alerted to our presence, Faron stands, whispers something to Hulk who obligingly nods and then leaves me standing there, dazed, confused and very turned on.

  A smirk on Faron’s face tells me he can read my thoughts. “Like what you see, little girl?”

  I huff out a response. “No. It’s degrading and disgusting.”

  He laughs wickedly and winks, reaching around my waist and pulling me close, my hips fitting into his side. “You’ll get used to it.”

  My body tightens as I glare at him, assessing the level of seriousness in his comment, because I don’t think I could ever get used to this.

  Before I can retort, he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit down. I do so reluctantly, feeling trapped under the weight of the two pairs of eyes scrutinizing me from across the table.

  Faron makes the introductions. “Gemma, these are my younger brothers and business partners, Roman and Weston Blake.”

  Even if he hadn’t mentioned they were related, it’s easy to see the family resemblance in the three men’s shared features. While neither of his brothers are quite as dangerously gorgeous as Faron, they both offer attractive traits.