Chapter 101 Surrender Part Two
Jeremy
Round Four
But an hour later, in the dark, I woke to find myself hard again. Find her soft and sleepy beside me.
I couldn't resist.
My hand slid between her thighs. Found her wet. Despite the late hour and previous exertion, she was ready.
"Jeremy?" Her voice was drowsy. "What time is it?"
"Late. Or early. Doesn't matter." I kissed her shoulder. "I need you again."
She made a sleepy sound of agreement. Spread her legs to give me access.
This time was slow. Gentle. More making love than fucking.
I entered her from the side. Held her close. Moved with long, lazy strokes that built pleasure gradually instead of explosively.
Her hand covered mine on her hip. Our fingers interlaced. Her head tilted back against my shoulder.
"I love you," I murmured against her ear. "Even when I'm angry at you. Even when I don't trust you. I still love you."
"I love you too," she whispered. "So much."
The orgasm was softer this time. Less intense but somehow more intimate. We came together, quietly, holding each other in the darkness.
And finally—finally—I was satisfied. Sated and complete.
I kissed her temple. "I missed you. These past few days. I missed you."
"I missed you, too." Her voice was small. Vulnerable. "I'm sorry. For everything."
"I know." I pulled her closer. "We'll figure it out. Together."
We lay in silence for several minutes. Just breathing. Just being together.
Then she spoke again. "Jeremy?"
"Yeah?"
She hesitated. I felt it in the way her body tensed slightly. The way her breathing changed.
"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I just—" Another pause. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. Anything."
"I need—" She stopped. Started again. "I was wondering if I could borrow some money. From you."
I frowned in the darkness. "Borrow money? Amelia, you don't need to borrow. If you require anything, please feel free to let me know. I'll buy it for you."
"No, I mean—I need cash. In my account. That's mine. Not something you buy for me. Actual money I can use."
Something in her tone made me uneasy. But I pushed it aside. "Okay. How much do you need?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "Ten thousand dollars."
Ten thousand dollars.
The number hung in the air between us.
I shifted slightly. Tried to see her face in the darkness. Couldn't make out much except the outline of her profile against the pillow.
"What do you need ten thousand dollars for?"
She was silent. Long enough that I almost asked again.
Then she said, "Shopping. With Elena. I want to buy some things. Clothes. Personal items. Things I need."
"Shopping", I kept my voice neutral. "That's a lot of money for clothes."
"And—" She paused. "There's a girl. From St Mary's. The orphanage where I grew up. I found out recently she's struggling. Can't afford rent. She is having difficulty keeping up with her bills. I want to help her. Give her something to get back on her feet."
I processed this. Shopping with Elena. Helping an orphanage friend.
It sounded reasonable. Charitable, even. The kind of thing Amelia would want to do—help someone in the same situation she'd been in months ago.
But there was something about the way she had said it. The hesitation. The careful phrasing.
She was lying. Or at least not telling the whole truth.
I know her well enough now to recognise the tells. The slight tension in her voice. The way she'd paused before adding the detail about the orphanage girl. Like she was building a story instead of recounting facts.
But did I call her out? Push for the real answer? Should I demand honesty after everything we have just done?
I thought about the past hour. The intimacy. The way she'd opened herself to me. The way we'd reconnected after days of tension and anger.
Confronting her now would destroy that. Would turn this night into another fight. Another accusation. Another wedge between us.
Part of me, still basking in post-orgasm contentment, didn't want to ruin it.
Besides.
If I'd gone out tonight. If I'd dealt with my frustration and anger the way some men did—found a woman at Crimson or another club; paid for company, for distraction, for sex—
I would have spent close to ten thousand dollars. The cost would have been split between the girl, the room, the drinks, and the discretion. High-end escort services charged premium rates. Especially for someone like me. Someone who needed absolute secrecy.
Ten thousand for a night of meaningless sex with a stranger.
Versus ten thousand for Amelia. Who I loved. She had just given herself to me completely. Who was worth infinitely more than any transaction with a prostitute could ever be.
I stopped that thought immediately. Reprimanded myself for even making the comparison.
Amelia wasn't a prostitute. What we'd just shared wasn't transactional. She wasn't selling herself. I wasn't buying her.
Her situation was different. She was asking for help. For the money she needed. And I was in a position to give it.
That's all this was.
I pushed away the uncomfortable parallels.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I'll transfer it to your account tomorrow."
"Really?" She sounded surprised and relieved. "You will?"
"Yes. But Amelia—" I tightened my arm around her. "Use it wisely. Don't waste it. And if you need further assistance with your friend from the orphanage—if she needs ongoing support—tell me. We can figure something out. Set up a proper assistance plan."
"Thank you." Her voice was small but grateful. "Thank you, Jeremy."
"You're welcome." I kissed her forehead. "Now get some sleep. It's late."
She settled against me. Her breathing gradually evened out. Falling into sleep.
But I stayed awake. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking.
Ten thousand dollars for shopping and charity.
I didn't believe it. Not completely.
But I also couldn't bring myself to care enough to push. Not tonight. Not after what we'd shared.
Tomorrow I'll transfer the money, and I'll watch what she does with it. Tomorrow I'll decide whether to trust her explanation or investigate further.
My mind drifted. From Amelia to other business. Other problems that needed handling.
The warehouse. The person we had been holding there for three days was still there. The loose end that needed tying up before it became a bigger issue.
I'd been putting it off. Letting Luca and the security team handle the interrogation. The containment. The decisions about what came next.
But I needed to deal with it personally. Soon. Before the situation deteriorated.
I mentally noted it. Tomorrow, after the money transfer. After morning meetings. I'd go to the warehouse. Handle it myself.
I closed my eyes. I let exhaustion finally pull me under.
But even as sleep claimed me, part of my mind stayed on the warehouse.
On the person inside.
I would have to make a decision very soon.
THE WAREHOUSE - UNKNOWN LOCATION
The concrete floor was cold. The single lightbulb overhead flickered intermittently. Casting shadows that made the small room feel even smaller.
The person in the chair had stopped struggling hours ago. Wrists raw from zip ties. Ankles numb from lack of circulation. His throat was dry from screaming that no one answered.
He had lost track of time and of how many guards had rotated through. Lost track of how many times he'd been questioned and refused to answer.
All they knew was that Jeremy Santoro hadn't come yet.
And when he did—when he finally decided they were worth his personal attention...
Everything would change.
For better or worse.
The person in the chair closed their eyes. Tried to conserve energy. Tried not to think about what came next.
Tried to avoid wondering if they'd made a fatal mistake accepting the deal.