Black Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 1) by Linnea May

Author:Linnea May [May, Linnea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Joseph

She struggles a lot more than any of the others have. Her desperate attempts to fend me off are like an unsuspecting victim who is trying everything to prevent the inevitable. If I hadn’t pressed the soaked cloth against her face fast enough, she would have yelled out for help, even though that’s not part of the plan. She can struggle, she can try to fend me off, but she cannot make any noise to attract the attention of bystanders.

Her limbs go soft within seconds, and all her weight drops into my arms as she loses consciousness. I have to act fast because she won’t be out for long, and I’m not too familiar with this part of town. There could be people walking by any moment now.

I quickly drag her over to the car, lift her up and lay her down on the backseat. I scan my surroundings to make sure no one witnessed this, before hurrying over to the driver’s side, positioning myself behind the wheel.

My pulse is racing when I push down on the gas pedal and drive away from the scene as fast as possible. This rush of adrenalin is all part of it. The worry about getting caught, her short but intense struggle, having her in the back of my car, helpless, and soon to be at my mercy. The entire time I’m driving to my place, I’m worried that someone might follow us, or someone might see her motionless body in the back seat when I have to stop at a red light. Anything. There are so many things that could go wrong.

But none of them happen.

Her daze will only last long enough for me to get her home. I glance back at her through the rear mirror time and again, just to make sure that she really is still passed out. Some of them don’t inhale enough and simply faint due to the shock of being abducted. In those cases, they awaken within five minutes, and it’s always a risk without any restraints.

But in her case, the drug seems to have worked. She doesn’t wake up the entire drive. It takes almost an hour for me to get out of the city and reach my residence on the outskirts.

My domestic staff has been informed that this week marks the beginning of another “thirty-nine,” a code word they invented to let each other know. None of them know the full extent of what I do with these women, but they are up to speed with as many details as they need to know. They know about the agency and the kind of services I take advantage of. They have to know the bare minimum so I can have the space I need, that we need.

But they don’t have to know everything about it, and most of them don’t—or wouldn’t—even want to. They merely think of it as me having a secretive play partner for thirty-nine days every so often. “Thirty-nine” is their signal to stay out of my way as much as possible.

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