by Claire Kent
“Are you a whore?” he asked blandly.
“No.” She was so surprised by the question that she managed to speak over the rancid texture in her mouth.
“Good. I don’t do whores, although they’re usually all we get down here. You have a good body, which is the only other thing I require in a woman. Two options.” His eyes—a very dark blue—narrowed as he explained, “Be my woman. Do what I tell you. I’ll keep you safe. Or, if you refuse, I’ll turn you over to the rest of them.”
He gestured back to “the rest of them.” Riana’s mind was in too great a blur to see distinct faces, but the rest of the prisoners seemed to be lurking just in the background, like a hungry pack of wolves.
“They’ll take turns using you until they’re bored. You won’t last the night.”
Riana knew his final words weren’t an exaggeration. It was possible some lesser alpha male might try to take her as his, but he probably wouldn’t be strong enough to keep her safe from the others for long.
“What’s your decision?” Thorn demanded, looking slightly annoyed at her hesitation.
This was the moment. The one that would decide her fate.
Common sense, social pressure, and nearly all the evidence told her to take Thorn up on his offer.
Let him fuck her. Let him keep her alive.
Riana glanced around the prison one more time, and her eyes landed on the barred cell of the loner whose name Davis hadn’t known. In the back of her mind, she’d noticed he’d stepped over to watch when she’d laid out the sleaze a minute ago.
Now he was standing silently, one hand resting loosely on a bar.
Her eyes met his for a few seconds, and she saw something there she hadn’t seen in anyone else’s here.
It wasn’t kindness or pity or mercy or anything soft.
She couldn’t really name what she’d seen, but it reminded her of independence.
She turned back to Thorn.
He was waiting, a smirk of pleased entitlement on his handsome face, as if he never doubted what her answer would be.
That did it. She ignored her reason and followed her instinct.
She turned on her heel and kicked out again, this time landing the blow right on Thorn’s hard, flat stomach.
He grunted and took a step backward, more in surprise than real pain.
It was a good kick, but there was no way she could outmaneuver him physically.
“I don’t want you or them,” Riana said loudly, turning her head to look back at the loner in his cell, giving him a significant gaze she could only hope he’d respond to.
A wash of rage transformed Thorn’s face, intensifying when other prisoners started to snicker a little.
Thorn advanced on her like a stalking animal. “We’ll go with the third alternative,” he gritted out. “I’ll take you first and then throw what’s left back to the rest of them.”
It wasn’t an idle threat. Riana knew he would act on it. She would be beaten and raped and then given to others who would do it to her again and again.
She looked back at the loner and felt a wave of absolute despair when she saw he’d turned his back. On her. On the rest of the prison.
He wasn’t going to respond after all.
Which meant there was absolutely no hope for her.
Riana gulped in what air she could over the strangling lump in her throat and turned to face Thorn with the last bit of courage she possessed.
She’d gambled on the wrong man, it seemed. Foolishly. Impulsively. And now she was going to face the consequences.
Thorn made a grab for her hair, which was in a no-nonsense ponytail. She jerked away but not quickly enough.
He snatched a handful of hair and used it to drag her closer to him, the pull on her scalp so brutal she wanted to cry.
She didn’t cry. Instead, she fought back blindly, doing all she could to knee him in the groin. She landed a glancing blow, one that made him huff, but it wasn’t effective enough to cause him to loosen his hold.
Her fingernails clawed at his chest, trying to gouge him deeply enough to hurt. Her struggles were futile though, as she’d known they’d be.
He twisted her around until her back was against his chest and one powerful arm imprisoned her around the waist.
Then something happened. She was suddenly freed, stumbling away with a whimper of shock, pain, and relief.
She turned around to see the loner standing in front of a gasping Thorn, whom he must have just punched on the side.
“What the fuck,” Thorn rasped, staring in astonishment up at the other man. “Do you actually want to claim the little bitch?”
The loner didn’t say anything. His expression was stoic, unmoving, and his eyes never left Thorn’s.
When Thorn swung at him, the man caught the fist and began to twist Thorn’s arm around his back. Thorn wasn’t a weakling, so the physical power in the move was as shocking as it was impressive.
Thorn managed to pull away and got a swing in at the other man’s abdomen. It landed but didn’t have any evident effect. The other man kept coming, lashing out at Thorn with both his arm and his leg, leaving Thorn doubled over and winded.
No one interfered. It must be some kind of archaic code of honor among criminals.
The whole Hold was buzzing with astonished reaction to the scene, but Riana couldn’t look away from the two men fighting.
She was still terrified but for a different reason now. She knew which man was going to win this fight.
She was just scared of what would happen afterward, when she had to give herself to him.
The loner swung again and this time missed, as Thorn finally managed to get in a good move. He leveled a blow at the other man’s face, and his fist glanced off the side of his jaw, leaving blood in its wake.
After that it was a desperate, primitive wrestling match in which it was impossible to pinpoint distinct moves. The two men were well matched, grappling in a tangle of limbs for several minutes before the loner leveled the final blow.
Thorn lay on the floor, bloody and gasping. The loner stood up—not in great shape himself—but he was as stoic and silent as ever as he walked over to Riana.
Their eyes met, and she noticed that his were a startling shade of blue in his dark face. She swallowed and tried to say something but couldn’t think of anything to say.
The other criminals stepped aside, clearly intimidated by the man who’d just defeated their alpha.
It had been a risk, but Riana had thought he might. He didn’t have the biggest cell but he had the best one—with bars and the private toilet. He would have had to successfully defeat others to win it. Just because he didn’t mingle in the warped community that constituted the prison didn’t mean he wasn’t more than capable of tackling it.
She had no hopes that he’d be kind, gentle, or loving. But looking at him didn’t sicken her like looking at everyone else she’d seen here.
If she was going to fuck anyone, it was going to be him.
He didn’t say a word as he faced her, and after a minute he took the back of her shirt in his hand and used his grip on it to push her forward toward his cell. He’d understood the silent agreement as much as she had.
She walked with him willingly—although she clearly didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was a little rougher than she was comfortable with when he pushed her into his cell and stepped in afterward.
He locked the barred door behind them. The click of the lock was both horrifying and a relief.
Now she was locked in this cell with a nameless criminal.
But at least all the rest of them were locked out.
The cell wasn’t very large. There was room enough for a bed with a thin mattress attached the wall, a metal table with one drawer—also attached to the wall—and a bulky object covered by a tattered sheet in one corner. There was also an ancient, battered sink in the opposite corner that appeared to have working water—another rare luxury in this hellhole.
Riana stood in the middle of the floor and waited, something inside her shuddering.
The man gestured into the small nook with the toilet. “You can use it.”
His voice was curt and gruff, and his stare was utterly blank.
She limped toward the bathroom, a little sore from her scuffle with Thorn. “Thanks.” She meant it. No matter how abrupt the offer, it was a generous gesture. She shivered at the thought of having to face the horror of the shared bathroom where she’d be threatened every moment.
When she got into the bathroom, she was brutally aware of the fact that there wasn’t a door. So she was grateful that he didn’t stand and watch her as she went—which he could have insisted on.
Instead he stepped away, and she heard him turn on the water in the sink.
The toilet was an archaic one that ran with plumbing, but Riana was hardly going to complain as she flushed it. When she came out, she saw that the man was leaning over and splashing water on his face.
He even had a couple of towels. She wondered how he’d gotten his hands on them.
“Is your face okay?” she asked weakly, as she noticed him wiping away the blood.
“Fine.”
He sure wasn’t much of a conversationalist.
“I’m Riana.” She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Her knees were shaky, so she sank down to perch on the edge of the bed.
“Okay.”
She blinked. He wasn’t even going to tell her his name?
“Thanks,” she began, trying to speak clearly despite her nerves, “For your help. I mean, for…”
He turned around and stared down at her.
The man was pure physicality. His closely shaved dark hair emphasized the sculpted curve of his skull. His olive skin—it must be natural since there was no sun to tan his skin here—was covered with a sheen of perspiration. He was wearing the kind of sleeveless t-shirt her grandmother had called a “wife-beater,” and it showed off his impressive shoulders and the rippling muscles of his arms. His well-worn trousers were slung low on lean hips. His large build was natural too and—although he was obviously in excellent shape—he didn’t look fake or overblown like Asp.
His features were too starkly chiseled, and his expression too impassive to be labeled traditionally handsome. But power and masculinity radiated off him in waves.
“Do you think I helped you out of the goodness of my heart?”
It was the longest sentence she’d heard him utter, and it made her heart leap into her throat. “Uh, no, but I’m still grateful.”
“No gratitude. I’m getting something in return.” His blue eyes seemed to impale her. “Right?”
She gulped. “Right.”
Never for a minute had she hoped he would generously give her a pass. Of course, she was going to have to fuck him.
He took three steps over until he was standing next to the bed, directly in front of where she was sitting. “Take off your shirt.”
Riana gasped and darted her eyes over to the bars of the cell. The other prisoners were still milling outside, some blatantly staring at the two of them inside.
He followed her look. “There’s no privacy here. You’ll get used to it.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she realized she was going to have to deal with the embarrassment. With trembling fingers, she started to undo the buttons on the front of her shirt.
The man watched her. His face didn’t change, but she thought she saw something almost hungry in his gaze when she dared to meet his eyes.
When she’d unbuttoned her shirt, she slowly pushed it off over her shoulders, left only in her stretchy camisole.
“That one too,” the man directed, his voice even lower and thicker than before.
Might as well get it over with. Riana turned on the bed so she wouldn’t expose her breasts to any passing ogler and pulled her camisole off over her head.
Her bare breasts jiggled slightly from the motion. She didn’t have an extraordinarily voluptuous figure. Her limbs were long and lean, and she’d always been fairly athletic. But her breasts were firm and rounded, so she hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed.
She was almost as terrified of his deciding not to bother with her as she was of having him fuck her.
He didn’t appear to be disappointed, although it was almost impossible to read anything on his face. He leaned down, pushing her down onto her back on the bed. He reached out to cup her breasts—not caressing as much as feeling them. His gaze devoured her half-naked form.
She tried to block out the crude laughter from outside the cell. At least his body now mostly shielded her nakedness from outsiders.
His hands were big and calloused, and they felt rough against her skin. Her nipples had peaked from the cool air and his touch, but she was far too scared to feel any pleasure.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as he slid his hands down from her breasts to her flat belly.
When his fingers hooked around the waistband of her pants, she couldn’t hold back a little whimper of fear.
He paused, and his eyes returned to her face. “I don’t get off on pain,” he muttered.
Riana swallowed hard and realized what he was telling her. It was a comfort. More of a comfort that she’d expected.
He wasn’t going to hurt her. At least, not intentionally.
She could fuck him. She’d fucked men she didn’t know very well before. The last man she’d slept with had been two years ago—a one-night-stand with a guy she’d met in a bar. It had left her feeling kind of icky, and she’d been avoiding sexual entanglements since then. She’d never had any hopes of falling in love in a traditional romance, so it hadn’t been all that hard to go without.
She had sexual urges like everyone else, but there were simpler ways of dealing with those.
It had been a while for her, but she could fuck this man. He was a better choice than anyone else here. He wasn’t ugly or nauseating, and he didn’t appear to be out to hurt or humiliate her.
She took a few, slow deep breaths and nodded at him.
He must have taken that as her sign of acceptance because he returned to unfastening her pants.
She lifted up her hips so he could pull them off with her panties.
The man stared down at her groin, that hungry look appearing again in his eyes.
Riana panted in nervous gasps, trying to will her body to relax.
He reached down and parted her intimate folds, pressing his thumb against her clit.
She made a little mew in response, feeling a surreal kind of disbelief that this was actually happening to her.
Using his thumb to rub her clit in little circles, the man kept devouring her body with his gaze.
Then she realized what he was doing. Trying to turn her on so she’d be wet enough for him to enter comfortably.
“Rub your breasts,” he said, sustaining the massage with this thumb.
She obeyed his direction, flushing in embarrassment but realizing it was a good idea. The wetter she was, the better it would be. It was actually a generous gesture on his part.
He could have just thrust into her dry and started pounding away.
A lot of men would.
She twirled her nipples between her fingers and thumbs and felt the tugs at her pussy in response. She forced her breathing to slow, taking deep inhalations and long exhalations.
His thumb on her clit helped and her body finally began to relax. She felt the beginnings of pressure between her legs, although her heart was still pounding brutally in her chest.
The man readjusted his hand, sliding his finger into her pussy to test her readiness. She was a little bit wet now and the feel of his finger inside her, combined with his thumb on her clit and her own fondling of her breasts, caused a sudden jolt of pleasure to surprise her.
She gasped and arched up slightly, her mouth falling open on the taken breath.
He grunted and pulled his hand from between her legs. “Fuck.” Something hot had fl
ared up in his gaze, and he began to fumble at the fastenings of his pants.
Riana stared, realizing with a clench in her belly that he wasn’t able to wait any longer.
He freed his cock, although Riana didn’t look down at it—afraid the sight of such an intimate part of his body would push her anxiety over the edge. Then he positioned himself between her legs and lined up his erection at her entrance.
She still wasn’t very wet so he used his saliva to slick his cock up before he pushed it into her pussy.
He was big, and she was tight. And even with his attempts to make it easier, the stretching of her inner walls was intense and uncomfortable.
Riana whimpered, her hands flying up to clutch at the pillow beneath her head.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” His face twisted and his head jerked to the side, his breath hitching in his throat. “Okay?”
She couldn’t say no. This was his payment for protecting her and letting her survive. She took two long deep breaths, willing her inner muscles to relax against the penetration. “Yeah.”
His eased his hips back and then forward again in a small, experimental thrust. His cock moved pretty easily inside her and the discomfort was easing up some.
He’d reared up on straightened arms, holding his chest off hers. Since she had room, Riana squeezed her hand down between their pelvises so she could rub at her clit.
The stimulation had the immediate effect of distracting her from the tight stretching. So when he began to thrust for real, it was neither painful nor unpleasant.
He was panting above her now and sweating, and he made soft grunts every time he pitched his hips forward.
Riana bent her knees up higher and rubbed her clit hard and fast. It wasn’t bad. She could do this. He was an attractive, masculine man, and he was taking it pretty easy on her. Maybe eventually she could even enjoy it.
Then she happened to glance over his powerfully built shoulder and noticed a few prisoners standing in front of the cell, staring blatantly as he fucked her.
She whimpered again, her body washed in the heat of mortification as she imagined what they were seeing.
The man paused with a thick hitch of his breath at the pitiful sound she made. He must have recognized what she had noticed.