My studies would be over for the foreseeable. I had no doubt. There was no way they’d allow me back to regular campus life after sixty days without so much as an email in explanation. My funding would dry up to nothing, my assignments falling under the radar until I was barely more than a ticked box on some admin sheet somewhere saying my position was done.
It only added to the importance of being a good girl for a bad man, no matter how much of my soul he shredded in the process.
It was no longer just Phoebe’s life that would be destroyed without his reign of savagery, but mine too. I needed the money now more than ever.
I took a calming breath and stared up at the ceiling.
I couldn’t care about the pain, not really. Couldn’t care about the humiliation or the suffering, or the prospect of being a fuck doll for men over the entire planet.
I could only care about coming out the other end.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
I pulled my fingers from my pussy and closed my legs tight, but didn’t clench my thighs. I didn’t want to feel it there, the filthy need at odds with every scrap of coherent thought I could manage.
I didn’t want to trigger my clit any harder than he’d triggered it already. I didn’t want to push my fingers inside my pussy just to feel where he’d been, even though the call was a shadow, looming deep. I didn’t want to taste his cum on my drying lips, even though my tongue kept betraying me and darting for a taste.
And most importantly, I didn’t want him to come back.
That’s what I told myself.
But that’s where my stupid reasoning fell down, even to me.
Even in the horror, I knew it was a lie.
And that’s when I knew it, for certain. Beyond all else. Beyond everything.
I’d deliver.
I’d deliver everything he could ever want from me.
I’d get through sixty days and walk out of the other side having earned every penny he’d promised me for my tarnished soul. He could take it all. Without fight. Without the illusion of dignity or fire or self-control.
I had nothing in my body and soul that he couldn’t take from me. Nothing I wouldn’t give him willingly. Nothing that wouldn’t be laid out bare and open on a platter for him to eat his fill and lap up the seconds.
I may not be a Rebecca Lane, with her perfect glossy mane of hair and her perfect curves for the camera, but I’d be so much more than her. Give so much more than her.
Only it wouldn’t be for Brandon Grant and his sordid empire.
It would be for Phoebe.
All for Phoebe.
And maybe a sliver. Just a tiny, fragile little sliver, would be for me.
I didn’t have any grip of the time that had passed by when the door handle to the prison room eventually turned again. My heart picked up a little, but I didn’t flinch. Not this time.
I was as still as a statue as an unknown figure entered the room with a tray in their hands and placed it on the floor by the side of the doorway. I looked at the delivery, and not at them, stomach rumbling at the sight of bread and water.
But I didn’t move.
I forced my eyes back up at the ceiling as I felt the stranger’s eyes on me, and made no move to cover up my modesty. My breaths were as even as I could make them. Legs spread easily enough on the mattress that I was open for being taken without so much as a scrap of fight.
My nipples were hard. Hands resting on my stomach with my fingers splayed wide.
They stood still in the doorframe. Watching.
Waiting.
I gave them nothing and everything all at once.
They took nothing.
And neither did I as the door closed behind them.
I left the bread and water untouched.Chapter TenBrandonI resisted every urge. Every pulse of my dick as I pictured her upstairs with my cum smeared over her pretty face. Every zip of a thrill up my spine as I imagined pushing past her limits and feeling the broken core of her.
I resisted everything.
The webcam feed to her room stayed muted and minimised. My screen was filled with technicalities. Messages and bidder profiles and the now Annabelle-empty schedule calendar I needed to update with a world of Paige.
I threw myself into business like she was nothing. Just another sixty-day girl. Just another filthy pay day begging for exploitation.
The world turned, and I turned with it, buried deep in my regular schedule without giving two living shits for anything other than the ocean of cash due to land in my bank account. Even my idiot brother toed the line as the day drew on. He stopped shooting suspicious glances in my direction. Gave up telling me that she hadn’t eaten her pathetic scrap of a breakfast or sipped the paltry glass of water I’d sent up for her.