4.

Gemma entered the unfamiliar townhouse without a thought in her head—a thought like, What the hell am I doing here? The door was unlocked and the interior was posh, luxuriously decorated in a way not even the most expensive guest suites were. She knew without it reaching her drowsy consciousness that this must be an Owner’s house and this was where she belonged. As she crossed the threshold of the doorway, she was also crossing another sort of threshold, one she could never return from, and a deep part of her was excited. And wet.

How much time passed before the trance lifted? Gemma didn’t know. She didn’t remember kneeling on the floor at the edge of the plush throw rug in the middle of the big living room. Her mind felt soft and dreamy, and she knew the music she’d been tanning to for days, the music Rachelle had given her, was somehow to blame. Where was Rachelle, and what the hell had she gotten Gemma into? She wasn’t just dreamy and horny. The music seemed to somehow choke off her free will. She hadn’t chosen to leave the beach, hadn’t chosen to come here, certainly hadn’t chosen to kneel on the floor, but she couldn’t resist the compulsion to do those things. And, worse, couldn’t muster up the strength to do anything else.

Like stand up.

Like get out of this room and shut the door quietly, hoping whoever lived here never noticed her trespassing.

Like hire the first cab to the airport she could and get the fuck back home. She could always buy new clothes; she’d just grab her passport and go.

Someone was coming down the stairs. It was a man: tall, dark, wearing a simple white t-shirt framing muscular tattooed arms, in swim trunks, barefoot. He was wearing sunglasses, fresh from his balcony. He came down the stairs, looking Gemma over like he had all the time in the world, knowing she wouldn’t run or scream or even complain her knees were getting sore. Somehow, Gemma knew she wouldn’t say a word until she was told. Inside her head, she whimpered in despair.

The guy stood on the rug looking down at her, curling his toes in the plush material as if to rub it in that she was kneeling on polished concrete. He took off his shades, hung one arm in the neck of his shirt. He had arresting eyes, Gemma saw, in a handsome young face. She felt her body respond to him and hated herself through her confusion; she should be terrified of this guy, not turned on, no matter how hot he was.

He kept looking at her like he was drinking his fill, then pulled a phone from the pocket of his trunks, dialled, and held it to his ear. After a moment, he spoke, looking away over Gemma’s head.

He knew she wasn’t going to move. And though she tried, or thought she was trying, she didn’t. Her body felt heavy, tingly, drugged. Was she drugged? Had Rachelle given her something, somehow, along with the music? It was crazy to think sound alone could hijack her like this…

“Yeah, the new material’s ready. Meet me at the place and we’ll make sure it’s the stuff we want.

“Yeah, Number Seven’s friend. Bring her along, too.”

Number Seven? Does he mean Rachelle?

The guy crouched down so he was eye level with Gemma, only a foot away. He looked awfully fucking pleased with himself, and she wanted nothing more than to stick her thumbs in his eye sockets. Through the haze of inappropriate arousal the music, or drugs, or whatever was forcing her to feel, a chill went down her spine when he spoke to her.

“You must be pretty confused right now, cutie. Try to relax. Your friend’s gonna be here soon, and she’ll help you. This is like a job interview, kind of, but don’t worry, you’re gonna do great.

“I’m Sonny, by the way. My business partner’s Ty. He’ll be joining us soon, too. This resort is our place and we kind of have to do all the ‘interviews’ ourselves. Just a quirk of our hiring process, you know?” Sonny smiled at what was clearly an inside joke. But Gemma’s mind caught on something else he’d said. Did this guy Own this place? Like, not just the condo, but the whole resort?

She considered him. Couldn’t be that much older than she was, but he was an Owner? An unwelcome shiver hummed through Gemma’s body as she thought that word. Owner. What the hell was happening to her? What the hell was this guy doing to her, since he seemed to know exactly what was going on? It drove her crazy that she couldn’t even ask the fucker how he was controlling her body like this.

Sonny rose to his feet, went to a cabinet, and took out a pair of headphones. Unlike the little earbuds Gemma had almost forgotten were still pumping music into her head, these were big and sturdy, over-the-ear headphones in a muted champagne colour. They looked heavy, expensive. He crouched in front of Gemma again, holding the headphones up between them.

“I’m gonna swap out what you’re listening to for something a little stronger. It’ll help pass the time until Ty and Seven get here… and it’ll help after that, too.”

Gemma tensed, as much as she could within the strange paralysis. Was he going to take her earbuds out? He’d have to, to put the big headphones on. She assumed once those big cups were firmly over her ears, whatever was holding her would get even stronger. Her heart was racing. Even though Sonny’s closeness made her pussy wet, she also knew this was her one chance. If the silence released her from the music’s hold for just a few seconds…

“Now, you’re gonna behave while I switch out your headphones, right, babe? Just stay perfectly still, like you are right now. You gonna do that for me?”

She could feel the rage hot on her cheeks. She wondered if he could see it in her eyes, hoped not. It would be better if he didn’t see it coming. She prayed she could take him by surprise, just for a second, knock him on his ass…

“In fact, you’ll do what your Owner says, won’t you, cutie?”

The words thrummed through Gemma’s head, louder than the music. More important. Nothing could be more important.

“Yes, Owner.”

Did I really just say that? It was a strange sensation, hearing herself speak without even thinking of what to say.

“Good girl. Don’t move.”

And Gemma knew, her heart sinking even as her pussy tingled, that she would do as she was told. She wouldn’t move a muscle.

There was a moment of quiet—blissful, thunderous quiet—when Sonny took the earbuds out. It should have been the sweetest sound Gemma ever heard, the moment where she punched him in the face, escaped this goddamn resort and whatever the fuck was going on here.

But she didn’t move. She did as she was told. Her own words—“Yes, Owner”—echoed in her head, making her feel helpless and humiliated.

Then there was the tight closeness of the headphones as the soft pads closed around her ears. The total silence of active noise cancellation, as even the rustle of Sonny, as he made sure the headphones were secure over her hair, faded away.

Gemma didn’t move, just like he’d told her. And then it was too late.

The new music wasn’t loud, but it was deep. The headphones were excellent, the sound much richer and more complex than what her earbuds could produce. The midrange tones captured her attention, and, moments later, she felt the building throb of the bass coursing through her body. What had been like a strange paralysis, a lack of volition, became a deep and profound relaxation, like she was falling asleep with her eyes open. Sonny was walking away from her, she hoped to occupy himself with something else until the others arrived. Gemma was aware of him receding across the room, and then her mind went completely blank.

To Be Continued…