The Whole Package (Hearts to Buy #1)

Elena

M y cheek is pressed hard against the cold kitchen counter; the unforgiving surface is a different kind of hell, better than the searing pain from his grip. At this moment, the chill of the counter is a small mercy compared to the scorching heat of the stove, still warm from the dinner I had just prepared.

"You didn't learn your lesson last time, you stupid bitch?" His voice is laced with poison, and his words viciously hiss in my ear. The stench of alcohol in his breath confirms what I already know – he's drunk, lost in the depths of his rage and intoxication. It's a pattern, a cruel cycle that only escalates when he drinks.

"Y-yes," I force the words out, a faint whisper of submission. It's my best, although desperate, attempt to de-escalate and keep the peace just enough to protect Alexandra. But the sound of a sleepy yawn from the hallway shatters any fleeting hope of keeping her shielded from this nightmare.

"Mommy?" My almost four-year-old daughter's small, confused voice cuts through the tension. It's past her bedtime, but the chaos has roused her. The reality that she's witnessing this, that her innocent ears are picking up the sounds of her father's wrath, sends a fresh wave of fear through me.

Raphael's fury blinds him to everything else, even our daughter's presence. He presses my face harder against the marble, the unforgiving stone cold and harsh against my skin. "Raph, please," I manage to whimper, my voice a frail shadow, as I fight back tears.

His response is venomous, filled with a hatred that seems to surface only when he's drowning in whiskey or vodka, whatever his demons drive him to drink that week. "You didn't think about 'please' when you were out there shaking your ass for everyone, did ya?" His words cut deeper than the physical pain, another toxic reminder of the man he becomes under the influence.

"Daddy," Alex's small voice breaks through again. I try to lift my head, desperate to lock eyes with her, to offer some semblance of reassurance amidst the chaos. But he slams me down once more, brutally reminding me how helpless I am. I feel the warm trickle of blood from my cheek, but all I can think about is keeping my child safe.

"I was just asking if they were hiring," I grit out, desperation coloring my words. It's my attempt to reason with him, to protect our daughter from this madness, if only for a moment longer.

"At a bar?" Raphael's growl drips incredulity and rage, his disbelief fueling another violent shove. Alex's cries pierce the air, a heartbreaking soundtrack to the terror unfolding.

"Daddy!" Her voice is a blend of confusion and fear, shattering whatever composure I have left. Tears stream down my face, unchecked, as I feel utterly powerless under his relentless grip.

"What the fuck do you want?" He bellows at her, the malice in his voice terrifying. In a swift, cruel motion, he throws me to the cold floor. I don't pause, scrambling to my feet, adrenaline fueling every movement. "Close your eyes, baby," I whisper to Alex, scooping her into my arms. My heart pounds as I dash to her bedroom, the fear of what Raphael might do propelling me forward.

I slam the door shut, turning the lock just as his body crashes against it from the other side. His screams fill the air, a litany of threats and anger, but for now, the locked door is a barrier, a thin line of defense. Huddled with Alex in the safety of her room, I'm consumed by a sense of urgency, of the need to protect her at all costs.

***

"Miss , wake up," Maggie's voice cuts through the fog of exhaustion, pulling me abruptly from the brief respite of sleep. My eyes fly open, and the stark reality of my apartment, dimly lit in the evening light, settles around me.

"I'm up," I say, my voice heavy with fatigue as I force a smile for my daughter's babysitter. A yawn escapes me despite my best efforts to appear more alert than I feel.

"Sorry to wake you, but I'm heading out now," Maggie says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "Alex is already in bed. She had her milk and finished her homework, too."

A wave of gratitude washes over me. "Thank you, Maggie. I sent your payment through Zelle, and the driver will take you home. See you Saturday," I respond, warmth coloring my words. Watching her leave, I can't help but feel proud of the life I've made for myself in this little corner of the world.

As the door closes behind her, the quiet of the apartment envelops me. I'm alone now, save for Alexandra's soft, rhythmic breathing from her bedroom; she is my constant reminder that this is worth every struggle and sacrifice. Gone are the days of living under the tyranny of a man who cared little for his own flesh and blood. I'm not proud of the frantic night I scooped up Alexandra and fled into the darkness, but it was the only way to shield her from a life of fear and harm. I could endure his rage and absorb the blows meant to break me. Still, the chilling realization that this path would likely end in my death – leaving my daughter in the hands of a monster – was unbearable.

I had to make a choice, and I chose to run. Our nights spent in the cold, impersonal spaces of bus terminals and the occasional shelter were a testament to our desperation. Survival without a job was a relentless struggle, a daily battle against hopelessness.

Eventually, I landed a housekeeping job at a hotel, but the challenge of caring for Alex loomed large. With no one to turn to, I resorted to sneaking her into the hotel, having her hide away while I worked. It was during one of those long shifts that Ava found me. She saw something in me and told me I was too beautiful to be relegated to the background, cleaning up after others. I didn't care about the glitz and glamour of acting; my only goal was to build a stable life for my daughter.

And so, I stepped into Ava's world, creating a semblance of stability for Alexandra. The price? A piece of my soul, a part of me that had already been fractured and scattered by a marriage steeped in abuse and betrayal. My husband had long since eroded any sense of self-worth I clung to. Selling my body was just a transaction, a means to an end. My soul, if it ever truly belonged to me, was a casualty of a life I had to escape from. In this new life, every choice and sacrifice is for Alexandra, for the promise of a future free from the shadows of our past.

***

"We've reached my favorite part of the evening, ," Archer Whittington murmurs, his voice low and raspy, a sound I've grown intimately accustomed to in my time with Ava's clientele. Archer was my initiation into this world – my first client. He cradled me through a night of tears, offering comfort without demand, and paid in full despite not putting a single finger on me. That night is etched in my memory, something I will be forever in his debt for.

Over time, our relationship has evolved into something akin to friendship, albeit with a unique set of benefits. In these stolen hours, we share pieces of ourselves—he confides his marital woes, and I speak of Alexandra, my pride and joy. He listens, genuinely interested in the tales of her growing up, thriving under the life I've fought so hard to provide.

Archer and his wife were never blessed with children, and with two decades between us, a certain longing flickers in his eyes. It's most apparent when he's lost in passion in those intimate moments. There's a silent wish there, unspoken but palpable, a yearning for the child he never had. Each time he comes inside me, I can sense that faint glimmer of hope – the hope of accidentally fathering the heir he's always wanted, of leaving a legacy beyond the empire he's built.

Again and again, I've reassured Archer that I'm vigilant with birth control and that I always take a morning-after pill as an added precaution. But his persistence belies his hope, a quiet plea that perhaps, one day, I might relent. He believes in the slim chance of my young, healthy body defying the odds. I see the unspoken desire in his eyes – the wish to wear down my defenses, to ignite a spark of possibility. But, deep down, I know he'll never leave his wife. And as for me, I refuse to be his mistress. Part of me still clings to the dream of finding real, unbridled love. Not the kind Archer offers, which, while genuine in its way, is confined within the boundaries of our arrangement. I yearn for someone whose affection I can return without hesitation, without a transactional undertone.

"You love announcing just how loud it's about to get in here, huh?" I tease, lightening the mood as he scans the key card. The door swings open to reveal the familiar opulence of the hotel room.

"I love it when I make you cry out, I must admit." His confession sends a shiver down my spine, my knees subtly giving way to the rush of desire. It's a complex web of feelings with Archer. Deep down, I know he could never claim my heart, but it doesn't diminish my undeniable physical attraction for him. Age has only refined his appeal, like a fine wine growing more potent over time. His hair, a distinguished salt and pepper, frames a face that carries the years with a rugged grace. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of emerald, hold a depth of experience and unspoken stories. And his lips – full, inviting – are already claiming mine with urgency as he guides me back towards the bed.

Here is a man who, in another life, might have been someone I could fall for – someone who could offer the kind of love and stability I crave. But I swallow those feelings down just as fast as they rise. Wanting things I can't have only makes my job more challenging than it already is.

"Archer," I moan as his lips move towards my neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive spot there; he knows just how much that makes me want him more.

"I want to take you from behind tonight," he whispers into my ear, causing shivers to run up and down my spine. "Will you let me?"

"Mmhmm," I hum and nod, slipping out of my dress and underwear and discarding everything on the floor.

He steps away, looking down at me with his perfect lips parted and his emerald eyes glistening.

"Get on your hands and knees, facing the mirror." He demands.

I do as he instructs, climbing onto the bed and getting into position.

"Good girl," he says, coming up behind me, unbuckling his pants, and letting them fall to the floor. The sound of his voice causes me to whimper and push back against him.

"So eager tonight." He laughs, running his hands along my sides, over my hips, and pulling me back even further, pushing his cock deep inside me without any warning. Anyone looking at Archer would assume he is a slow and passionate lover when he's entirely the opposite. He likes it rough, wants to be in control, and loves making me squirm. I watch the reflection of him and I, my mouth wide open, and him, his jaw clenched and a slight smile forming as I start to grind back against him, my ass slapping against his thighs.

"You're always so tight," he moans, moving his hands back down my body and gripping tightly to my hips, pushing harder and faster into me.

"Oh God!" I moan out.

"Look at me," he commands, his fingers pressing hard against my skin. "I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you."

My eyes move up to the mirror and meet his stare; I watch his tongue flick over his bottom lip as his hands pull me back and forth, fucking me from behind.

"Do you like watching yourself? Do you like watching me fuck you?" he asks, his tone growing deeper and his movements speeding up. I can only nod my head, unable to form words, but he wants more.

"Say it, ," he growls against my ear.

"Yes!" I manage, moaning out the word as his fingers dig in harder, his cock thrusting deeper.

"Good girl." His hand runs down between my thighs, finding my clit, and begins circling, rubbing, and pinching, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. "I love making you feel good," he breathes as he pounds harder into me. "I love making you come, making you scream out my name."

"Archer..." I whimper, and his fingers begin to work harder against me, the tension building within me. His pace is relentless, and it's so fucking hot watching him lose control and take me the way he wants, knowing that the pleasure I'm feeling is a direct result of his desire.

"Are you ready to come for me?" He asks, and I can already feel the pressure building in my core; my arms and legs start to shake as the orgasm builds.

"Yes," I moan, ready for whatever he'll allow me, waiting for permission because I am at his mercy.

"Do it," he whispers, and the feeling of his hot breath against the room's coolness sends me over the edge.

"Oh my God!" I scream as I come all over his dick, my body convulsing with pleasure.

"Good girl," he moans as he pushes deeper and harder, his climax building.

"I'm gonna... fuck!" He yells, and I feel his warm cum coat my pussy.

"Ahh," I cry out, and my body starts to collapse onto the bed; he pulls me back up by the hips, causing him to go even deeper inside.

"Not yet, baby," he says, slowly rocking his hips against me. "I'm not done with you."

"Archer," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I'm... oh God." I moan as his fingers move back to my clit, massaging the swollen nub.

"That's right, darling," he says, moving his free hand back to my hip. "Let's go again." It's an offer I can't refuse, not that he's precisely asking and not because he paid for it, but because I need more of him. I need all that he can give me.

"Yes," I whimper, arching my back and grinding against him, causing the most fantastic friction to build between us.

"Fuck," he whispers, his hands starting to tremble. "I can't... not yet."

He leans forward, wrapping his arm around my stomach and pulling me closer. His fingers pinch down hard on my clit, and the sensation combined with his thick cock filling me to the hilt pushes me over the edge once again.

"Oh fuck!" I cry out as another orgasm explodes inside me.

"Yes, baby," He groans and pushes as deep as he can go, and I feel his dick growing hard inside me again.

"You're insatiable." I tease, and his hand comes up to wrap around my neck, pulling me back and crushing his lips to mine.

"For you, always." He whispers, his lips brushing against my skin. The sincerity of his words causes me to shudder, and a feeling of guilt rises within me.

"Now, be a good girl, and let me fuck you again."

"Mmm, yes, please," I say, and we fall back onto the bed, his hand reaching for mine and our fingers interlacing as his other hand works between my legs.

"So beautiful." He breathes, his eyes fixed on me as his fingers continue their slow circles on my clit. "You're all I think about," he says, and a pang of remorse hits me, a feeling that's quickly washed away as his hand moves up to grip my neck, squeezing lightly and bringing my lips back to his. He's fully recovered from his first orgasm now; I feel it as he starts thrusting against me, his cock buried deep inside, and I've never felt so full. "Fuck, ." He whispers, his forehead pressed against mine and his eyes closed. His pace quickens as I wrap my legs around his waist, taking him deeper, my body swallowing him whole as if this is precisely where he belongs.

"You're mine." He says, and the words cause tears to well up behind my eyelids because I know they're not true; his fingers dig into my hips, pushing and pulling me into his thrusts, driving us both toward release.