Sierra Morgan: The Don's Bride

"Harder! Harder!! Please go harder!!!" The clapping sound of flesh on flesh could be heard accompanying the aforementioned screams of pleasure which were coming from Sierra's bedroom. "Right there!! That's the spot, Hmm.." she moaned. She couldn't contain her scream, as she was being bent over her reading table which had a mirror on the wall by it, and so, as her insides were getting pounded by the organ of the hot, white hunk who was standing behind and drilling her, she could only view the action from a third person perspective through the mirror.

"Ohh God!!!!" She screamed a few moments later, as she arrived at the peak of the sexual activity. This yelp was followed by uncontrollable, spasmodic vibrations in her body, and for a moment, it looked as though she was having a convulsion: She went pink, the blacks of her eyes disappeared, leaving only the eerie whites, and all her veins were super visible and looking as though they would pop out of her skin, and her mouth was wide open, like a fish fresh out of water and struggling to survive. "Your payment is on the table, take it as you leave", she said weakly to the man as he got dressed and prepared to leave. She was now sitting on her bed, stark naked, her red hair looking ragged and disheveled, and she, as drained as drained could be. The noise of heels tapping on the marble surface resonated in the vacant penthouse. Sierra Morgan rested her weight on her bed as she stared through her floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of wine sitting loosely on her bedside desk. The lights of the city beneath became a blur in her sight. Or perhaps it was the crying. She glanced back at the noise of rustling behind her as the man responded. "Okay, thanks.." He acknowledged without even looking at her, more intent on getting his clothes on, his pay in his pocket, and his feet out of there. He was twisted into a very tight position while trying to lace up his shoes, and it surprised her how he didn't even look fatigued or spent. He probably did this a lot. As Sierra watched him, she began to get some crazy ideas in her head, and although she knew that what she was about to say was hardly sensible, she couldn't help herself. "Could we...you know meet sometime?" Sierra suggested quietly, as though there was someone else in the room she didn't want to hear it. He turned then, his expression devoid of the charm that had lured her in earlier that evening. His eyes-cold, calculating-swept over her as though she were just another piece of expensive furniture in the room. "Next time," he said, his voice low and biting, "don't call me. Don't call anyone." Sierra's grip on her duvet tightened. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," he said, stepping closer. "This whole thing. The Sex, the desperation, heck you even offered to pay me more to go to dinner with you every weekend. It's pathetic." He gestured toward her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You. The money. The desperation. It's all just... sad." Her breath halted in her throat. "You... you didn't appear to find it pathetic when I presented you that bundle of money." "Sure, but," he said with a shrug, taking his jacket from the chair, "cash is cash. Doesn't mean I must show respect to the person giving it to me." Sierra attempted to speak, but no sounds emerged. She watched him put on his jacket and head towards the door. "Don't waste your time calling me again," he remarked over his shoulder, his tone conclusive. "Make sure you lock the doors behind you." The door banged closed before she managed to speak. Sierra stayed silent for what felt like hours. The glass of wine stayed untouched, teetering on the edge of the table. Her hands trembled while she recalled his words in her thoughts. Just then a call came in. Sierra in a scurry rushed towards the phone and picked up hoping it was the guy she just had a one-night stand with coming back to apologize. "Hello!". There was a long silence on the phone, followed by an eerie slow breathing. "Hello? Who is this?" Sierra asked now convinced that this was not the guy. There was a pause on the other side for an instant before a deep, warped voice spoke. "Miss Morgan?" Her stomach twisted. "Who is this?" "Doesn't matter," the voice replied. "You need to come with us." Her blood ran cold. "Come with you? What are you talking about? Who-" The line went dead. She looked at the phone, her heart racing in her chest. She rose, her feet gently brushing the floor as she approached the door to inspect the lock. Just as she was about to arrive, the lights in the penthouse blinked and went out, shrouding the space in shadows. "Hello?" Her voice trembled. "Who is it?" The noise of breaking glass windows startled her. She turned quickly, her gaze flicking to where the sound came from. Shadows flickered on the walls as shapes approached her. "Stay away!" she yelled, snatching the closest item-a decorative vase-off the table. Her hands trembled as she lifted it protectively. "Miss Morgan," one of the masked figures remarked, his tone composed, nearly teasing. "Don't complicate this more than necessary." "Leave my home!" she shouted, hurling the vase. It broke apart upon hitting the wall, failing to reach its aim. The man let out a sigh. "Wrong answer." Before she had a chance to respond, another figure emerged from behind her, robust arms encircling her waist and securing her arms firmly against her body. She flailed and yelled, but it was futile. A fabric was pressed onto her face, causing the surroundings to start to fade. Without fear of contradicting anything, Sierra moved and sensed movement close by. Her head hurt, her wrists seemed to ache at the joints, and she could taste iron in her mouth. She blinked, swung her head around trying to take in the event, and found as much as possible that it was dark. The atmosphere was dense and weighed down by the scent of leather and gasoline. All at once, a wave of terror swept through her as she understood she was confined in the car's trunk. "Help!" she shouted, pounding on the walls of the trunk. "Please let me out!" None of her muted calls received any response. The car hit a bump, and she hit her head on the side. She flinched, tears rolling down her cheeks as fear conquered her. Sierra woke up feeling motion. Her head throbbed, her wrists hurt, and she could taste metal in her mouth. Blink. Try to understand her environment, but all she could perceive was darkness. The atmosphere was when tense, and thick with the smell of gasoline and leather. "Hello?" she choked hoarsely, her voice cracking. "Where... where are you taking me?" "Be quiet," one of the men retorted. They brought her into a softly lit room and carelessly placed her in a chair. Her arms were swiftly bound, the coarse rope digging into her flesh. She blinked, attempting to concentrate on the shapes before her. Two men, almost indistinguishable, with defined features and piercing gazes, looked down at her. Their likeness was extraordinary-twins. "Who... who are you guys? What do you want?" she murmured. The man on the left smirked. "Hunter," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. He nodded toward the other man. "And that's Ryder. We're your brothers." Her heart skipped a beat. "What? No... I don't have brothers." Hunter chuckled, leaning closer. "Oh, but you do, Sierra. Daddy dearest didn't tell you, huh? Figures." She shook her head, trying to make sense of his words. "My father... he's dead." "Yeah," Hunter said, his smirk fading. "We know. That's why you're here." Sierra's breath hitched. "What do you mean?" Ryder, who had remained silent until now, crossed his arms and spoke. "Arthur Morgan. Your father. He had a habit of spreading his wealth... and his seed. You're one of many, sweetheart." "That's not true," she said, her voice shaking. "My mother... she told me-" "She lied," Hunter interrupted, his tone sharp. "She wanted you to believe you were special. That the money came from some magical trust fund. But the truth is, Daddy paid for your life. Every last penny." Sierra's stomach churned. "Why... why are you telling me this now?" "Because," Hunter said, his smirk returning, "the free ride is over. Daddy's dead. And now, it's time for you to earn your keep." She stared at him, horrified. "What are you talking about?" Ryder stepped forward, his expression cold. "We need you to do something for the family." Sierra shook her head. "No. I don't owe you anything." Hunter's grin became malicious. "Oh, but you actually do. You have been relying on your father's money for years. It is time to return the favor." Tears flowed down her cheeks. Hunter leaned in close, his face inches from hers. "You're going to marry Dominic Rinaldi." Her heart stopped. "What?" "You heard me," he said, his voice icy. "Dominic killed our father. And you... you're going to help us destroy him." Sierra's head spun. "I can't... I won't-" "You don't have a choice," Hunter snapped, his voice filled with venom. "You either do this, or you lose everything. Your money, your home... your life." She sobbed, shaking her head. "Please... don't do this." Hunter straightened, his expression cold. "Stop crying. You're a Morgan. Start acting like it." Sierra's tears streamed down more intensely, yet she could tell in his gaze that he was indifferent. The life she was familiar with had come to an end.