Stolen Love (The Wildheart Duet Book 1)

by Murphy Wallace

  “Ah, Lana.” He starts. “There you are, my doting little wife.”

  I grimace. His fake charm makes me want to punch him in the face.

  “I really don’t want to deal with your shit right now, Lock. What do you want?” I’m being far too brave at the moment. I’ve been punished for much less in the past.

  Thankfully, he’s in a good enough mood that he smirks before answering, “Does a husband have to want something just to see his wife?”

  “You do.”

  “Why are you always so negative?” He jests. “I provide you with everything that you could ever want or need. I give you clothes and food. I provide you with stylish transportation and a security team that’s second to none. What more do you want from m—”

  “A divorce!” I snap. I tried to keep the words in, but he makes me so mad with his condescending tone. Thinking that I should be grateful for all of that when he partners it with insults, abuse, and embarrassment.

  His playful attitude vanishes. I knew better than to poke the bear. But if ruining someone’s good mood were an Olympic sport, he would win the gold medal every fucking time. He had just ruined mine and I’m pissed. Before I know what’s happening, he throws me back into the marble wall and his large hand finds its way around my throat. The back of my head feels like it’s cracked open.

  “Don’t you think about leaving me. EVER! You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen again, would you? Last time, all you lost were your memories. This time, who knows what you could lose,” he threatens with the most sinister look on his face.

  I’m shaking. I’m not stupid enough to think that he wouldn’t go through with his threats. “I’m sorry, Lock. I just, it’s just that...” No excuse would matter. “I’m sorry.”

  His grip on my throat loosens and he moves that hand to grab the hair at the nape of my neck. He turns my head so I’m forced to look him straight into the eyes.

  “You know I don’t like hurting you.”

  “I know,” I lie. “I’m sorry. Please, can I go back to my room now? I have a headache.”

  He makes a tongue-clicking noise before responding sarcastically, “Aww, your head hurts?”

  He isn’t concerned. I know the game he’s playing and I don’t want any part of it. This game never ends well for me. I’m so stupid. I had to open my mouth and get smart with him, didn’t I?

  “No, I’ll be fine, I—”

  “Ah, ah.” He interrupts and holds his hand up, gesturing me to cease talking. “If you’re not feeling good, all you have to do is say so. You know I have something to make you feel better. In fact, I have some right here.”

  Shit, this isn’t good. No, no, no. But yes, there in the inside pocket of his blazer is the syringe. MDMA laced with 5-HTP. It’s basically ecstasy on steroids. I don’t know how many times he’s drugged me with this concoction but it never ends well. Not only does it pump me full of false happiness and soul-crushing, mind-betraying lust, but the days that follow are full of darkness and self-loathing. Some of my worst days have come in the aftermath of this drug. Even if ecstasy were legal, this still wouldn’t be approved by the FDA. The added serotonin from the 5-HTP can poison your brain and cause serotonin syndrome which produces deadly, flu-like symptoms. I wish he would use something that would keep me from remembering all of the filthy things he made me do, things that I disgustingly wanted to do while I was under the drug’s control.

  His grip on my hair gets tighter as he pushes my head to the side in order to gain better access to my neck. As he raises the hand holding the syringe to his mouth to pull the cap off with his teeth, I plead with him.

  “Lock, please. Please don’t do this.” I beg him as the tears start rolling down my face.

  “Shhh. Now, what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t help my wife feel better when she’s in pain? You really should be more careful.”

  He sticks the needle in and I scream. Not because it hurts, but because my body is about to deliver the worst kind of betrayal. He’s going to make me do things that I would never do with him willingly which is terrible enough. But, with this drug, I’ll like everything that he does to me and I’ll be begging for more of it too. It’s sickening and embarrassing and I feel like a little piece of myself dies every time he does this to me.

  I can feel the warmth of the drug spreading over my chest, down my arms, through my stomach, and plummeting all the way down to my feet. My cries cease. My whimpering turns into moans. My frown starts to turn up at the sides, and I lick my lips before taking my bottom lip and sucking it between my teeth.

  I hear Lock’s laugh start deep down and rise out through his mouth. He has the smuggest look on his face. It sends a warm sensation of pleasure deep down into my core and I’m wet instantly.

  “How long did it take you to get wet for me this time, my little nymphet?” He asks as he starts unbuttoning my jean shorts. I’m overcome with pleasure at every little touch. He slowly runs his finger under the waistband of my panties. Back and forth, left to right, over and over, as my eyes roll back into my head. Then, his hand dives deep into my panties and he grabs my pussy.

  “Mmm…” he purrs. He brings his lips to my neck and starts sucking as he pushes two fingers into my dripping wet slit. I cry out and it only spurs him on further. He stops sucking my neck and bites down. The pain and pleasure mix together, creating a steaming hot cocktail of want. He continues sucking and the sensation is so exhilarating that I come undone.

  “That’s right, come for me baby. You filthy slut. Look at you, getting off in the hallway. Where anyone can see you. Making a mess that the staff will have to clean up; knowing that they’ll know exactly what happened here.” This only fills me with more want, more need that I come all over again, gushing like a waterfall. It pisses him off. “What? You want people to see you? You fucking whore. I bet you’d love the chance to fuck someone else. Wouldn’t you?” he accuses as his fingers pound into me harder and harder.

  “Fucking answer me!” He shouts. It is hard to separate my false feelings of desire with my very real feelings of fear. My mind is a complete mess. I didn’t want to make him angry, but the ball of lust swirling inside of me won over.

  “Yes.” I admit, like a filthy wanton slut.

  He stops fingering my pussy, pulling out and wiping his hand across my face. He sticks his fingers in my mouth and I suck them in, licking them, and cleaning all of my sweet, sticky arousal off of them. Then, he shoves them down my throat and I gag, forcing tears to escape from my eyes. He takes me by the back of the neck and directs me down the hallway. I hear him pull out his phone and dial a number. “Yeah, gather everyone and meet me in the entryway.”

  As soon as we get to the entryway of the house, Lock stops me all of a sudden and I feel another stick to my neck. I wasn’t expecting it and I scream out. I lift my hand up to my neck. “Oh my god, what is that?”

  He pulls me backward into him. My back crashes against him and because of his muscular chest it’s like hitting a brick wall. He puts me in a headlock and hisses in my ear, “Something new we’re creating, hasn’t even been tested yet. Not sure what the side-effects are, but it’s meant to clear your body of all toxins. All drugs.”

  My eyes widen in realization as my high begins to fade. Whatever he has planned, he doesn’t want me to enjoy it. He wants it to devastate me. I start crying and shaking all over as I plead with him.

  “I’m sorry, you know that I don’t really mean what I say when I’m in this condition. I’m so sorry, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t break me.”

  “Oh, wife. It would give me great pleasure to watch you break. Even more so, that I’m the one to cause your demise.” His tongue licks up the side of my cheek. “Mmm, I do love the taste of you.”

  Suddenly, I hear boots pounding the marble, moving closer to us from nearly every direction. Another second later and the majority of Lock’s men are staring us down. Some of them have their hands on their side-arms, ready for a fight
.

  “No!” I scream out when I see them and start to struggle to get free of Lock’s hold.

  “Gentleman, my little slut has just informed me that, not only does she get off at the thought of someone catching us in the act, but that she would also enjoy a good fuck from someone other than myself. Who’d like to go first?”

  “Lock, please, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t do this!” He removes his arm from around my neck and I think that he is going to change his mind. But he reaches around me with both hands, rips my shirt open in the front and removes it from my body. Once it’s off, he uses it to bind my hands behind my back. He then pulls my jean shorts and now-soaked panties down and pushes me forward so I fall, landing hard on the marble floor.

  One of his guards, Owen, starts to move forward to help me, but Lock glares at him, immediately stopping his forward motion.

  “Stop!” He shouts at him. “You’re free to leave.” The guard stands there looking back and forth from me to Lock, and then around the room at the other guards.

  “NOW!” Lock shouts at him. Owen gives me one last look, then turns and leaves.

  “Anyone else want to have a moment of heroic weakness?” He looks around, “No? Good. Let’s get started.”

  Lock calls his men forward one-by-one and they each take their turn using me. My mouth, my pussy. The only rule is that my ass belongs to Lock. Some of them are gentle, some of them are rough. Skylar, Lock’s right-hand man, is as fucked up as Lock. He’s relentless in his thrusting and after he came once, he went back for more. When it’s all over, there’s a stream of blood and semen running down my legs and I have spit and bite marks all over me. My hair is a tangled mess and my skin and muscles are bruised.

  Now Lock gets to take his turn. He picks me up from the fetal position that I’m in and balances me on my knees. He pushes me forward so my back is arched and my head is resting on the floor. I turn it to the side to take some of the pressure off of my forehead. I hear the rattle of his belt buckle as he takes it off and throws it to the floor. This is followed by the unmistakable sound of his zipper coming undone and tears start pouring down my face once again. One tear flows from my right eye, over the bridge of my nose and into my left eye, burning a little. However, the burn is nothing compared to the pain that I will be in at the hands of this evil and vile man. After that, I hear the rustling of his pants and boxers being pulled down.

  Then, he pulls me backward until my ass cheeks smack into his hips. He spits on me and rubs it in my tight, puckered hole. That is the only warning before he rams his erection deep inside. I scream in pain as he holds himself in there. He doesn’t give my muscles any time to relax before he begins thrusting viciously in and out. I hear him start laughing at my pain before he says, “Now you know what it feels like to be fucked by someone else. Still interested in it, slut?”

  I drag in a few shallow, staggered breaths before answering, “No.”

  “That’s right.” Lock responds before taking my hair and using it as leverage for his thrusting. He pounds rapidly for what seems like an eternity, before grunting his release. He pulls out of me and tucks himself back into his boxers. After standing up and tucking his shirt in, he yanks me up and forces me to look at his men.

  “Look at all of them. Do you see the disgusted looks on their faces? They don’t want you. They just want to use you. Think about that the next time you want to fuck someone else. Nobody wants you.”

  Then he spins me around by my hair until I’m facing him. “You’re nothing.” His hand goes back and my head snaps to the side with the force of his smack. It twists me around and I fall to the ground in a heap. He bends over, picks up his belt and begins putting it back in place.

  Once he’s put himself back together, he turns and walks away, shouting, “dismissed,” and his men promptly return to their duties.

  I don’t know how long I lay there crying, completely ashamed, but eventually I hear footsteps coming toward me. Thinking I am going to be attacked again, I struggle to get up and run, but my hands are still bound behind my back. I feel strong hands on my shoulders and I cry out, “Please, I can’t take anymore!”

  “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you.” It’s Owen. He’s always been here to pick me up and try to piece me back together time and time again. Sometimes it’s with the look that he gives me across the garden telling me that I am not alone in all of this. Sometimes it’s through the encouraging notes that he writes and has Norah leave in my room. Sometimes, after a more harrowing experience, he cuddles up behind me in my bed and wraps me tightly in his arms. I already know that is where he will be tonight.

  My strength gives out and I collapse into his hold. He helps me stand and pulls my shorts back up. “I’m going to turn you so I can untie your hands. Okay?”

  I can’t speak anymore, so I just nod my head. He unties my wrists and I rub them as I try to roll my shoulders forward, wanting to soothe the ache caused by the awkward position that I was in. When I turn around, I notice that Norah, our housekeeper, is there as well. I hang my head in shame.

  “We’re going to help you to your room, and then Norah will assist you in the bathroom while you get cleaned up. She has some pain medication for you as well.” Owen explains.

  I shake my head and we head for the stairs.

  April 2012

  Adrienne

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is ridiculous. I don’t know this person. When I get in his car, who knows what will happen. I turn around to face him and plead, “Look, you really don’t have to do this. I should probably go to your friend’s shop and see about my car.”

  “Adrienne. Get in the car.” My eyes lock onto his as my pussy cries with excitement. His commanding tone is fucking hot. I nod and turn around before practically melting into the front passenger seat of his car. “Buckle up,” he says with a smirk and closes the door. My gaze follows him as he struts around the front of the car. It should be illegal for one person to have that much swagger.

  “How does Italian sound?” he asks as he opens his door and slides into his seat.

  “Sounds fine, thank you.” I answer.

  As he works to maneuver the car back into traffic, I can’t help but cast sideways glances at him. I’m sure I’m being obvious, but that isn’t reason enough to make me want to stop. I’ve never met or seen anyone quite like him. His olive skin covers a sharp, chiseled jaw and a pointed nose. His beard is such a turn on and I’d love to know what it feels like moving over my skin. As my eyes roam over the rest of him, I notice that his sleeves are pulled taut over his arms. I am shocked when my gaze moves to his left hand and the absence of a wedding ring is glaringly obvious.

  “You seem to be making a habit out of staring at me.” He breaks my concentration. I can feel my face turning red. I open my mouth to interject, but he continues, “That shade of red is very becoming on you.”

  Who does this guy think he is? Fabio? But he’s got me, hook, line, and sinker. I turn my head toward the window to hide the grin on my face. That’s when I notice that we are not heading toward the restaurant next to the intersection where I crashed into his car. I straighten my posture and shoot a puzzled look in his direction. “Wait, I thought you said that we’re going to that restaurant over there. Where are you taking me?” I start to panic.

  “I’m taking you into the city to a nice Italian restaurant that I go to.” Oh. He did ask me if Italian sounded fine. The restaurant that we were currently passing was Japanese.

  “Oh. Okay.” I answer and relax a little bit. I turn to look out of my window again, effectively avoiding conversation for the next few moments. Then, I hear him clear his throat.

  “So, you said that you were on your way to class. Where do you go to school?” he asks.

  “I’m in graduate school at Hudson working toward my masters in Social Work.”

  “That’s fantastic. When do you graduate?”

  “This upcoming December.” He is quiet for a moment. And th
en he asks,

  “Do you have any job prospects after graduation?”

  “I currently work in a group home for orphaned children, but I would love to start my own organization. So many of these children are labeled as being the “bad seed” and they give up on themselves, their hopes, and their dreams. It’s heart-wrenching to see them get knocked down. They have no one else to fight for them.”

  “I think that’s incredibly admirable and amazing. They’re lucky to have someone like you in their corner.”

  I look over to him and he smiles at me. It’s genuine. I’ve had others in my life tell me that I’m wasting my time on people that won’t ever amount to much. It makes me furious. To have Marshall sit here and tell me that they’re worth it, well, if I were standing, it would have knocked me off my feet. “Thank you.” I say. “You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”

  Before I know it, we’re stopping in front of a red brick building. After breaking the ice on the car ride, I am feeling a little more comfortable in his presence. I move to open my door just as Marshall says, “Don’t move.” He gets out of the car and walks to the passenger side. He opens my door and holds his hand out to me. I offer it to him, allowing him to help me out of the car.