by Loki Renard
His car pulls to a smooth halt out the front of the college and I feel my stomach drop.
“I gotta go,” I mumble with a wave back at my friends.
Dante is driving. He doesn’t look at me when I get in. He doesn’t say a fucking word.
“I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing. “I… okay. I can see you’re mad, but I promise I wasn’t trying to…”
I give up. It’s like talking to a stone wall until we get back home. Dante shuts the front door behind me and says the first sentence he’s said since the phone call.
“Empty out your purse.”
“No!”
He grabs it from me, dumps it out on the foyer table, and starts going through it. There’s my phone. Tampons. Some money.
“What’s this?”
He holds up some lipstick.
“It’s lipstick.”
“It still has the tags on it.”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“Where’s the receipt?”
“I didn’t get one… what is this about?”
“You know what it is about,” he growls. “You’re a little thief. Did you shoplift this?”
“What if I did? What do you care?”
“You’re my wife! And I’ve already bailed you out of jail once. What do you think will happen if I have to again?”
“You’ll get all self-righteous, probably,” I snap. “You’re a criminal. I can be too.”
“No, you can’t,” he says, grasping my chin in his big hand. “Because you are going to do and be better. One of us has to be good and straight, and that’s you.”
“What if I don’t want it to be me?”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” he says, taking me by the arm and leading me into the living room, which isn’t empty. That guy is there. The British guy who had his wallet hanging out basically begging to be stolen.
“You’ve met Arthur,” he says.
“Uhm yeah?”
“Good. He’s going to watch me spank your ass for stealing.”
“No!”
“Yes. But first, you’re going to apologize.”
“I…” I blush red. There’s no point refusing to say sorry. It’s not like they don’t know I did it. I’m not sorry “I’m sorry?”
“Oh you're sorry,” Dante growls, sitting down on the nearest chair, he yanks me over his lap. Jesus. I can’t believe this is happening. It isn’t fair. He never explicitly said I couldn’t steal stuff. My skirt rides up high, staying down just low enough not to be completely indecent.
“You can’t take things that aren’t yours,” he lectures me. I guess he’s said it now
“Funny, coming from a man who breaks the law all the time… OW!”
He smacks my ass. Hard.
“There’s still rules in this world,” he lectures me. “We don’t take from allies.”
“Paddington isn’t an ally, he’s an ass… OW!” I cry out again as Dante’s palm lands across my cheeks again. He has a big hand that is capable of reaching both cheeks at once, and he has an incredible amount of strength that makes it possible for him to damn near break me if he wants to. The fact that this is stinging more than killing me is him showing mercy. I know that. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I close my eyes so I can’t see the man watching me and I hold on to Dante’s leg and I squeeze tighter and tighter as he spanks me long and hard, thoroughly covering my bottom in hard swats which make me squirm and thrash over his lap. My blood is burning with humiliation and I know will not forget this for a long time. I also don’t know that it will make any difference at all.
I start screaming out promises. I don’t even know what it is I’m saying. I’m screaming that I won’t be a bad girl anymore, that I won’t take anything. “I’ll be good, forever!” I shriek as his palm meets my ass in another one of those solid swats that makes my entire body jolt. Fuck! The pain is building, the sting making me desperate as all hell.
“Dante! What do you want me to say!?” I gasp, tears breaking the borders of my self-control. “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!”
He stops. I can’t explain the relief that courses through my body just to have him cease that incessant whipping which has left my ass so hot it doesn’t feel like it is part of me anymore. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is what I’ve deserved literally forever. I can think of a hundred times in my past that something like this should have happened to me, and didn’t. Dante’s harshness reaches back into my past, touches me where I should have been touched.
“Say sorry to Arthur,” he says, standing me up. His voice is clipped and serious. I feel so small and so utterly ashamed. “Make it sound like you mean it,” he adds, giving me a little nudge toward the man. I’m within an arm’s length, but I can barely make my voice lift above a shamed whisper. He edges closer, unable to hear me.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper. “I’m really sorry, mister.”
“No serious harm done,” Paddington says, patting me on the back in a way that is sort of kindly. “Dante, we’ll not mention this again.”
“Good,” Dante says.
“I’ll see myself out,” he says in a more gentlemanly way than I expect him to. I don’t know what I thought he’d do. Gloat, maybe? He gives Dante so much shit. I guess I make too pathetic a sight to gloat over.
I risk a glance up at Dante, and I see that though the British man might have forgiven me, Dante has not.
“That man nearly started killing my guys because you stole that wallet,” Dante tells me. “You could have blood on your hands right now, girl.”
“I’m sorry,” I whimper pathetically. I am actually sorry. I barely even remember taking that wallet. It just… happened.
Tears fall as Dante pulls me back down, this time on his lap, not over it.
“I’m such a fuck up,” I whisper.
Dante
I’m mad at her, but more important than my feelings is the fact that I can tell she’s upset. Real upset. And it’s about more than getting her ass whipped, I can tell. I hold her and I wait for her to talk. I know there’s something she wants to tell me. I can feel it in the room with us, something heavy. Something I’ve been trying to understand since I met her.
“I’ve been stealing my whole life,” she admits. “I just do it. I don’t know why. Sometimes there’s a reason. Sometimes I need something. But most of the time… I just like how it makes me feel.” She looks at me with those pretty blue eyes. “I like stealing. I know it’s wrong. I guess… I guess I don’t care.”
I knew there was something about her I recognized the moment I saw her. She’s deviant. It’s hard coded into her DNA.
“Well, baby, there’s some good news,” I tell her. “You’re gonna get opportunities to steal for me. You’re pretty good at it. But if you take so much as a pen without my permission, I’m going to whip your ass so damn hard…”
“Okay,” she nods. “I understand. I’m sorry about that guy’s wallet. It was just right there! And I felt like, I don’t know, I had to take it.”
“Alright, baby. Tell me. Is there anything else?”
“Uhm…”
“What?” My tone lowers sternly.
“You’re going to be so mad…”
“I’m not. Just be honest. Right now, this is an amnesty. You can tell me anything you’ve taken and there won’t be punishment.”
She can’t take any more punishment anyway. Her ass is bright red, bordering on bruising and though I’m sure I could find some other part of her body to take it out on, emotionally, she’s done. I don’t want to break her. I could, but I’ve never wanted to do that. I like her spirit. I even like, in some fucked up way, that I’m having to do this. I’m never going to be bored with Candi around, that’s for sure.
She looks at me under her wet eyelashes and whispers something that makes me immediately un-think everything I just thought.
“Are you serious!?” I growl, even though I said I wasn’t going to.
�
��I’m sorry! I couldn’t… it was right there!”
“Jesus, Candi! How did you even fucking do that?”
There’s a knock at the door. I know who it is already. And I know what it is about. Paddington is back.
I open the door and hand the man his phone. I’d say he forgot it, but he didn’t. I didn’t even see Candi get close enough to him to…
“Sorry, she…”
He smirks and shrugs. “Girl has some balls on her, to steal my phone when she’s being punished for stealing my wallet.”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“Good luck, my man. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
I close the door, agreeing silently. I just got done whipping her ass for stealing and she steals again?
Candi is in tears by the time I get back to her. I was mad, but when I see her break down, I’m not mad anymore. I’m worried for her.
“Hey…shhh…”
She shakes her head, her shoulders heaving with distress. Just like that, It all falls into place. I’m an idiot. She said the words to me and I still didn’t understand what she really meant. She doesn’t want to steal. She can’t help stealing. It’s as hardwired into her as breathing.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… I’m so fucked up.”
“No, you’re not. You’re where you need to be and you’re with who you need to be with. I know people like you, Candi.”
“What do you mean, people like me?” She sniffs miserably.
“I mean, people who can’t help but take shit,” I say. “I got guys with the same condition. There’s ways to help it.”
“Ways besides beating me?”
“Yeah,” I say, pushing hair out of her eyes. “There’s therapy.”
She giggles through her tears.
“What’s so funny?”
“Someone like you, suggesting therapy.”
“It’s a condition, baby. I know you’re not doing this shit just to get attention. Not with the state of your ass being what it is right now.”
Candi
He’s so fucking sweet. And he's right. My whole life, I’ve been the pretty, perfect blonde cheerleader who got away with everything. Dante is the only man who ever managed to stop me doing anything I wanted to. He’s also the only man who ever saw past my tits and ass long enough to notice what else I was doing. I used to never be caught. He catches me every time.
“There’s more,” I say softly.
“How much more.”
“The bottles, er, that, you know…”
“The whiskey?” He raises his brow.
“It didn’t go missing. I took them and I put them under the house.”
He pulls back and looks down at me. I expect him to be angry because I lied to him all this time. But he’s not. Like, at all.
“I know,” he smirks. “I got them back the next day.”
“You did not!” I stare at him. “And if you did, then why did you keep coming for me?”
“Because I wanted to,” he smiles, dropping a kiss on my nose. “Because you’re not the only one who takes what they want.”
I stare into his eyes, then let out a laugh. “Oh my god. We really do belong together.”
“Yes,” he agrees, pulling me into a warm hug, his palm rubbing away some of the heat he put there. “We do”
I cuddle into him, feel his strength wrapped around me. I don’t know if I will be any better with him, but I do know I won’t be any worse. Dante loves me. I feel that to my very core. With him, I am seen and I am known - and I think I might be starting to know him too. He is strong. He is dark in spirit and mind. But he is also fiercely protective of those who depend on him, a true leader of men and the only man I will ever love, in soul, or body.
Also from Loki…
Candi and Dante’s story has come to an end. I hope you enjoyed their dynamic. I sure did :) Writing these two kept me entertained long into the night on more than one occasion.
The good news is that there’s always more to read! Check out my recent dark romance release: The Seller.
Stavros
She’s all limbs, long legs exposed under the insufficient length of what passes for a skirt, curled up against the cold truth of the world. Her face is hidden beneath a curtain of hair which won’t protect her from anything down here.
I saw her lift her head and look around as I was coming down the stairs, but she’s decided it’s better to pretend to not be awake now that I’m standing over her, a man she doesn’t know, and has no reason to trust.
She is lit by a single bare bulb hanging above her head. It casts shadows all around her helpless frame. Those dark depths hold horrors she can’t begin to imagine. This place of captivity will become her world over the next hours and days. Soon, she’ll forget that there is anything outside these walls. She won’t know anyone or anything besides me.
Her helplessness makes me throb with need. She is nineteen years old, almost too old for what I have planned for her, but I think we can make it work.
“Sit up,” I say, crouching down next to her prone form. It puts my face, my hands, my body closer to her, gives me more control and more presence.
She doesn’t move, but I can see her breath quicken in the flaring of her nostrils and the pulse visible at the base of her pale neck. Naughty girl, refusing an order. She’ll soon learn not to do that.
She’s going to learn to obey.
She’s going to become so conditioned to obedience that anything else is literally unthinkable.
That will come in time. Today she will be scared and perhaps even defiant.
I love these first precious hours with a new girl. This is the time in which I learn precisely where her soft spots are, and she discovers that the world is not what she thought it was.
I reach down, let my fingers run through her hair. It is smooth and silky, with just a little grip from the product she used to make it sit so sleekly around her face. My caress brings a whimper to her lips, then a gasp as I tighten my fingers, grabbing her hair down by the roots. I lift her head up. Her upper body follows. As I tilt her head back, she can’t help but look at me with pretty, innocent blue eyes.
She is trembling in my grasp, portraying the kind of fear entirely appropriate for a situation such as this. But that is the word that sticks in my mind. Portraying. I have been there when a hundred different girls have found themselves in this situation, I have seen a hundred frightened expressions and felt the tremors of their terror. There is something superficial about this one. She is afraid, but not as deeply as she should be. I wonder if the drugs are yet to fully wear off.
“Help me,” she whispers as I lift a bottle to her lips.
“I am helping you,” I say, dribbling a little of my sedative-laced water between her lips. She swallows automatically. Good girl.
“I need to call my family.”
“Sshhh,” I say, gentling her with a brief brush of my hand against her temple. “You’re alright.”
She’s not alright. She won’t be, either. With one rash decision, she’s fallen off the radar of safe society, and into the pit which surrounds it on all sides. Most people aren’t even aware how limited their safety is. They have no idea how brutal the chaos which surrounds them on all sides truly can be. This girl is about to find out, and there’s something beautiful in that.
Even if it means death, to have seen the true face of this world we call home just once, is real freedom. So, then, though she is locked away in this basement which is so distant from everything she knows, in some way, I am setting her free.
This girl is young, beautiful, and apparently, impulsive. She’s been taught that she is a person, but down here, in my basement, she is just raw material. We look into one another’s eyes for a long moment. She is trying to understand me, trying to work out if I am a hero who has saved her, or something else. Unfortunately for her, it is the latter.
“Please…” she has a tremor in her voice now. Reality is starting to
sink in and she’s starting to get scared. She should be. Nothing good comes of finding yourself down here. This is the place hope comes to die.
“What’s your name?”
“Siri.”
I pause. “You’re named after the app?”
“I was born before the app,” she says, somewhat indignantly. In that moment she forgets her surroundings. She’s pulled back to her original self, and I get a glimpse of the girl who she was before she came down here. There’s something proud about her, something elegant, almost regal. This is a girl who comes from power.
Interesting.
“Who are your parents, Siri?”
She presses her lips together, and I know she’s not going to tell me.
“They’re dead.”
“Are they?”
She gives a quick little nod, tugging her hair against my fingers.
I’m not sure I believe her.
“My father killed my mother when I was four.”
She says it bluntly, matter of factly. It’s not an appeal to my emotion, it’s just information - and it has the ring of truth about it.
“And your father?”
“Died in prison.”
“Tragic,” I murmur.
“Like you give a fuck,” she shoots back, sudden fire emerging from her fragile frame.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I admit. No point pretending that this will be a meeting of emotional beings. I want to know who her parents are, because I want to know what level of heat having her is going to bring down on me. By the sounds of it, she’s a perfect candidate for my little program, an orphan with nobody to notice that she’s missing.
Everything about this girl is superficially made to order. Her personal situation, her appearance, her very bearing. I can feel the aristocracy in her veins. She is European and finely bred with it. She speaks with a hint of an American accent, indicating she’s spent some time in the United States, but she was picked up in Athens, so she’s either on vacation, or she’s returned home.