Take Me (4 page)

“We have agreed to your terms. What more could you possibly want?”

Ryder's lips curled into a smile and he glanced toward the door Talia had just exited. “Well, now that you're asking…”

 

Talia took a deep breath as she made her way back down the corridor. Her pulse still raced, her stomach felt all fluttery.

Would the man—Mr. Worthington—have told them what had happened between the two of them? Surely he wouldn't be that stupid. She had warned him that his punishment could be death. And if they were to learn that their precious investor had forced a kiss on her…by gods it would not be pretty.

She balanced the four mugs on a tray with one hand and used the other to press the code to enter the Council's chamber.

The doors slid open with a hiss and she stepped into the room. Immediately she noticed the change in dynamic. It was uncomfortably quiet, and all eyes focused on her as she made her way across the floor.

“Your coffee,” she murmured, lowering her gaze as she set the tray down on Victor's desk. “Mr. Worthington, do you take cream and sugar?”

“Always with cream.”

She looked up. The way he'd said that made the word cream seemed dirty. His gaze bore into hers, and her hand that held the pot of coffee trembled.

“Do we have a deal, boys?” He spoke to the other men, but never took his eyes off her.

His question was met with a heavy silence. She paused in the midst of pouring the coffee and glanced over at the Council. Something was wrong. All three appeared reluctant to answer, but Franklin appeared absolutely livid as well.

Victor finally gave a terse nod. “Yes, Mr. Worthington. You have a deal.”

The words chilled her and a sense of foreboding took root.

“That's right decent of you.” He grinned and then crossed the room toward her. “Oh, and I should warn you, I like things a bit rough.”

A strangled gasp escaped her throat as he reached out and cupped the back of her neck. Her gaze flew to the Council, sure they would be reaching for their weapons.

Ramirez nodded. “You may use her as you wish, but do not leave lasting marks.”

Use her as you wish.
The words spun in her head.
Use her as you wish.

“Victor?” Her voice cracked as she turned to the head Council member.

He ignored her, instead keeping his focus on Alan Worthington. “The agreement is for two hours.”

“Sounds great, boys. And we can use her bedding unit?”

“Ramirez?” She tried to get the older man's attention, but he lowered his gaze. “What is happening? Please, someone explain.”

“I'll explain, princess.” Mr. Worthington touched her cheek, his face so close to hers she could see the mocking amusement in his eyes. “I get to do whatever the hell I want with you for the next two hours.”

The room spun and she was unable to breathe. No…. He had permission to bed her? Heat spread through her body as she thought of that moment they'd shared in the hall. How firm and confident his mouth had been on hers, how knowing his fingers. How he'd coaxed a fire within her that she had never experienced.

That one encounter had lasted less than ten minutes, yet had subtly changed her ability to respond to the Council's touches. Two hours with him would ruin her for good, which could only lead to the most hellish of punishments.

“No.” She shook her head and fled across the room, falling at Victor's feet. “Please, no.”

“Stand up.” He jerked her to her feet, looking annoyed. “You're disgracing yourself.”

“Please. You cannot mean to do this….” She was babbling, tears in her eyes now.

Never had they given her away for another man's personal use. The thought of it sickened her, validated the term of whore Alan Worthington had called her earlier.

She shook her head. “I can't do this. I won't.”

A hand gripped her elbow, spinning her around. She noted Franklin's furious glare before his palm slapped across her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, the sudden stinging pain shocking her into silence.

Her gaze connected with Alan's and she didn't miss the anger that flashed in his narrowed gaze or the tightness around his mouth.

“Franklin,” Victor protested.

“No, she must learn.” Franklin gripped her shoulders and glared down at her. “You have no freedom, my dear. You are our
possession.
And if we decide to lend you out for a business deal or even to the Council's entire army, you will spread your legs without protest.”

Everything inside her went numb. Her emotions went strangely flat. She was a whore. She was. Stick the term Rosabelle on her all you want, she was a whore.

“I will take Natalia to her bedding unit now,” Alan said and crossed the room, sliding an arm around her waist.

She didn't protest; was almost grateful for his strength that held her upright.

“Now?” Victor's voice rose. “What guarantees do we have that you will not take use of Natalia and then go back on your word to back us?”

Almost to the door, he stopped them and turned around. “I have instructed my accountant to transfer five million tremas to your account in one hour as a gesture of goodwill.”

Victor gaped, practically salivating. “I see. Well—”

“If you haven't got the money after one hour, then come get me.” His grip around her waist tightened. “But only if it hasn't arrived. I plan to have the fuck of a lifetime with this little filly, boys.”

Little Filly?
Some of the numbness dissipated and Talia blinked.
Fuck of a lifetime?
Anger filtered through her blood and she clenched her teeth. She would not make this easy for him. To hell with the punishment she'd receive later.

“So unless you boys have any more protests, I'm going to make use of my gift here.” Alan smacked her ass and then squeezed the flesh, his palm nearly covering an entire cheek.

Her blood burned hotter. What weapons were in her room? To be more exact, what would be best to gouge his eyes out?

“No, no more protests, Mr. Worthington.” Ramirez went back behind his desk and began toying with his computer. “Enjoy your time with Natalia. You'll find her quite agreeable.”

“Thank you much, boys.” Alan tipped his hat and then led her out the doors into the corridor. He leaned down, his quiet voice tickling her ear. “I promise that he will pay for hitting you. Lead me to your room, princess.”

Why did he care if the Council hit her? “Do I have any choice?”

“No, Talia. You don't.” All lightness in his tone vanished and it almost sounded as if his accent had disappeared for a moment.

But wait, that made no sense. Confusion warred with her frustration.

“Don't call me Talia,” she muttered, attempting to pull away but his grip simply tightened.

“In the corridor you told me that was your name.”

Her laugh rose to semihysterical. “In the corridor I was out of my mind.”

“Perhaps you were in the state of mind you have always deserved to be in.”

What did he mean? And yes. The accent was gone, and his words were more formal now than that bizarre slang he'd been speaking to the Council with.

They arrived outside her chamber and she turned to him, her brows drawn together in a frown. When she hesitated to open the door, he grabbed her hand and placed it on the palm recognition security box. A few men passed by them in the corridor casting curious glances their way.

The door slid open and he pushed her inside.

She stumbled to the middle of the chamber, swinging around to face him. Her breasts rose and fell beneath the fabric. “You need to explain.”

A predatory smile crossed his face and he reached for the tie around his neck. “I don't need to explain anything, princess.”

His voice was cold, not even a trace of the accent. Who was he? A shiver ran down her spine and she took a few steps backward.

He pulled off his suit jacket and dropped it to the floor. “Take off your dress.”

Her pulse slowed and then accelerated right back up into double time. The heat that spread throughout her brought a flush to her body.

She ran her tongue across her lips. “No. I will not.”

“Agreeable indeed.” He raised an eyebrow. “All right. If you will not remove it, then I will do so for you.”

He lunged and her scream reverberated through the chamber. Her dress ripped as he caught the hem and jerked.

“No!” She twisted away, causing the dress to split halfway up her hip.

He jerked hard on the fabric he held in his fist, catching her off balance and sending her sprawling to the floor.

“Barbarian!” she screamed, trying to scurry away.

He fell to his knees and straddled her, grabbing her wrists in one hand and forcing them above her head. With his other hand free, he grabbed the bodice of her dress and ripped hard. Her breasts spilled free and she closed her eyes with a groan.

The room went quiet, with only the sounds of their ragged breathing to break the silence.

“By gods, Talia,” he rasped. “You're more beautiful than I imagined.”

She shook her head and tugged at her wrists. She tried to hold onto the anger inside her, but there was a more dominant emotion fighting to take hold. Hot fire spread through her body, locking the breath in her throat and hardening her nipples.

“Oh gods. This makes no sense,” she confessed huskily. “I should not want this.”

His eyes darkened. “But you do.” The calloused pad of his thumb smoothed over one nipple and she gasped, heat moving between her legs. “You do, princess.”

He lowered his head and nuzzled her throat, kissed the pulse that beat there before sliding up toward her ear. His palm, wide and rough, cupped her breast. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit gently.

Talia's hips arched off the floor, a guttural cry escaping past her lips. It was back, this strange heat and almost drunken state of arousal she got when he got near her.

He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb. Another tremble rocked her body and hot cream gathered in her pussy.

“I can smell your desire for me.” His fingers moved between her legs and rubbed lightly between the folds, the sensation so intense the muscles of her cunt clenched. “Unfortunately, fucking you will have to wait.”

“I…I don't understand.” She squirmed, desperate with the need for him to press his fingers inside her. “Alan…please.”

His lips moved against her ear, his words just a whisper. “My name's not Alan.”

The odd response brought her up from the thick depths of desire. “W-what?”

His hand moved away from her pussy and slid over to wrap around her right thigh. His expression turned somber, hard. “I'm sorry, princess.”

She saw the flash of the needle, just before it swung down and jabbed painfully into her thigh.

“No!” She struggled again, panic slicing through the fog of desire, but it was too late. Her flesh burned from whatever he was injecting into her.

Oh gods! What had he just done? She struggled harder, managing to free one wrist because of the terror-induced adrenaline.

“Hold still.” He recaptured her wrist and held her down, kissing the tears that rolled down her cheek. “Just relax.”

She shook her head, but the movement made her dizzy. The lights above her head left tracers. Opening her mouth to speak, she found her tongue thick and the words stuck in her throat. Why? Why had he done it?

“That's it, princess. Close your eyes,” he whispered and smoothed his thumb over her lips.

Her eyelids grew heavy, too heavy, and finally she closed them, almost certain she would never wake up.

 

Ryder waited until she was limp on the floor and then glanced around the room. He reassured himself there were no cameras, even if the room was almost certainly bugged for audio. It was the reason he'd told the Council he liked it rough, so her screams would be taken as a woman in pain. Not as a woman being abducted.

He hadn't expected her to succumb to his touch so quickly, to be trapped under the web of arousal. He'd only spoken in whispers, so low the bug would not suspect anything more than whispers of passion. Her moans had been real, and thankfully aided him in his quest. Surely the Council would have no doubts that she'd been a willing lover enjoying a moment of passion with a stranger.

He'd wanted to give her the injection when her mind was clouded by passion, and it had worked. She had not even realized his intent until the needle had already pricked the skin of her creamy thigh.

Ryder turned his glance back down to her. She was lying on her back, with her knees bent to the side and her arms limp on the ground above her head. Her thigh bore the small red mark where he'd plunged the needle. He kissed two of his fingers and then pressed them against the inflamed flesh.