Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  He lets out a possessive growl before kissing me deeply. I feel like I’m floating as I return his kiss. He’s not disgusted by me. He’s not sending me away. I sink into his hold, never wanting to leave his embrace. I push aside all thoughts of leaving and put my trust into Matthew and his confidence.

  “Mine.”

  I smile shyly at him. “Yours.”

  “Damn straight.”

  His mouth descends on mine again, before his lips touch mine, Slade strides into the room that dreaded envelope in his hands. Matthew pulls back, and the hard man that faced off against Damon is back. “Did you find him?”

  “I got the information. Idiot wasn’t hard to trace.” Slade turns his black eyes to me. I expect to see pity in them, but instead, he looks haunted. “You want me to take care of it?”

  Matthew pulls me even tighter against his body. “No, Daniels will run point on this one.” I get the feeling that there is a reason for why he wants Kisten doing whatever it is they are talking about instead of Slade. I just wish I understood why. There’s so much about these men that I don’t yet understand. They’ve taken me in and offered to lay down their lives for me without knowing what they are up against. It’s humbling. “I don’t want you leaving her side for anything. I need to handle some things. Take Rose and Hannah home.”

  Slade hands the envelope to Matthew, and I flinch away from it as if it’s a snake. All three of the men have deadly looks on their faces at my reaction. Matthew gives Kisten a pointed look and he nods in acknowledgment. I wish I could read minds because something momentous just happened, but I’m not sure what.

  Kisten presses a brotherly kiss to the top of my head before silently leaving the room, off to do whatever it is he does. The fact that Matthew doesn’t growl and go all possessive speaks volumes for how much he trusts Kisten.

  “Come on, Rose, let’s get you home,” Slade says, reaching out to take my hand. Matthew holds me a beat longer then releases me into Slade’s care.

  Hannah is standing just outside in the hallway. As soon as I’m within arm’s length, she pulls me away from Slade and into a tight hug. I’ve never enjoyed casual affection, especially the physical kind, but something about these people has changed me. I soak up every touch like I’ve been starved for it my whole life. When she pulls away, she doesn’t let go. She threads her fingers through mine and gives me a comforting squeeze. She keeps ahold of me until we are safely back at Matthew’s penthouse, only letting me go to get in and out of the car.

  “I’m going to order dinner. Anything sound good?” Slade asks. The mundane question feels weird. I can’t help wondering why he’s acting like this is just a typical day. Like my life isn’t in jeopardy. Like I haven’t brought all kinds of trouble to his doorstep. He must sense my questions because he gives me an affectionate look. “Don’t worry, Rose. Everything is going to work out. Now, what would you like to eat?”

  I think about it for a minute, but nothing sounds good. My stomach is still in knots even though I feel safer than I ever have before, the anxiety still has its claws dug in deep.

  “Whatever you two want is fine with me. I’m not very hungry.”

  Slade furrows his brow, and I get the feeling he wants to argue, but Hannah jumps in with some suggestions. Between the two of them, they decide on Italian. An hour later, a steaming plate of lasagna is in front of me. I pick up a breadstick and groan as the rich butter and garlic flavors explode on my tongue. It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.

  I laugh at myself. It’s the same thought I’ve had with just about every meal I’ve eaten since Matthew saved me. I forgot the simple pleasure of good food. Hannah looks longingly at Slade’s chicken parmesan, without a word, he cuts off a piece and feeds it to her. She lets out her own little groan of pleasure. Slade watches her with a different kind of hunger, but he locks his reaction to her down before she opens her eyes.

  My mind drifts to how intimate it felt to have Matthew feed me. It’s hard to believe that was just last night. It feels like I’ve lived a million lifetimes since then. In less than twenty-four hours, so much has happened. I remembered Matthew. I’ve enjoyed pleasure at his hands without anxiety or fear. I met friends and had my first ever shopping spree as indifferent as I was to it at first, it truly was fun to just be a normal twenty-five-year-old. Then my world was turned upside down all over again. My past careening into my present like a runaway freight train.

  Despite Hannah and Slade doing their best to keep the conversation upbeat, melancholy sets in and I excuse myself. I escape to Matthew’s bedroom. After I brush my teeth and change into one of Matthew’s t-shirts I crawl into bed and hunker down under the covers. I hug Matthew’s pillow to my chest and fall into a fitful sleep.

  “Slut, you know you want this cock. Stop fucking fighting me.” His hand smacks down on my bottom, jolting me forward on my knees hard enough that my head bangs into the headboard. He lets out a cackling laugh and does it again. He spanks me over and over until my butt feels like it’s on fire.

  Without warning, he grips my hips and violently shoves himself into my dry vagina. He doesn’t stop. I scream with each pounding stroke as he tears through my body. I try to fight the urge to fight, fighting only excites him. I learned long ago not to beg. They want me to beg. The relish in my pleas for mercy. Holding that back is one tiny little rebellion I still have.

  He moves harder and faster until my sobs are muffled by the sick sounds of flesh on flesh. I do my best to relax. To not fight, but I can’t help it. The fear turns into an instinctual need to flee. To escape. He laughs as I struggle against him, completely lost to fear and instinct.

  For this man, I am a fantasy come true. He paid for my body and fear.

  To me, this man is my nightmare. My rapist. Only one of many. This is my life.

  Somewhere along the way, I lose myself to the darkness inside me. It curls itself around me in a protective shell and holds me close while the client uses my body however he wishes. I still know what’s happening. I can still feel the burning tear of every thrust, but in the darkness it’s apart from me.

  In the darkness, I’m safe inside my own mind, separate from my body. Cocooned inside my own piece of insanity. One day, I’m going to break from reality and not come back from this place. I know it’s going to happen, and yet I still seek out the darkness to carry me away.

  This client is a regular of mine. He recognizes the moment I retreat into the safety of my mind.

  He always knows.

  I whimper as he pulls himself from my ravaged vagina, and the fight reignites as he positions himself at my tight back hole. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls so hard my upper body is arched off the bed painfully. “You won’t be checking out on me this time, bitch.”

  That’s the only warning I get before he shoves himself past my tight ring and deep into my bottom. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s not the first time someone has taken me there, but most clients use lubricant to ease their way. Not this man. No, he rams himself inside me over and over. His balls slapping against the tender skin below, adding another facet to my pain.

  My screams echo through the room as I thrash beneath him. I can feel my hair tearing at the root, but that pain hardly registers because the pain in my bottom is so severe. I fight against his hold, doing everything in my power to unseat him. This time I do beg. I beg for him to stop. I plead with him to have mercy.

  “That’s a girl. Fucking fight. You’ll never escape me.” He folds his big body over my much smaller frame and sinks his teeth viciously into my shoulder. The scream that’s ripped from my throat is so forceful I can feel my vocal cords strain and break until my screams turn hoarse and practically soundless.

  “Rosie! Wake up!”

  I’m jerked from my nightmare so suddenly my mind can’t seem to catch up with the fact that I’m free from that horror. The only thing I can comprehend is a large shadow of a man hovering over me, holding me in plac
e.

  I don’t think. I just react. I push the figure away and skitter across the bed. I barely have the sense to brace myself before I hit the floor. I curl myself into a tight ball and rock. Slowly, the nightmare recedes.

  Just a dream. Not real. Not real, I chant to myself.

  “Shh… it’s okay, love,” Matthew soothes.

  I look in the direction of his voice but remain huddled in place. Afraid that if I move, I will fall into a million pieces. Once again, he’s approaching me like he would a wild animal. He stops a couple feet away and kneels down in front of me. He doesn’t reach out to me, instinctively knowing that his touch wouldn’t be welcome yet.

  I shut my eyes tight and continue the soothing rocking motion. My inner chant switches to my mother’s voice. Back before the drugs, she was a great mom. She used to sing to me every night. A special song she made up one night when I was a baby and wouldn’t stop crying. She rocked with me for hours, trying everything she could to soothe me. She sang every song she could think of, and in the wee hours of morning, she just started making things up. Those made up lyrics did the trick and became my lullaby.

  I let the memory of my mother’s voice soothe my fear. Her sweet words play on a loop in my mind until they chase away the nightmare.

  “Love?” I look up into Matthew’s worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes… no… I don’t know.” The words come out in a croak as if I’ve spent the night screaming my head off.

  “Can I?” He holds his arms out to me. I don’t hesitate to crawl into his embrace. He lets out a shuddering breath the moment he’s got me in his arms. It must’ve taken a great deal of restraint to keep from swooping in before I was ready.

  He stands with me in his arms and lays me back on the bed. He quickly strips his clothes, then crawls in after me. I sigh with contentment when he pulls me against his body, holding me close. Once again, I’m struck by the ease to which I accept his touch. Even after a nightmare like that, I don’t feel any hint of fear at being vulnerable with him. The exact opposite, in fact. I feel safe and secure, like as long as I’m in his arms nothing can touch me, not even my nightmares.

  Exhausted, sleep starts to draw me under. I vaguely acknowledge Matthew kissing my forehead and whispering promises of love and keeping me safe.

  18

  Matthew

  My heart bleeds for Rose. I should have known that seeing those pictures would trigger nightmares. I feel like a jerk for leaving her alone for so long. I should have been here, but I was stuck in my own anger over what Rose was put through. Even though it made me sick to my stomach, I went through each and every picture, forcing myself to endure the evidence of my failure to save her.

  Rose whimpers in my arms, and I run my fingers through her hair and make soothing sounds. She settles back into sleep, giving me room to ruminate on how I spent my evening. I flex my hand, reveling in the ache of my knuckles. Upon studying the pictures, I realized that some of the men in them were prominent businessmen, a senator, and one very corrupt judge who happens to be right here in the city.

  Needless to say, I had a fair amount of aggression to work out, and Judge James Holt got the brunt of it. The fucker didn’t even put up a fight. As soon as I mentioned Red House and showed him the pictures, he simply asked me if I was there to kill him. My reputation precedes me. But no, I wasn’t there to kill him. Beat him half to death and use him to get to the other fuckers in the pictures, absolutely.

  Judge Holt won’t be frequenting any other brothels for the rest of his days, and he’ll be nursing his injuries for a long while. He’s also decided to take a nice long vacation. He got less than he deserved, but eventually, he will have served his purpose, then there will be no reason to not exact the full force of my revenge.

  Kisten found where Grant was staying, but something must’ve tipped him off because he was long gone by the time he got there. He’ll be holed up somewhere like a fucking cockroach biding his time. It doesn’t matter. We will find him, and once we do, we will make him pay.

  19

  Rose

  The days pass by quickly. I settle into a routine that keeps me busy and from focusing on Damon’s threats, Mr. Perfect, and all the other unknowns. I spend my days helping Hannah around the house whenever she’ll let me. I’ve taken over cooking breakfast not only for Matthew and me but for the whole staff too.

  Oftentimes I go to the club with Matthew and answer phones or file paperwork or whatever other odd job he needs doing. Though, I think he makes things up just to make me happy. I know he doesn’t like me working, but I hate feeling like a leech. He doesn’t argue with me anymore. He’s agreed to disagree and has supported my need to help.

  My favorite place to help is in the recovery suites. The third night I worked alongside Matthew at the club one of the submissives experienced something called sub drop. It was terrifying, but I’m well suited to help in those situations because it’s basically like a really intense anxiety attack followed by a wave of depression.

  It’s something that tends to pass quickly from what I’ve been told, but in the moment, it’s overwhelming to the person experiencing it. Even more so for someone who has never experienced anxiety or depression in the past.

  For the first time in forever, I feel like I belong. I feel like I’ve found a real home. Matthew is my home. It’s so easy to see how our future would play out. Except for my past still looming in the background, waiting to snatch away my happiness. I’m not naïve enough to think Mr. Perfect has given up. He’ll come for me sooner or later. For now, I’m determined to enjoy my time here.

  I’ve gotten closer to Hannah. She’s taken me under her wing, and we’ve become fast friends. Slade and Kisten have both taken on brotherly roles. Slade is never far from my side unless Matthew is around. Matthew is the only person trusted to keep me safe without Slade’s back up. Even though I suspect Kisten is more than capable of keeping me safe, Slade won’t leave me my side.

  Unfortunately, things haven’t heated back up between Matthew and me. Even though we are constantly touching in some way when we are in the same space, he’s barely kissed me since the day Damon came to the club. Every time we do kiss if things start to heat up, he pulls back. It’s frustrating. I feel guilty for being frustrated, though, because he’s not withholding his affection. We hold hands anytime we walk side by side. If we are sitting, he either pulls me into his lap, or he keeps a possessive hand on my thigh, but nothing else. It’s infuriating. I had a brief taste of what a healthy physical relationship could be, then it was snatched away.

  We eat almost every meal together. Which I love. Especially since he prefers to feed me from his plate. I feel taken care of and treasured. It’s one of the many ways he shows me how much I mean to him. Everything in this new life of mine fits into place… except for the dark shadow that’s hanging over my head.

  No matter that Slade is always close to my side anytime I leave the penthouse, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, just waiting for Mr. Perfect to catch up to me. The stress has my anxiety at an all-time high. Despite how happy I am to be here with Matthew and how much I love what I’m coming to think of as my new life, I can’t shake the anxiety.

  I know it’s taking its toll on Matthew. This last week he’s hardly let me out of his sight. My nightmares have persisted, and we are both exhausted. He has asked what I dream of, but I just can’t talk to him about it. He already won’t touch me. What would he see when he looks at me if he knew that my dreams are plagued with memories of being raped and abused?

  I hate that he’s so worried. The guilt of it eats me alive. I found out yesterday that Black Rose isn’t just one club there are actually two other locations, one in Vegas and one in Los Angeles. Matthew was supposed to travel to the U.K. last week to look at some property to potentially open another club for the members that travel overseas, but because of me, he canceled his trip.

  Of course, that just piled onto the guilt. Matthew’s business is
being impacted by my situation. I tried to tell him to go, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I’m grateful that he didn’t listen to me because the thought of him leaving me for any length of time is terrifying. Apparently, my selfishness knows no bounds.

  I let out a tired sigh as I look through the ridiculous amount of clothes on my side of Matthew’s closet. Well, one of Matthew’s closets. Part of my new extensive wardrobe is here at the club for the nights we stay here instead of going back to the penthouse. I flip through half a dozen dresses, jeans, blouses, and more feeling disgusted with the waste.

  The only real argument Matthew and I have had has been over this wardrobe. I insisted that he return things. He spent an ungodly amount of money on me, and it’s completely unnecessary. I’m used to having one or two outfits and a single pair of shoes. Between the two closets, I could wear a different outfit every day for two months and still not run out. Don’t get me started on the shoes. Who needs ten pairs of high heels?

  I spent an entire day ignoring Hannah and Slade because they are the traitors who purchased everything. Apparently, Matthew had told Slade to buy not only the things that I tried on and liked but everything I showed the slightest interest in. Ridiculous! I’ve been wearing the same five outfits and two pairs of shoes as a silent rebellion. I know it’s wasteful, but I can’t get over the cost even though I’ve been assured a dozen times that I couldn’t spend all of Matthew’s money in five lifetimes and to just enjoy being spoiled.

  I pull out a brand-new dress and slip it over my head. Even though my back is completely healed, I avoid wearing the pretty bras that Hannah picked out for me. I wasn’t allowed to wear one at Red House, and I just can’t seem to get used to the restriction. My breasts are small enough that it’s not really necessary anyway.