Purchased for My Sins

After the First Night

(Mara’s POV)

The door locks with that soft, final click and the silence rushes in like water.

My body hurts in places I didn’t know could hurt, thighs burning from the stretch of the ropes, ass and upper back stinging with every shift of fabric against skin, the deep ache between my legs a constant, throbbing reminder of how thoroughly he claimed me.

My throat feels raw from his grip, from the choked gasps I couldn’t hold back. Every breath pulls at the bruises he left there, invisible but pulsing.

And yet…

Between the pain is something else.

Something liquid and shameful that still flickers low in my belly. The way my body clenched around him when he denied me release. The way my hips chased the vibrator even as tears soaked the blindfold. The way I came apart under his fingers, his c**k and his voice.

I’ve never felt anything like it.

Not with the boyfriends I had before Liam’s father. Not even in the drunken night that gave me my son. Nothing has ever stripped me so bare, so fast, and left me trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure I didn’t ask for and don’t want to want.

I hate him for it.

I hate myself more.

I drag myself off the bed on shaking legs. The room is small, with soft gray linens, matte-black furniture, a bathroom with rainfall shower and heated floors. No clock. No phone jack. No way to tell time except the slow crawl of exhaustion in my bones.

The mirror shows me what he did, faint red lines across my breasts and thighs from the flogger, hand-shaped bruises blooming on my hips, a necklace of faint fingerprints around my throat. My n*****s are still tight, oversensitive. Between my legs I’m swollen and sticky.

I turn the shower on as hot as it will go.

The water scalds. I stand under it until my skin turns pink, then red, trying to wash him off. It doesn’t work. The ache lingers. The memory of his voice in my ear lingers. The humiliating truth that my body responded to lingers.

When the water finally runs cold I shut it off, wrap myself in one of the thick towels, and open the wardrobe he stocked for me.

Nighties. Silk. Satin. Lace. All in shades of black, red, deep burgundy. No cotton. No comfort. Everything designed to be seen, touched, removed.

I choose the plainest one I can find a black silk slip, short, bias-cut, no lace. It slides over my skin like cool water and clings in all the wrong places. I won't look in the mirror again.

My phone is on the nightstand still in my purse. He didn’t take it, small mercy at least.

I sit on the edge of the bed and dial Nora.

She answers on the second ring.

“Mara?” Her voice is hushed, worried. “Are you okay?”

I close my eyes. The sound of her almost undoes me.

“How’s Liam?” I manage.

“Sleeping. Fever’s down again tonight. Dr. Vargas came by earlier and said his counts are stable. They’re keeping him comfortable.”

I press my knuckles to my lips to stop the sob that wants to escape.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for being there.”

“Always. Now tell me are you safe? Do I need to call someone?”

I laugh, bitter and broken. “I’m… alive. I’m in his penthouse. Locked in a room. But he’s keeping his word about Liam’s treatment. The bills will be handled.”

A long silence.

“Mara…”

“I know,” I cut her off. “I know what this looks like. What it is. But Liam’s alive because of it. That’s all that matters.”

Another silence.

“Call me tomorrow,” she says finally. “Anytime. I don’t care what hour.”

“I will.”

I hang up before she can hear me cry.

I crawl under the covers, pull it tight around me like armor, and stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn.

(Vanessa’s POV)

I can’t sleep.

I sit in my apartment with a glass of pinot noir I haven’t touched, staring into nothing

No police scene or sirens. No Mara Reed being dragged out in cuffs like she should have been.

He didn’t have her arrested.

Sebastian Kane, the man who once fired a senior VP for misusing a corporate card by $400 didn’t call the authorities on a woman who stole nearly $200,000.

Why?

I swirl the wine I’m not drinking.

He could have buried her. One call to his lawyers, one tip to the DA, and she’d be gone, career obliterated, child taken, life over.

Instead he let her walk out of his office, let her go home.

Voluntarily.

Or not so voluntarily.

I think about the way he looked at her in the elevator that first night paused, actually paused while I stood right there, freshly f****d by him and yet invisible to him.

I think about the audit report I handed him this morning.

I think about the fact that Mara Reed is still breathing free air.

He wants something from her.

Something he can’t get from handcuffs and courtrooms.

Something personal.

He’s keeping her, not in a jail cell but for his control.

The realization settles in my stomach like ice.

Jealousy burns through me.

I emptied the glass in one gulp as it burned down my throat.

My hand drifts down my body almost without conscious thought. I’m still in the black silk robe I wore after my shower, nothing underneath. My fingers slide between my thighs, finding myself already wet just from the thought of him.

I close my eyes.

I picture Sebastian, not with her, never with her. With me.

His hand around my throat the way it used to be firm, possessive, never quite cutting off air but making every breath feel like a gift he granted. His mouth on my neck, teeth grazing the pulse point he knows makes me weak. His c**k filling me, slow at first, then harder, deeper, until I’m begging, until I’m coming apart under him.

I circle my c**t faster, imagining his voice in my ear low, commanding, the way it gets right before he lets me shatter.

“c*m for me, Vanessa.”

My hips lift off the couch. My free hand grips the cushion. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.

I see him pinning me to his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, f*****g me like he owns me, because he does, he always did.

My fingers plunge inside, curling, stroking that spot he always found so easily.

“Sebastian…” His name slips out on a broken moan

.

The orgasm hits like a wave, hard, sudden, shattering. I arch, thighs clamping around my hand, his name on my lips again and again as I ride it out.

I’m shaking, chest heaving, skin flushed.

Satisfied for now.

I finally feel the exhaustion pull at me. I rise on unsteady legs, leave the wine untouched, and crawl into bed.

Tomorrow I’ll find out exactly what he’s doing with her.After the First Night

(Mara’s POV)

The door locks with that soft, final click and the silence rushes in like water.

My body hurts in places I didn’t know could hurt, thighs burning from the stretch of the ropes, ass and upper back stinging with every shift of fabric against skin, the deep ache between my legs a constant, throbbing reminder of how thoroughly he claimed me.

My throat feels raw from his grip, from the choked gasps I couldn’t hold back. Every breath pulls at the bruises he left there, invisible but pulsing.

And yet…

Between the pain is something else.

Something liquid and shameful that still flickers low in my belly. The way my body clenched around him when he denied me release. The way my hips chased the vibrator even as tears soaked the blindfold. The way I came apart under his fingers, his c**k and his voice.

I’ve never felt anything like it.

Not with the boyfriends I had before Liam’s father. Not even in the drunken night that gave me my son. Nothing has ever stripped me so bare, so fast, and left me trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure I didn’t ask for and don’t want to want.

I hate him for it.

I hate myself more.

I drag myself off the bed on shaking legs. The room is small, with soft gray linens, matte-black furniture, a bathroom with rainfall shower and heated floors. No clock. No phone jack. No way to tell time except the slow crawl of exhaustion in my bones.

The mirror shows me what he did, faint red lines across my breasts and thighs from the flogger, hand-shaped bruises blooming on my hips, a necklace of faint fingerprints around my throat. My n*****s are still tight, oversensitive. Between my legs I’m swollen and sticky.

I turn the shower on as hot as it will go.

The water scalds. I stand under it until my skin turns pink, then red, trying to wash him off. It doesn’t work. The ache lingers. The memory of his voice in my ear lingers. The humiliating truth that my body responded to lingers.

When the water finally runs cold I shut it off, wrap myself in one of the thick towels, and open the wardrobe he stocked for me.

Nighties. Silk. Satin. Lace. All in shades of black, red, deep burgundy. No cotton. No comfort. Everything designed to be seen, touched, removed.

I choose the plainest one I can find a black silk slip, short, bias-cut, no lace. It slides over my skin like cool water and clings in all the wrong places. I won't look in the mirror again.

My phone is on the nightstand still in my purse. He didn’t take it, small mercy at least.

I sit on the edge of the bed and dial Nora.

She answers on the second ring.

“Mara?” Her voice is hushed, worried. “Are you okay?”

I close my eyes. The sound of her almost undoes me.

“How’s Liam?” I manage.

“Sleeping. Fever’s down again tonight. Dr. Vargas came by earlier and said his counts are stable. They’re keeping him comfortable.”

I press my knuckles to my lips to stop the sob that wants to escape.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for being there.”

“Always. Now tell me are you safe? Do I need to call someone?”

I laugh, bitter and broken. “I’m… alive. I’m in his penthouse. Locked in a room. But he’s keeping his word about Liam’s treatment. The bills will be handled.”

A long silence.

“Mara…”

“I know,” I cut her off. “I know what this looks like. What it is. But Liam’s alive because of it. That’s all that matters.”

Another silence.

“Call me tomorrow,” she says finally. “Anytime. I don’t care what hour.”

“I will.”

I hang up before she can hear me cry.

I crawl under the covers, pull it tight around me like armor, and stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn.

(Vanessa’s POV)

I can’t sleep.

I sit in my apartment with a glass of pinot noir I haven’t touched, staring into nothing

No police scene or sirens. No Mara Reed being dragged out in cuffs like she should have been.

He didn’t have her arrested.

Sebastian Kane, the man who once fired a senior VP for misusing a corporate card by $400 didn’t call the authorities on a woman who stole nearly $200,000.

Why?

I swirl the wine I’m not drinking.

He could have buried her. One call to his lawyers, one tip to the DA, and she’d be gone, career obliterated, child taken, life over.

Instead he let her walk out of his office, let her go home.

Voluntarily.

Or not so voluntarily.

I think about the way he looked at her in the elevator that first night paused, actually paused while I stood right there, freshly f****d by him and yet invisible to him.

I think about the audit report I handed him this morning.

I think about the fact that Mara Reed is still breathing free air.

He wants something from her.

Something he can’t get from handcuffs and courtrooms.

Something personal.

He’s keeping her, not in a jail cell but for his control.

The realization settles in my stomach like ice.

Jealousy burns through me.

I emptied the glass in one gulp as it burned down my throat.

My hand drifts down my body almost without conscious thought. I’m still in the black silk robe I wore after my shower, nothing underneath. My fingers slide between my thighs, finding myself already wet just from the thought of him.

I close my eyes.

I picture Sebastian, not with her, never with her. With me.

His hand around my throat the way it used to be firm, possessive, never quite cutting off air but making every breath feel like a gift he granted. His mouth on my neck, teeth grazing the pulse point he knows makes me weak. His c**k filling me, slow at first, then harder, deeper, until I’m begging, until I’m coming apart under him.

I circle my c**t faster, imagining his voice in my ear low, commanding, the way it gets right before he lets me shatter.

“c*m for me, Vanessa.”

My hips lift off the couch. My free hand grips the cushion. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.

I see him pinning me to his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, f*****g me like he owns me, because he does, he always did.

My fingers plunge inside, curling, stroking that spot he always found so easily.

“Sebastian…” His name slips out on a broken moan

.

The orgasm hits like a wave, hard, sudden, shattering. I arch, thighs clamping around my hand, his name on my lips again and again as I ride it out.

I’m shaking, chest heaving, skin flushed.

Satisfied for now.

I finally feel the exhaustion pull at me. I rise on unsteady legs, leave the wine untouched, and crawl into bed.

Tomorrow I’ll find out exactly what he’s doing with her.

And if there’s a crack in his armor, I’ll widen it.

Because if he’s giving her what he never gave me…

I’ll make sure the whole world sees it.

And if there’s a crack in his armor, I’ll widen it.

Because if he’s giving her what he never gave me…

I’ll make sure the whole world sees it.