Page 17 of Enslaved

He’s still here. A breath away anticipating my next move. He had spoken so surely when he described how much I would want him; crave him mating so fiercely with me.

“I don’t want children,” I lied, pretending to be bored, “especially not yours.”

With bravado I didn’t feel, my index finger poked his chest.

He didn’t budge, but stood, silently staring—almost as if debating if I’d taste better with sugar or cream poured all over me.

“Jessie? Jessie? I need you on the aft deck.” Andre, the lead deckhand, called out on the radio clipped to my belt.

“Move.”

He smirked, amused by my command.

“You’re too beautiful to scrub decks.”

My spine stiffened. “Your compliments won’t work. I have no illusions about my lack of beauty. Besides, a woman’s worth shouldn’t be measured by her looks.”

“It’s not. It’s by how she can take cock,” he breathed, finally backing up to let me pass.

Chills ran over my skin. He’s truly a depraved sexual deviant who has me in his sights. Maybe he has a fetish for plain looking woman like me. If that’s the case, I’m in more danger than I thought. I’m hardly a virgin but far from promiscuous. I enjoy regular missionary style sex with long-term boyfriends. It’s where I’m most comfortable in the bedroom. But this guy, who’s more devil than man, is inferring he’d take me places I’ve never felt like going to before.

I ran down the small corridor, yanking open the door. The hot sun of the Med hit my skin, but I was shivering. I panted, hiding behind a stack of deck chairs. My hand rubbed in-between my legs as images of him entering me forcefully from behind played out in my mind while his hands pressed me down to the floor. He ruts into me repeatedly—close to coming as his balls draw up tight, slapping against me.

In my fantasy, I don’t see his face because he wears a mask with golden devil’s horns.

I’m wet.

Panicked, at how fast he’s spinning my mind.

My thighs rub together attempting to ease the burn between. I slip one hand inside my waistband, creep my way past my thong and sigh in relief as I stroke my own clit back and forth. I came faster than I ever have before. The mini-orgasm taking the edge off the pulsing ache flowing from deep inside.

I huffed out a breath, fixed my clothes, blinking my eyes in stunned disbelief at what I just did to myself.

We’ve only spoken twice. But already he’s conditioning me; making my body desire the very thing my mind wants to fight.

“Jessie? Jessie! Are you okay?” Andre’s voice came over the radio again. I unclipped it, pressing the button to talk back to him.

“What?”

“I called your name three times. One of the guests left her bag in the main lounge. Grab it and bring it out. They’re departing.”

“Sure. I’m on it. Sorry. I have a bit of a headache this morning.”

He doesn’t reply. I scurried inside, found the expensive Louis Vuitton bag and lifted it, smelling myself on my fingers. I felt cheap. No better than the sluts leaving the ship. With my shoulders sagging, I handed the bag to Andre waiting by the launch.

“The inside crew just asked for you to go inside.”

“Why? I just came from the main salon?”

“I don’t know. Just do what you’re told.”

“Okay,” I hesitated, “Andre? Can I ask you something?”

“Not now,” he whispered standing close, “the boss man’s watching.”

I turned my head startled he was referring to my dark mystery man. “Him? Isn’t he just a guest? I thought he came onboard with the escorts…I don’t even know his name.”

Andre stared incredulously at me. “California, that is Christos Devillo. The owner. He often comes and goes by helicopter. But everyone calls him,El Diablo.” Andre murmured close to my ear.

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