CHAPTER 4: Blonde and Brunette

CHAPTER 4: Blonde and Brunette

Mia's Point Of View:

I now stood in front of the mirror, stripping out my clothes one by one. Rihanna stood behind me with a confident smile, watching me like one of her successful investments. Her attention flickered between me and her phone screen.

At this point, modesty didn’t matter. I let her look at me naked. I let myself stop caring.

A soft ping broke the silence. My phone. That sound I hadn’t heard in months. The alert notification tone I’d almost forgotten, mostly because the last one I heard was a debit.

“That’s the money!” Rihanna announced without looking up.

Nine hundred thousand dollars. Just like that. A figure that had no business being anywhere near my name. All for one night.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just one night. It was for a crown I didn’t earn.

I lifted the yellow thong, sliding it on carefully. The front formed a butterfly made of delicate lace.

I gulped, feeling it press hard against my clit.

Next was the light bra that only covered my nipples and its outline, but left my breasts itself exposed, pressed, and squeezed on my chest as the fabric clung to me.

It was made of silk, so covering my pointy nipples wasn't doing much when you could tell how it looked, even with the bra on.

I looked at myself in the mirror again.

“What am I wearing?” I whispered, the words barely leaving my throat. Tears stung, but I forced them back in.

The reflection looked like an imposter of the girl who once found comfort in art. Now, I was being taught that desire was art.

That was pretty much everything I was meant to wear. The only thing left was a see-through robe which was Rihanna’s idea of “covering up”.

I let out a dry laugh.

Cover up? What was there to cover when it was see-through in the first place? Screw it.

I brushed my hair, then reached for the deodorant and sprayed it across my skin. It was the only nice thing about tonight.

Rihanna suddenly gasped behind me, “He’s here!”

She turned me around, her hands quick, adjusting invisible imperfections in the robe like I was a product she was about to deliver.

“There are three rules,” she lectured. “One. Never complain. Two. Do everything you’re told. Three. Always arch your back.”

She paused, then smiled faintly. “And oh—”

She crossed to the table, crouched to pull out a bottle of wine, and poured a glass. The liquid pouring broke the silence.

“Drink,” she said, handing it to me. “You’ll need it. It helps numb the pain... if it hurts.”

Her words sank.

“Remember everything I said and you’ll be fine. He’s on the second floor. He’ll wait at the door so you know the right room.”

I didn't even know what to say.

She checked her phone again. “I’ll be leaving now, my stay here’s expired. Once you’re done, text me.”

She smiled one last time, calm as ever. “You can go now. The door is unlocked.”

I dragged myself slowly to the bed to grab my phone and my bag. Without another word, I exited the room.

I was pretty sure I already asked myself this multiple times, but again…. What the actual fuck?

I took the elevator down to the second floor. The passage here was quiet. And then I saw him standing by the wall like he owned the hotel.

I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to.

He was… hot. Maybe too hot to look at for too long.

His hair was a pale shade of blonde, almost the same as mine, and his eyes, light gray, looked unreal in the hallway’s dim light. He had pale skin that made the dark ink of his tattoos stand out like art carved into marble.

Blonde hair. Gray eyes. Pale skin. Why does this scream hot Angel core? We're getting somewhere.

Slightly muscular, but not exaggerated. The kind of body that hinted at strength rather than screamed it.

And tall, definitely around 6’4. I’d always been good at guessing heights, and this one was no guess. I knew I nailed it.

“You don’t have to be afraid…. not yet.” His voice was deep, and I swear I felt my legs squeeze together.

He pushed the door open for me to enter. My eyes scanned the room, and froze.

Another man sat on the bed, his back turned to me. Same build as the blonde dude.

For a moment, I thought maybe it was a random friend, until he turned.

Blonde…. no. Black hair instead. Onyx eyes instead. The same face, but darker. The same body, but more tattoos.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me that he was the evil twin.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I turned quickly, facing the blonde one. He took my bag and phone from me and set them aside.

“Get undressed, Bitch,” Brunette commanded.

“I thought it was just one of you,” my voice broke. The air was thin.

“It won't hurt,” Blonde replied, taking off his shirt.

I couldn't keep up with their bullshit at this point, the alcohol was starting to kick.

I didn't know how but the next thing I realized was the lights inside the room went dim, and I was now on the bed.

The blonde one came closer, his lips grazing my earlobe, “Still nervous?” he murmured, his voice low. His lips were so close that I could feel his breath tickle the side of my neck.

I didn’t answer. I was trying to catch my breath.

“Don’t hide it. Fear looks good on you.”

My knees weakened.

The darker one was nailing my wrists, his eyes seductive and hot. He didn’t move much, but somehow his silence carried weight.

The blonde tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing down. He yanked off my bra quickly, toying with my nipples.

I threw my head backward, forgetting to breathe.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

My nipples hardened as he pinched them roughly. My legs clamped together as I tried to control the constant throbbing sensation between them.

The dark one let go of my hands, grabbing my thighs this time and shoving them apart so he could rub his fingers across my core.

At this point, my eyes were closed, as my body struggled to understand what this new feeling was.

I whimpered.

I didn't know who but his mouth captured mine into a rough kiss that had me moaning into his mouth, scratching his back with my nails.

His lips soon left me to breath, found my skin, tracing down. When his mouth slipped lower, a gasp left my throat.

The sound of fabric tearing was the last thing I remembered.