A Slave for the Milking Part One: Lovers and Lies

  A Slave for the Milking

  Part One

  Lovers and Lies

  Jena Cryer

  Copyright

  A Slave for the Milking

  Copyright 2014 by Jena Cryer

  Smashwords Edition

  Revised and republished May 2014

  Cover design by Jena Cryer

  Cover art copyright Patrisyu and Gennadiy Poznyakov

  The characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Author’s note: All characters depicted in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Coming Soon

  Other Works by Jena Cryer

  Excerpt from His Black Pearl

  About the Author

  Lovers and Lies

  Prologue

  “She’s here.”

  The voice on the phone is cold and collected, just like the man it belongs to. Dr. Maretta Stahl lifts her gaze up to the wall of monitors above her. Images of her facility flash across the screens. Research labs, offices, storage rooms, they all belong to her. Everything belongs to her, even the people, whether they know it or not.

  She clicks a button on the keyboard beside her. The front lobby of Karnil Pharmaceutics pans across the largest screen. White marble flooring, gray walls, and black leather furniture spread out before her. Everything is clinical, efficient, just like the woman who owns it. Everything but the slim figure slowly creeping across the screen.

  Stahl’s lips curl into a slow smile.

  The girl is even better than she’d hoped. Long, black hair drapes across her shoulders. Wide, green eyes peer around the room in fearful curiosity. Her height is exactly what she’d wanted—not too short, not too tall. Her figure is stunning. She’s absolutely perfect in every way, shape, and detail, even down to her age.

  Just twenty-three, Stahl thinks, the same age as Mia when she—

  Stahl straightens her back. She can’t afford to be sentimental now, not when they’re so close.

  Not when he’s so close.

  “Shall I collect her?” the voice asks over the phone, and Stahl takes a sip of Earl Grey before responding.

  “Not yet,” she says. “Jacob will be here shortly. I’d like him to get a good look at this one before we take her.”

  “She’s not his to look at,” comes the voice over the line. “She belongs to me.”

  “She belongs to whomever I say she belongs,” Stahl snaps. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m in charge of this operation, Mr. Gage. You can have your ex-girlfriend once I’m done with her, but for now…”

  Stahl’s gaze drifts back to the screen. She watches the girl bite her lip. She sees her shove that beautiful, raven-colored hair behind her ears, and finally the camera has a clear shot of her face.

  Her beautiful, ivory-skinned, achingly familiar face.

  Stahl’s heart clenches. Sympathy overwhelms her, sympathy for what this girl is about to endure, what Stahl guarantees she’ll endure, and for a moment, a second at most, she wants to call it all off. She’ll tell this girl, this Emily Hart, to leave. Run back home and don’t look back. Run away from the nightmare you’re about to enter.

  But then the second passes. Her resolve returns along with something darker and so much more dangerous.

  How long has she been planning this now? Four years? Five? Maybe six?

  She’s not sure when the idea first came to mind, but she does know when the desire first took hold. Ever since that bastard first took her daughter, ever since he claimed her and defiled her and…

  Stahl takes a deep breath.

  She clutches her Blackberry in one crimson-nailed hand, and her voice comes out low and cold and full of promise.

  “For now that girl is mine,” she says. “And you’ll do with her as I say until she gives me what I want. Exactly what I want.”

  And then she hangs up, her gaze already focused on the screen ahead of her, ruby lips curling softly as she watches this girl walk into the nightmare that is about to become her new life.

  And oh what a nightmare that will be.

  One

  “Name?”

  “Emily Hart. Like the deer, not the organ.”

  The receptionist raises her eyebrow, and even I struggle not to cringe at my own words.

  Just be cool, I tell myself. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

  But if that were true, I wouldn’t be here right now. God, I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be back home in Memphis. I should be filling out applications for grad school, not standing in the lobby of some multi-million dollar pharmaceutical firm much less trying to con my way inside.

  And do I ever need to get inside. If I don’t…

  I close my eyes and take a long, deep gulp of my coffee.

  If I don’t calm down, I’m going to blow it completely. Already the receptionist—Ester Reaves according to the nameplate on the counter—is eyeing me up and down. Her narrowed brown eyes stare straight through me, and I struggle to pull my lips into a quick smile. God only knows how desperate I must look.

  “So…” Mrs. Reaves refills my Styrofoam coffee cup without me even asking. “Like the deer?”

  My smile wobbles.

  “Yeah, you know, a hart,” I say. “A male deer, usually red, it’s…Oh, never mind. My last name is Hart. H-A-R-T. I should be on the list. I know I’m on the list. I got a call and everything. If you’d just look a little harder…”

  I down yet another cup of coffee while Mrs. Reaves pecks at her keyboard with fingers that look like parchment covered bones. My hands shake.

  Oh, God, what am I doing?

  My skin crawls. My whole body tingles with…what? Worry? Fear? Anxiety? I’d like to say it’s just the caffeine that has me so nervous, but I know it’s more than that. Ever since I got that phone call from Carter last week, I haven’t been able to think straight. His words just keep repeating through my mind over and over again.

  “Emily,” Carter had said, his voice just as deep and matter-of-fact as always. “I know you want to hang up on me, but listen. Your roommate is in trouble. I know where she is, but I can’t help her. You need to get down to Austin, and you need to get here quick. I don’t know how much time she has left if you don’t.”

  He’d hung up right after that.

  My whole body trembles as I think about the pictures he’d sent me later on. Oh, God, the pictures… Ever since Nikki moved out to “follow the music” in Austin, I knew she’d end up getting in some kind of trouble, but after seeing the images Carter emailed me…

  I take a deep breath.

  God, do those photos ever haunt me. Every time I close my eyes, I can see her. Nikki’s naked body lies st
rapped to some God-awful lab table. Men in white coats surround her. Her face is contorted in some emotion I can’t even begin to understand as the men stroke her body. One bends down to slip something between her legs—God, what was that bastard doing between her legs?—while two others hook giant, silver cylinders to her bare breasts and…and…

  What? My mind demands. You don’t even know what’s going on yet, so just calm down. There has to be an explanation for all this. Surely there’s an explanation.

  But if that's the case, why did Carter call me? We haven’t spoken in years, not since I walked out on him.

  Why did I walk out on him again?

  I shake my head. I more than know why. I just don’t want to think about that right now. I can’t. I was only a freshman when we dated, and he’d already earned a reputation as the reclusive pharmacology grad student everyone was too scared to talk to. Our fling had been short enough to be sure—not even a semester really—just long enough for me to figure out exactly what kind of a twisted bastard he really was and how much I really, really liked it.

  Damn, I really shouldn’t have liked it.

  “And you say Mr. Gage asked you to come here?” Mrs. Reaves’ voice brings me back to the present.

  I nod shakily. I take a deep breath to speak, but the air tastes strange all of a sudden. Beneath me, the floor tips. My fingers latch onto the marble countertop as I try to steady myself, but it’s no good. It feels like the world is melting, like I’m melting.

  Oh, God, what’s wrong with me? I feel like I’m about to have some kind of hypoglycemic attack, but I ate breakfast this morning. I made myself eat breakfast this morning. My blood sugar should be fine, so what’s the deal?

  “Miss?” Mrs. Reaves voice sounds all high-pitched and panicky. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get you something?”

  I try to respond, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. My vision dims. The bright white of the lobby turns to gray, and then my knees give out beneath me. I hear a squeal then a curse. I expect to slam into the shiny marble floor, but instead a pair of strong arms wraps around me.

  “Whoa,” a deep voice whispers into my ear. “Easy. I’ve got you.”

  I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

  Those three words echo through my mind on infinite repeat.

  Who has me? What…what’s going on? I can’t think straight. Why can’t I think straight?

  My head flops to the side as I feel myself being lifted into someone’s arms.

  “What the hell did you do to her, Ester?” A man’s voice echoes through my buzzing brain.

  “Nothing, Mr. Evers. I swear it,” Mrs. Reaves says. “She just came here a few minutes ago claiming that Mr. Gage invited her to participate in one of our studies, but I don’t have her on any of our lists, and Mr. Gage...”

  The woman’s words fade into nothing.

  Gage. Carter Gage.

  His very name makes me shiver and sweat and…want him.

  I shouldn’t want him.

  The arms around me tighten, and I struggle to push them away, but I can’t. Of course I can’t. Carter never let me get away, not when he wanted to play. And right now I’m betting he wants me to play.

  Do I want to play?

  My nipples harden in response. Moisture coats my sex, but no…no, I don’t want this. I can’t want this. Not again. Not after…

  “Shh,” a voice whispers down at me. “Just relax.”

  Relax? Relax!

  I bury my face into the chest of the man holding me. How can I relax when my mind keeps dragging me back to those memories?

  Oh, God, those memories…

  Even now I can feel his hands on me. I can hear him whispering into my ear.

  “Just trust me, Emily. You’ll like it.”

  And I did trust him. I was eighteen, and he was twenty-four. He was the one who knew what he was doing, while I…I was just a virgin ready to get laid.

  I remember him starting with my hands first. We were in his apartment. Carter tied my wrists together with a braided leather cord before tethering my arms to the base of his showerhead. It was our first scene, and I was so naïve, too naïve. I let him lock my ankles into the spreader bar beneath me while my heart hammered and my breaths came out in fearfully excited little pants.

  “I want this to be special,” he’d told me. “I want you to be special. Can you be special for me, Emily?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want to be whatever you want.”

  I remember him smiling when I said that. His face was usually so stoic, nothing but chiseled flesh beneath the tangles of rust-colored hair that always fell in clumps across his forehead. I wanted to reach out for him then. I wanted to kiss him and fuck him and fix him just like I used to fix all the old toys my little cousins would bring me to repair. Only Carter didn’t want to be fixed. And when it came to being a toy…

  He gagged me next. The blindfold followed. My pulse hammered inside my throat as he pushed me into the shower wall and turned on the water.

  “You’re a dirty girl.” Hot water rained down upon us as he whispered into my ear. “All girls are dirty. But I’m going to make you clean. You do want to be clean, don’t you?”

  My gag kept me mute, but I moaned when he stuck first one finger inside me then another.

  “This is mine. Understand?”

  His thumb brushed across my clit, and I nodded quickly.

  “All of this.” He paused to suckle my breast, and oh…oh, God, did he ever know how to suckle. “Every last bit of you is mine. Do you understand me? You will always be mine.”

  The harshness of his words unhinged me, but I nodded nonetheless. I was his. I was his and he was mine. That’s how this was supposed to be. That’s how—

  Something sharp and biting slapped across my sex and I screamed. What was that? What happened? Surely this wasn’t part of the scene. Carter had said this was all just some scene. He said it would be fun, but this…this hurt.

  “Your body is mine, Emily,” he told me. “And I’m going to train it to do as I wish, just like I’m going to train you. I’m going to make you perfect. Understand? You might not like it at first, but you’ll adapt. I’ll make sure you adapt.”

  I barely remember what happened after that. Only the emotions ring true. As soon as I’d heard him say those words, I’d been so scared, terrified even. But beneath the fear had been something else, something far more sinister, something…lustful.

  Oh, God, how could I have ever been so lustful?

  He whipped me. I remember that much. The tip of his crop beat down upon me, softly at first then harder, much harder. He hit my breasts, my nipples, even my clit. He left me sobbing and gasping and…and…

  And begging for more.

  Oh, man, did I ever beg.

  I don’t know when the pain first turned to pleasure, but somehow it did. Somehow it became something I craved. All through the night, he’d whip me and fuck me and wash me and love me. He pulled me out of the shower at one point. He threw me onto the bed and took me from behind and I…I…

  I loved it.

  There was no shame involved, no guilt. He had complete control over me, and I was helpless to stop him. I liked being helpless to stop him. I liked feeling his teeth nibble at my teat while he fucked me hard and fast on the bathroom floor. I liked it when he threw me across his lap and spanked me, too. Over the next three months we spent together, I learned to like everything he did to me.

  Everything except what he was slowly making me become.

  “Come on. Open up. Drink. That’s it. Just take a sip.”

  I don’t recognize the voice speaking to me, but I obey it anyway. Carter was always so adamant that I obey. Cool sweetness floods inside my mouth, and I swallow. God, it feels so good to swallow, almost as good as the feeling of those hard, manly arms wrapped around my body. I haven’t felt a man hold me in his arms since I last left Carter, since he…

  “That’s it. Open your eyes. Come on.”


  I open my eyes.

  The world isn’t spinning anymore. The darkness slowly gives way to light. I look up, but all I can see are a pair of deep blue eyes staring down at me through the veil of my own sweat-matted hair.

  “Easy now.” The man brushes the hair off my face. “You’re fine. You’re—”

  I hear a gasp.

  The eyes I’m staring at change. They widen suddenly. Pain flickers through the blue along with something else I can’t quite pick out. What’s wrong? I want to ask, but then I finally notice the rest of the guy’s face.

  And oh, man, his face…

  Sandy blond hair falls across his forehead. A hardened jaw outlines what has to be a set of the most handsome features I’ve ever seen. The man leaning over me might as well be a god, and he’s holding me. He’s clutching me to his chest while he looks down with those deep blue eyes, so full of wonder and hope and sadness.

  Sadness? Why does he look so sad?

  Before I can ask, his hand cups my chin. He stares down at me with enough emotion to take my breath away.

  “God, Mia…”

  I frown. “Who’s Mia?”

  He flinches, and like that, it’s gone. The walls are up. All emotion disappears. He props me up against the back of the narrow couch we’re sitting on and forces me to take tiny sips of orange juice while he drills me with inane questions like “What’s your name?” and “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Look, I’m fine.” I tell him once the shakes finally leave. “My blood sugar must have just dropped, that’s all.”

  His lips narrow. “And this is a common problem?”

  I shrug. “It just happens sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Not a big…”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. Damn, he looks pissed. I don’t know why he’s so upset—I’m the one who almost took a nosedive into the marble—but the longer he looks at me, the angrier he gets.