Filthy Beautiful Lies

I never imagined we’d fly somewhere, so when we pull up alongside a small private jet parked on an abandoned airstrip, bitter acid burns its way up my throat.

Panic zips through my veins at the thought of leaving everything I know behind. Even my zip code, which had never really meant that much to me, suddenly feels like something that defines me, is being ripped away.

Without so much as a carry-on bag, I follow him up the narrow set of stairs leading into the belly of the plane. It’s a small private jet with a sleek, sophisticated interior. A cluster of four leather captain’s chairs flank the center and Drake slides down into one near the window. Unsure of where to sit, I sit down in the chair across from him. The leather is inviting and supple under my fingers and I relax just a little into the seat and take in my surroundings. Night has fallen quickly and it’s almost completely dark outside. The interior of the jet is illuminated by little LED lights lining the pathway on the carpeting giving off a faint glow.

Drake lifts a glass decanter from a nearby table and pours a few measures of amber liquor into a crystal tumbler, then takes a long sip. He licks his full lower lip and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the plush leather seat.

There’s no overhead announcement, no safety demonstration, and no warning. All of a sudden the jet’s engines roar to life and we’re barreling down the runway. I fumble with the buckle on my seatbelt, latching it just as we take flight. I can feel Drake’s eyes on me, watching me curiously, but I don’t dare lift my gaze.

When I finally look up, Drake’s poured a glass of the alcohol for me and is holding it toward me. ‘It might help.’

I’m not much of a drinker – and especially straight liquor – but I know he’s right. I have no idea what he has planned for me, and this will probably be the only opportunity I have for pain management if I’m going to lose my virginity later.

He seems so calm and in control, it makes me wonder what might be lurking under the surface of that composed demeanor and expensive suit. A warm shiver races through me and I take a long sip of the drink, welcoming the burning path the liquor creates down my throat.

Colton

Tonight has been an absolute fucking debacle. One million dollars was more than I’d wanted to spend and more importantly, I didn’t want a virgin. I’d wanted one of the older, more independent girls who’d done this type of thing before. Not someone I’d have to handhold and train every step of the way. Something tells me Sophie is going to take more time and work than I’ve bargained for.

I release a heavy sigh, and take a long swallow of bourbon, letting it warm a path down my throat. The dull roar of the jet engine is giving me a headache and I pour another measure into my glass.

I glance over at the girl, she’s finished her drink, and the way she’s huddled into the leather chair – her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around them –screams of her discomfort. Her eyes are closed as though she’s trying to summon her inner strength for whatever is about to come her way. I can already tell this isn’t going to go well. Fuck.

I’d only outbid that asshole who wanted her because he’d gotten the girl I had picked out. She was closer to my own age – twenty eight, and this was her third time entering into this type of relationship. She was tried and tested and would have made a good drama-free companion. But that prick had been the one to take her home, so when he started bidding on Sophie, outbidding him was my way of giving the asshole a taste of his own medicine. Plus, he just seemed like a dirt-bag and I didn’t want him to have her. The little boy inside me wanted to take his toy and go home. Of course, the terrified, timid girl sitting across from me is now mine to deal with, so maybe I hadn’t exactly thought that plan through.

And a virgin too…would she even be capable of handling me? I hadn’t wanted a project – someone to babysit and go slow with. But shit, I’m the one in control. There’s no real reason to go slow. I can set the pace of this. And I will.

As I continue studying her, my cock perks up in interest. She’s petite, but with all the rounded curves a woman’s body should have. Soft moldable tits and an ass meant for grabbing onto. Or spanking. Her skin is creamy and pale, except for the apples of her cheeks which are flushed pink. Long dark hair hangs loose over one shoulder. My gaze travels north and I realize her blue eyes have lifted to mine. She’s watching me expectantly, obviously wondering what will happen next. Good fucking question.

I have no idea why I told her to call me Drake. Actually, I do. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that my employees call me Mr. Drake and hearing her call me Colton would feel too familiar. Too intimate. That isn’t what this connection is about. It’s business. Pure and simple. The business of my dick getting some much overdue attention and having a steady female companion without the hassle of navigating the dating scene. Get your head in the fucking game, Colt.

Sophie

The plane safely touches down after only about thirty minutes or so, and once again, we climb on Drake’s motorcycle, which I learn has been stored in the bulk luggage compartment underneath the plane. Darkness has fallen all around us, which fits my slightly buzzed and melancholy mood. I want to hide in the night shadows and pretend that none of this is real.

While I hold on to him for dear life, he expertly navigates us down the highway, the single headlight illuminating our path. I pay close attention to the passing signs. We are near Los Angeles – a place I’ve never been. Soon he takes an exit for Malibu and once we’re on the surface streets, my heart begins pounding. We’re nearing our destination and I have no idea what’s in store for me.

When we pull up to the gated drive, Drake stops the bike to punch some buttons on the key pad, and I peer around his shoulder, eager for a look at what will be my new home for the next six months. It can’t really be described as a home…it’s a full on mansion, complete with a stone drive leading up to a sprawling estate.

Little twinkling lights illuminate our path and provide me with just enough light to make my jaw drop open at what I can see. The house is stucco in the color of warm honey and two huge columns flank the rich mahogany front door. Drake cruises right on past the front of the house and parks beside a six-stall garage before cutting the ignition.

Here we go.

Butterflies take flight in my belly as he leads me toward the house. We navigate a winding stone path lit with landscape lighting toward a side entrance. I suppose it makes sense we aren’t going all the way around to the massive front doors. That entrance is probably only used for guests, yet it’s too strange to think that I live here now, that I’m not just a visiting guest.

I wonder if he’s just going to leave his bike parked outside all night, but then realize he probably has someone on staff to pull it into the garage. I can’t imagine he’d have a home this large and not have people hired to help him take care of it. I doubt he personally dusts the knick-knacks in the one hundred rooms, or however many this monstrosity has.

We enter through the glass-covered side door into what appears to be the world’s finest mud-room. Tall pale wood lockers reach from floor to ceiling, a wire basket of umbrellas, a large tufted bench with a few pillows artfully arranged and a large area rug to cover the marble floors.

He tosses his suit coat and the helmets onto the bench and continues toward the hall. My eyes scan everything as I trail behind him.

‘Front entry,’ he says, pointing to the darkened foyer that’s even more impressive than I imagined. Dual winding staircases meet at the base of the foyer where there’s a round table sporting a huge vase of pink peony blossoms. They smell incredible. Like sunshine and happiness. It seems like a girly touch, but I shrug off the thought. Again, I’m sure it wasn’t chosen by him. Then again, I can’t imagine anything in his world that he doesn’t exercise complete control over.

‘Formal living room,’ he points to the left, not even bothering to turn on a light or enter the room he’s indicated. It looks cavernous and anything but welcoming with stiff, modern furniture. I struggle to take in every detail as he continues moving.

I realize he’s giving me a tour, but it’s rushed and impersonal. For someone who owns such a spectacular mansion, it seems like he’d take a little more pride in showing it off. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on what.

He points out several more rooms, a cold dining room with a humongous table, a darkened library filled with books I get the sense he doesn’t care about, and rarely bothers to read. ‘It’s a beautiful library,’ I murmur. I want to run my fingertips along the dusty spines and go hunting for a treasure to read.

A look of dark emotion flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away, his carefully composed mask safely returning, before leading me away.

‘Where do you spend your time?’

My question stops him in his tracks and he turns to face me, his eyes focused on mine. He studies me for a moment as if trying to decide why I want this information. Call me crazy, but knowing a few details about the man I’m now living with and expected to service might be a teensy bit helpful, and so far this tour and his home have revealed nothing. He tips his head toward a far corridor. ‘This way.’

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so nosy, because now as he leads me further into the belly of the house, all my fears rush to the surface. Does he have some weird sex room like Christian Grey’s red room of pain?

He opens the door to a large office, complete with an executive style mahogany desk, black leather chair, charcoal gray sofa, and a mini bar built into the far wall. This room has a cozy feel to it with its rich wood furniture, plush carpeting and the subtle scent of his cologne that I smelled earlier. A set of glass doors lead out to a balcony. ‘Out here.’ He motions me forward as he crosses the room.

He opens the glass door and steps out onto a large deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean and I am stunned into speechlessness. The soft whoosh of waves in the background and the gentle breeze blowing my hair back from my face are immediately calming.

I can see why the opulent rooms of the house don’t interest him. This is like a private oasis out here. Two wooden lounge chairs outfitted with comfy looking cushions and a small round table nesting between them are the only pieces of furniture, but it’s perfect. Anything more would clutter the space.

He lets me take in the peaceful setting, and when he breaks the silence a moment later, it temporarily startles me. ‘You’ll probably discover I work too much.’ He points toward the office. ‘And I come out here to unwind.’

I nod in silent acknowledgment. It might not be much, but he’s exposed a small piece of himself, and I tuck the knowledge away. He’s a workaholic and perhaps a contemplative man, spending his time alone with the sounds of the water to keep him company.

We head back inside and Drake completes the tour – there’s an outdoor swimming pool and garden that I only peek at through the window, as well as a home gym one level down.

Finally he leads me into a den with huge windows that overlook the ocean and has a sectional couch and large flat screen TV mounted above a fireplace.

‘This is it,’ he says, somberly.

All this just for him? It must get lonely.

He stands in silence studying me for what feels like too long. Realizing that the tour is over, my eyes fall to the floor. Are we going to have sex now? Here in the den? I imagined it’d be in his bedroom, but I suppose this is better than a weird sex dungeon or some other strange alternative. I have no idea what his interests and preferences are, but I suppose I’m about to learn. My heart thuds dully in my chest.

‘Eyes up,’ he orders again.

There’s something he dislikes about my refusal to meet his eyes. Is he ashamed he bought me? It’s as though he wants to pretend all this is normal. I’ll play along. For now. I don’t know what he is capable of, and I don’t want to anger him. I meet his gaze. What I see is an intense man – his dark eyes speak of pain and past trauma, and someone fighting to practice restraint - if the tick in his jaw is any evidence.

‘You don’t have to be so skittish around me. I’m not going to hurt you, sweetness.’

I draw a fortifying breath. I want to believe him. His tone is sincere, as is the nickname, and the way he’s gazing over at me feels non-threatening, but still, all my senses are on high alert. I need to keep myself on guard until I have my bearings.

‘Come sit down.’ He crosses the room and sits in the center of the large gray sectional sofa.

I sit down in the spot next to him, my breathing erratic. I should thank him for the money but I don’t know his intentions. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just new to this whole sex slave thing,’ I say instead.