by Sabre Rose
I smile and nod.
Normal.
I don’t even know what that is anymore.
requestor
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
REQUESTOR
I lift the strip of material to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells of her. Of sweetness and innocence that I long to ruin.
I wanted to take her back straight away, but my father forbade it. He said it would be too dangerous with the police watching her so intently, with her mother never leaving her side and her father stalking the neighborhood at night like some deranged vigilante. At first, it enraged me. She was mine. She belongs in my arms, trapped in my cage and no one else’s. I had visions of what I could do to my father, all the ways I could inflict punishment upon him for keeping me away from what is mine. I had to lessen my seething rage with music, pounding at the keys of the piano, and plucking the strings of a cello until my fingers bled. For hours I had locked myself away, too scared of what I would do if I allowed myself freedom. Thoughts and visions of her were too strong.
But the risk was too big.
My songbird would be mine.
I just needed to be patient. A useless virtue, but one I needed to exercise in order for my plan to succeed. I would wait, like my father instructed, but I wouldn’t wait forever.
So I content myself with watching her from afar. It becomes somewhat of a game, lurking in the shadows as she sits, staring at the stars out her window, unable to sleep, thinking of me. Following her to the police station and resisting the urge to snatch her away while she sits in the car as her mother speaks to the detective, a man who personally knows how deep the pockets of my family truly are.
It is an exercise in control. A way for me to demonstrate to my father that I’m no longer the child he thinks I am.
My father is worried. He doesn’t want his perfect reputation to be tainted by Ryker’s mistake, but I know that the police will never trace her back to me. How could they? Not even she knows who I am and there is no fear of anyone else talking. They are either too loyal or buried in the dirt.
I have begun to take pleasure from my sinister role as her stalker. It is a thrill to be the eyes burning in the dark. I know she can sense me, feel me. Feel the intensity of my need for her, even from afar.
She is becoming bolder, venturing out of her cocoon of safety. Even now, as she sits on the couch, her eyes glued to the book in her lap, I can sense a peace to her smile. Her fear has begun to subside. She’s beginning to relax into her old life, making the thought of ripping her away again that much more pleasurable.
With me, her life will be controlled. She will live only to satisfy me, please me. I will take the talent she has no idea is within her and bring it to the fore, bend it to my will until she is beyond perfection.
My cock hardens just at the thought.
I can picture her now, her hands tied behind her back, her face upturned, tears welling in her eyes and her lips trembling. She will open on my command and I will feed myself into her. She will suck on me hungrily, desperately, increasing my hardness as I push deeper into her throat. I will cup the back of her head with my hand and force her onto me until she gags to be set free, her body convulsing as it screams for air. But I won’t give it to her. I will keep her there, stuffed against me and reach down to dig my fingers into the plump flesh of her ass. She will try to get away. I know she will try to get away but there will be nowhere for her to go because she will be trapped in a gilded cage of my making, existing only for me. She will fear me, but she will love me. She will beg for me to do bad things to her.
And I will break her.
Despite the coldness to the night, my blood is on fire just thinking about her. My cock is rock hard but as demented as I know I can sometimes be, I’m not going to be caught jerking off while watching her in the darkness.
I have a plan, but I must be patient in allowing her to think that she is safe. It will make our time together that much more potent. The thought of it makes my father’s denial of taking her almost bearable.
But in the meantime, I need to get laid. I need a cunt to sate my straining cock. Flicking through the contacts of my phone, I dial a number, clearing my throat of its husky desperation.
“You home?” I ask as soon as she answers, returning to my car and starting the drive to her house.
“You’re in town?”
The hitch to her voice tells me she wants me. She always wants me. The slut is nothing like my songbird. She is simply a way to relieve an itch and a damn sight cheaper than a hooker. She’s the disguise I’ve worn for months. And since she comes from a wealthy family, being seen with her in public comes with the approval of my parents.
When she opens the door, she’s dressed only in a translucent nightgown. The swell of her huge breasts is visible through the material, her nipples peaking merely at my appearance. I know she’s wet for me. She’s always wet for me. It’s why I keep her around.
She looks at me with a ‘come-fuck-me’ gaze as I step across the threshold, wrapping my fingers around her neck and pushing her to the wall. Her eyes roll back in her head. She likes it rough. It’s not as arousing as if she didn’t, but at least she can satisfy my desire without causing any problems. She’s a mask. A cover to hide my darker desires.
I take her lips, plundering her mouth with my tongue. Even with my hands wrapped around her neck, she’s desperate for me. I bet her wetness is leaking down her legs at the thought of what I’m going to do to her.
I’ve always been rough with her. She’s never wanted anything else. So I tear at her gown, ripping it until her breasts are exposed. She gasps for air as I loosen my grip and slap her bouncing tits. Her nipples harden even more, and I take one between my fingers, twisting and pulling, pinching and tugging until she rises on her tiptoes, begging for me to stop but not meaning a word of it. Then I lower my head and bite. A wave of lust jolts through me when she gasps once again.
“On your knees,” I command, remembering the fantasy of my songbird. She falls to the ground and starts to pull my cock from its confines. She’s eager. Too eager and it ruins the illusion. Her face isn’t wet with tears, and instead of a trembling mouth, she licks her lips in anticipation.
I push her away and she falls to the ground, looking up at me with curiosity. “Did I do something wrong?”
I slap her across the face. “Turn around. On all fours.”
She scrambles to obey like the good little bitch that she is, and I spread the cheeks of her ass wide. She glistens for me, her moisture so thick it’s smeared over the inside of her thighs.
I plunge into her roughly, but she can’t take the force, her chest hitting the ground, so I steady her hips with my hands as I fuck her relentlessly. She moans. She groans. She whimpers and pleads, and it messes with my fantasy. Reaching down I yank her hair, jerking her head back, her throat tight.
“Shut up.”
But my words only make her groan louder.
Her hair is spiked between my fingers and I tug roughly, rough enough that a squeal emits from her mouth. Taking her from this angle means if I squint enough I can pretend she is my songbird. But she keeps moaning and pleading, telling me to fuck her harder, make her hurt.
“Fuck. Up.” I punctuate the words with thrusts.
This is physical, nothing else. There is no spiritual connection between us. No coming together of souls. It pales in comparison to what my songbird and I will experience, but it’s enough for me to empty my seed. Enough for me to dull my lust.
I withdraw from her and she rolls over, her tits heaving with each labored breath. She’s enraptured with me. She thinks what we have is special.
Pathetic whore.
I treat her as nothing more than a fuck-toy and she laps it up.
She blinks at me through a haze of lust. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll call you,” I say, stuffing my cock back into my pants and doing up the zipper.
She bites her bottom lip as though I wou
ld find it appealing.
“Make sure you do.”
I leave her with torn clothes and my spunk dripping from her as I walk out the door.
She’s nothing more than a way to pass the time until my songbird is mine.
mia
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MIA
Roxy looks at me seriously as we sit in the window of the coffee shop. Around us, the world continues as though it isn’t broken. As though it is the same world as before. People smile and laugh. They shop and talk. Some walk quickly, and others stroll past the window without any sense of urgency.
“I think you need to face your fear.” Roxy picks up the marshmallows on the edge of her saucer and plops them into her drink.
“Excuse me?” I take a sip of the hot liquid. The scent takes me back to the cell with Ryker, of how good caffeine tasted after weeks of missing it. “Exactly which fear are you referring to? I am not holding a spider.”
Roxy rolls her eyes. She’s been my constant companion since my return and has been steadily drawing me out of my self-inflicted shell.
“Singing? The bar?” She lifts her eyebrows and small lines form across her brow. Another reminder of Ryker.
I shake my head. “Not happening.”
“You don’t think it’s time?”
“I’ve been back for just over two weeks.”
“And?” she prompts.
“And I’ve been back for just over two weeks.”
She sighs. “I’m just saying that the sooner you get out there again, the sooner you’ll realize he’s not coming for you.”
I look down at my coffee as I jiggle the handle, watching as ripples pass over the liquid. “You don’t know that.”
“But you don’t know that he is. It would be stupid of him to do anything. He’s probably moved onto someone else.”
“Well, that makes it okay then, if he’s moved onto some other poor girl.”
She reaches across and stills my hand with her own. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just want to see the old you again. I want to see your smile. I want to hear your laugh.”
I sit up straight and plaster on a smile.
She sighs again, admitting defeat. “Fine. I guess it is too soon. I only wanted to help. I even asked Remy and Sebastian to come down so they could come with us and act as your personal protectors.”
“You’re still with that guy?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I grin and chew on my bottom lip. “No reason.”
“No.” Her eyes flash. “What do you mean by that? Don’t you like him? Have you seen him?”
I hold my hands up, protesting my innocence. “Yes, yes, he’s very good looking. I’m sure he’s lovely.”
“Lovely? He’s far from lovely. Fuck lovely.” She spits the word out as though it’s a curse. “And good looking? You’ve seen him, right? He’s like a fucking Greek god.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Lovely.” She snorts then looks back at me questioningly. “Don’t you like him?”
I laugh at how frustrated she is. “He just doesn’t seem your type.”
“And what exactly is my type, oh knowledgeable one?”
“Someone with a personality.”
“Hey!” she cries in mock indignation. Then she settles back into her seat. “Okay, so he’s a little on the dull side, but he is freakishly good in bed.” She wiggles her eyebrows as though it gives added emphasis. “Speaking of boyfriends…” She lets the word hang between us.
“What?” I ask dryly.
“Remy was so worried about you.”
“So you’ve said.”
“He was,” she insists. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He asks about you all the time.”
“That’s nice.”
“You’re not even the tiniest bit interested? I know he’s my brother and all and I’m really not keen on being his pimp, but he really was worried about you. It was almost sweet.”
“You are the only person in the world who would think discussing a possible boyfriend only two weeks after someone got home from being held captive was okay.”
“So is that a no?”
“Yes.”
She frowns playfully. “It’s a yes?”
“No. It was a yes to my answer being no.”
Picking up her cup of coffee, she grins over the rim. “Now you’re not even making sense.” She takes a noisy slurp. “Well I’ve already sorted for Remy and Sebastian to come down for the night, so we can either have a nice intimate time watching a movie or something with Remy sitting and staring awkwardly at you all night, or we could go to the bar.” She shrugs. “Your choice.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
She smiles, the foam of the coffee caught on her upper lip. “Yes, actually, I do.”
Mum is standing at the kitchen sink when I walk in the door.
“Did you have a nice afternoon with Roxy?” she asks.
I throw my bag onto the couch and flop onto one of the seats around the table. “She wants me to go out tonight.”
Mum stops what she is doing and turns to look at me. “And how do you feel about that?” She dries her hands on a tea towel and sits down opposite me, watching as my head sinks into my hands.
“I don’t know,” is my muffled reply. “She says I should face my fear.”
“And exactly which fear is she referring to?” She prises my fingers apart to catch my eye. “Does she know you won’t hold a spider?”
I smile and remove my hands. “That’s exactly what I told her.”
Mum relaxes back into her chair, flicking the tea towel over her shoulder. “Great minds and all that.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should do whatever makes you feel the best. You’ve only been home a matter of days. There is no point in pushing things. I’m sure Roxy means well, but she has no idea what you’ve been through. You are the only one who knows that.”
“So you don’t think I should go?”
Getting up from the table, Mum walks back over to the sink to bury her hands in the bubbles. “That’s not what I said.”
“You think I shouldn’t?”
“Mia.” She twists her head to look back at me. “Only you can answer that.”
A timer beeps and Mum pulls her hands out of the water to open the oven door. She’s been baking non-stop since my return. I think she needs to go back to work. The scent of oven-fresh croissants wafts through the house.
“You hungry?”
I shake my head, pulling myself up from the table. “I think I’m going to go.”
Mum doesn’t react. She doesn’t act shocked, or surprised, she doesn’t nod with approval. She merely dumps the tray of croissants on top of the oven.
“Would you like me to come along with you? Will you sing? I’ve never actually heard you sing anywhere other than church.”
I shake my head, panic striking me even at the mention of singing. It’s what drew him to me. I feel like if I did it again, it would almost be inviting his attention.
“Roxy is bringing her brother and her boyfriend along as personal bodyguards. I will be fine.” But then the panic overwhelms me again and I sink back into the chair. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. Part of me feels like I’m just asking for trouble.”
Mum’s whips around to face me. “Don’t you ever say that, Mia Cooper.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re asking for trouble. Nothing you could ever do would be asking for someone to take you, to think they could own you!”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant that maybe I should just concentrate on staying safe for a while.”
“I think you should stop thinking about what you should and shouldn’t do and just do what you want.” She sits back at the table and takes my hands between her own. “You need to take as much time as you want to heal but you also can’t let fear dictate your life. You need to do things because you want
to do them, Mia. Not because Roxy wants to, not because you’re scared. You know I will always support your choices, but I want them to be yours, Mia.”
I swallow the tears and the panic and manage a wobbly smile. “So, what you’re really saying is you think I should go.”
Grabbing the tea towel from over her shoulder she flicks it in my face. “Go. Stay. I don’t care which, as long as it’s the choice you have made and not because of anyone else.”
“Right.” Somehow, I feel bolder, as though some of Mum’s strength has transferred to me. “I’m going to go.”
Mum smiles. “Good. But make sure you have your phone on you and are with either Roxy or Remy at all times, okay?”
Getting to my feet, I walk across the space to kiss my mother on her forehead. “There’s the mother I know and love.”
She laughs and pushes me away, but when I look back at her, there are tears in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
She smiles tightly and nods. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she attempts to fan away the tears. “I was such a mess while you were gone.” Bursting into tears, she slides down the wall, dissolving into a mound of sobs. “I’m sorry,” she wails. “I’ve been trying to be so strong for you. I’ve been through nothing compared to you and I wanted to be the strong one. Your rock, you know, the one person you could always count on for both comfort and strength. But I’m just so tired. Any time I forget, even if it’s for a second, a crushing guilt overwhelms me. How could I let this happen to my baby? Why didn’t I keep you safe?”
I crouch beside her and take her in my arms. “You don’t have to be strong for me, Mum. You just have to be here. And you always have. Always.”
Mum smiles through her tears and attempts to wipe them away, smudging her mascara in the process. “Look at me acting all stupid.” She fans her face. “I need to get a grip on myself.”
I shrug. “It’s actually nice to see someone else losing it a little.”