His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel

Chapter 12

Trent

Ashley’s suitcases are full of clothing that Gretchen thought she would want. Casual jeans and shirts, nothing like what Ashley is hoping to wear out. I’m taking her shopping. We find a boutique on our street, Leoty Blue.

The small brightly lit space is filled with short fluttery patterned dresses made of brushed cotton. She chooses a red one, its fabric dotted in tiny white stars. She looks to me for approval and I smile. She knows I like her in red.

When she comes out of the dressing room, the transformation is incredible. The deep neckline shows the swell of her breasts, the material cinching at her waist, then flowing into a fluttering skirt.

It twirls as she turns. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect.” I finger the material. “Get one in every color.”

“I couldn’t.” She shakes her head, her curls bouncing.

Seeing my black card, the storeowner is quick to offer Ashley makeup, perfumes, jewelry.

Ashley politely declines them all. “Just the dress, please.”

But when we leave, her wearing the red dress and a pair of buttery leather flats, there’s twenty paper-lined boxes headed to my place, a new dress in each one. I don’t buy her makeup or perfume. She doesn’t need it. I like her just as she is.

I take her to my favorite restaurant and we dine al fresco, under the stars as she’s requested. For starters there’s white wine and delicate white mushrooms in a rich truffle sauce, then we move on to pressed duck and wilted greens. She wants to try a bite of everything so I order more small plates until she proclaims she can’t eat another bite, save for the chocolate mousse she manages to devour.

She loves chocolate and I have a few more of the mousses sent back to the apartment for her for later. We drink espresso from tiny china cups and we talk.

Neither of us presses the other about our pasts, choosing light topics of no importance. She wants to see the art museums while we’re here, and she’s so knowledgeable about the Louvre, it sounds as if she’s already been there when she describes it to me.

I tell her stories of the rowing team I was on in college and the trouble we boys got into. I make her laugh several times and it’s a beautiful sound, her smile, the same one that gripped me that day, lighting up the Paris night.

We find a small club and we dance. She’s an excellent dancer, rolling her hips in time to the music, her hands making gentle circles as she holds them above her head.

I go to the bar to get us drinks and when I return, the vultures have swooped in. A trendy haircut in a black leather jacket smiles as he leans in, whispering to her. She smiles politely, then turns her attention on the second man who speaks to her, a douche with high cheekbones in a pink shirt.

I want to kill them.

She’s mine.

I elbow my way between them, squaring my shoulders.They eye me, doing the math. Two of them, one of me. They stand slowly, deciding if they want to take me on.

They do.

The first utters insults at me, low and rumbling in French, assuming I don’t speak the language. I do. I shoot back with a few slurs of my own. His brows raise in surprise, thinking he’s underestimated me.

He has. Seriously.

I tell him and his friend they can take this opportunity to leave with their handsome faces intact, or they can hang around and see what’s left of their beauty when I’m done with them. The alpha of the two gives a dark chuckle at my threats, his eyes darting to Ashe as if he’s measuring if she’s worth it.

She is.

He leans back as if he’s turning to leave, then lunges at me. I anticipate his move, throwing my shoulder into the center of his chest, pushing my full weight behind it, slamming him against the bar. I hold his stunned gaze for a moment, then land a punch on his high cheekbone.

The other man lunges at my side. I shoot a fist out, surprising him by slamming into his oncoming stomach. He stumbles back, clutching his gut and gasping for the breath I’ve knocked out of him.

I slide my hand around his first man’s throat, pinning him in place. I look from one man to the other. Using their native tongue, I ask, “Are we done here?”

The man I hold down eyes me warily. He turns his head, spitting onto the floor. “We’re done.”

I give him one more shove before I release him. I stand back, letting them leave.

“That was so crazy!” Ashe grabs my arm, her eyes flashing with excitement. “But seriously, did you have to punch the guy?” Her words come out breathy and hot as her body curves around mine.

She likes that I’m possessive.

I hand her a drink, anger edging into my words. “Find some friends?”

She brings the drink to her lips and pauses. Her brow furrows for a moment, then she bursts out in a teasing laugh. “Excuse me? Are you… jealous?”

I simmer in my angry silence.

“I’m not that type of girl.” She rolls her eyes. “When I come with a man, I leave with that man. Always.”

“Understood.” I shouldn’t care who she fucks, but I do. I only want it to be me. I wrap my arm around her lower back, pulling her into me. “But just in case you’re tempted by another man, let me show you what you’d be missing out on.”

I take her back to my place.

I slip her dress up and over her head, tossing it to the side. She wears a black lace bra and panty set from the suitcase, the one thing Gretchen threw in of her own accord. Thanks, Gretch. My assistant’s Christmas bonus is going to be huge.

I slide my hand up her side, cupping her ribcage. “I love this.”

“It’s not something I would have bought myself, but I think it works.” She runs the tip of her tongue over her lip.

I grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over the back of my neck. I toss it over her dress. I receive a lusty gaze of approval, her eyes running over my chest.

They stop at the scar at my side. She reaches out, sliding a fingertip over it. I grab her hand in mine, leading her to the bed. I lay her down, kissing her, cupping and squeezing her breasts over the lacy bra.

I palm her sex with my hand while I kiss her, running my tongue deep in her mouth. She goes to slide her hands through my hair, but I grab them, holding them over her head and pinning them to the bed.

I rub her over her panties. I can feel her wetness. She kisses me back, her breaths coming in and out faster as I massage an orgasm from her. She fights against me, tugging against my wrists but I hold her down till her body curls around me and she’s screaming into my mouth.

I pull away, staring down at her flushed face. Her lips are red and swollen from my kisses, her eyes gleaming with lust. “I want you on your knees.”

She obeys, getting up slowly, lazy from her orgasm. I strike out, slapping her ass.

“Oh! That hurt.”

“Too slow. I want you facing that post.”

She moves quickly, kneeling before me.

I unhook her bra, freeing her breasts. I tug it down over her shoulders, binding her wrists by wrapping the stretchy fabric around them. I tie the ends of the bra to the bedpost. She tugs at the restraints.

I slip her panties down, pulling them over her feet and toss them to the floor.

I move behind her, reaching around her and cupping her breasts. I pinch her nipples, rolling them between my fingers as I shove her knees apart with mine. I’m reluctant to release her breasts, but my cock throbs with need.

I lose my pants, rolling a condom down the length of my shaft. I have a surprise for her. From the nightstand, I take a warming liquid, slathering my cock with it. The lotion is already heating on my palm.

It’s going to drive her wild.

I grab her hips, massaging them in my palms.

“What’s that on your hands? It feels slippery and… warm?” She squirms.

“Hold on tight.” I thrust inside her easily, the slippery lube helping me enter her quickly.

“Oh… oh… my god!” She starts to move her hips and in moments, she’s bucking like a wild animal. “Oh, that’s burning… but… oh, my god.”

I plunge inside her, over and over, the warming lube making her squirm and hump her hips back and forth. She tugs at the restraints like a wild thing, unable to comprehend all the sensations in her body.

I pour more liquid in my hand, reaching around and massaging her clit with the warm lube. She loses her mind. “Fuck, Trent! I don’t know if I can take it.”

“Take it, baby. Take it. Come all over my cock with that pretty pussy of yours.” I rub her clit in circles, diving deep inside her.

She moans, rocking her hips back and forth. “Oh, god. Oh, god.”

She’s whimpering, moaning, moving with abandon. She throws her head back as the climax takes her. “Trent! Trent!”

I fuck her harder, wanting to ride her right through that first orgasm and taking her to the beginning of a second one. At the end of this night, I want her sore between her thighs. When she walks the city tomorrow, I want her reminded of me.

Her knuckles go white as she wraps her hands around the bedpost, the bra still locking her wrists tightly together. She arches her back, screaming my name.

My own victory comes to me, hard and fast and powerful. I give a growl, grabbing her and pulling her into me with one final thrust. I hold her like that as the last waves of pleasure tremble through us. I untangle her from the bedpost. She collapses on the bed in a little heap.

I lay back on the bed, rolling the condom from my cock. “We did good, baby.”

“Let me see the condom.” She comes to life, leaning over my stomach, peering at my cock as I roll the latex from it.

Strange request. “Why?”

“Just let me see.” She looks panicked.

This is weird. “Tell me.”

She’s annoyed. “We did it kind of rough and I just need to know it’s not broken or anything.”

“Would that be so bad?” I laugh. “We could have made a little prince or princess in this bed.”

Her face goes white as a sheet, her eyes boring into mine. “Don’t joke.”

“Fine. I don’t want to have a baby with you, either,” I say. I show her the condom. “Fully intact.”

A breath rushes from her. “Thank god.”

She’s so relieved and there wasn’t even a risk there. She would have known if it had broken. She would have felt my cum inside her. Her fear is irrational.

It doesn’t make sense and she’s such a down to earth person. A no-drama mama. I have to ask. “I get you don’t want to be pregnant but what’s the big deal? Why do you worry so much?”

“Look, I just can’t risk getting pregnant, okay? Just… too much responsibility. I’m already up to my—” She stops her words. She’s almost slipped, telling me something real about her life. She fakes a smile, saying too brightly, “Anyway, it was fine, wasn’t it? Why don’t we try out that big stone shower of yours.”

We shower, taking turns soaping up one another’s skin. We fall into bed, exhausted. She falls asleep right away, leaving me awake with my thoughts.

Why was she so worried about getting pregnant? Where did she get all that debt? When we were in the car with the soundproofing up, she couldn’t hear us but I didn’t realize the speaker was on, on her end. Before Finch could hit the button to cut it off, I heard her ask her mom, ‘How’s the baby?’ I assumed that baby belonged to her mother, though there’d be quite an age gap between the baby and Ashley.

I’d chalked it up to her mother having a second marriage or a boyfriend since as far as we know from our initial research on her, there’s no dad in Ashley’s life.

Is that baby… Ashley’s?

My stomach clenches at the idea. It’s bad enough that when we get back I don’t think I’m going to be able to cut this thing off like I should. I sure as hell can’t take on a relationship, much less a woman with a baby.

When she wakes, stretching and smiling, she looks so beautiful, so carefree, I don’t ask. She reaches out, running her hand over my chest. “So, what are our plans for the day?”

I want to break down this wall between us. I’m no longer satisfied with surface conversation. I want to know about her life, her responsibilities, her secrets. So I make the first crack in that dense wall, telling her my truth. “We’re going to try and find my brother. He’s been missing for a year.”

She sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. “Your brother?” This is the first I’ve mentioned a family member to her. “Missing for a year? What happened?”

“There was an accident.” My hand goes to the scar at my side.

Her eyes fall to it. “I was wondering what that was from.”

I swallow hard. “I was the one who was driving.”

“Oh, no.” Her hand goes to her mouth.

“They told me it wasn’t my fault. That there was nothing I could do, but still, I carry the guilt with me.” I run my hand over the back of my neck. Every damn day.

Her brow knits. “But he made it? After the wreck.”

I shake my head. “I blacked out. He was thrown from the car. They never found his body.”

“Did you think he’s… dead?” She waits for me to answer, her body tense beside me.

“Never. I’ve had a PI searching for him every day since. He’s never made a purchase on any of his cards and no one’s seen him. Then, the other day, when I came to your apartment?”

“Yes…” She hangs on my every word.

“Finch told me someone spotted him at our family coffee roasters in Paris. No one stopped him and he hasn’t been seen since. I want to talk to the workers in person, get the facts for myself, look around the city for him.”

She shakes her head. “That’s crazy. How strange. Was the wreck close to here?”

“No. That’s the even crazier thing. We were in New Mexico when it happened.” I think back to that night, the cool breeze blowing over the sand.

She cocks her head to the side. “Where, exactly, in New Mexico?”

“The desert.” I can almost feel the leather of the steering wheel in my hands. I clench and unclench my fists. “We were just driving along, having fun. We’d rented a ridiculously fast car and we were taking turns pushing it to the limit.”

“When…” Her voice is shaky, her face pale. “When was this?”

“Last September.” She stares at me in disbelief, the last bit of color draining from her face. I reach out, cupping her cheek. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She moves away from me, pulling the sheet tighter around her body. “And the other driver?”

“Gone. Hit and run.” Judging by the size and shape of the dent in our car, they think it was a smaller car that was headed north, a bit of green paint left behind, but that’s all we know. They’ve never found a car, abandoned or not, that fit what little facts the police had. “Nothing but a dent and a scrape of green paint.”

“Green paint…” Her voice cracks. “Not much to go on.”

“It’s not. But I’ll find the person who did this to my brother—” My voice shakes with rage. “I’ll never rest until I do. And when I find them, I’ll make sure they feel ten times the pain my brother felt.”

Her hands are trembling. Am I scaring her? I reach out. Her skin is like ice. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just… upset. For you. It must be strange, not knowing where your brother is and whether he’s okay.”

But like I said, she’s a no-drama mama. She’s always cool, chill. Now she looks visibly upset.

She excuses herself to get dressed. I give her the room, figuring she needs time to calm down.

An hour later, she still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom. I knock on the door. “Ashley?” No answer.

I open the door. I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not in here.

Her passport and her phone are missing. That’s when I notice the door leading out to the terrace is cracked open. I run to the door, throwing it open and scanning the streets.

She’s gone.