“I was fooled once before by a woman, but to be fooled a second time by another woman—shame on me,” he growls. He takes a big swig of wine, finishing his glass and setting it on the glass coffee table.
“You didn’t take our engagement seriously, did you?” he whispers.
I find the strength to answer. “I did,” I say ardently.
“Then why did you fuck Julian when you were nearly a married woman?” he hisses, eyes blazing.
I open my mouth, but my attempt to speak fails. My throat feels parched. I avoid his severe eyes, focusing my gaze on the empty wine glass on the coffee table in front of us.
Seconds or minutes pass—I am unaware of the amount of time that trickles by as he is silent. The silence expands with each passing moment.
My mind wanders to the past memories of Derek and I together, and his charming proposal. I berate myself. Was I blind or merely stupid for falling for him? I am appalled to have accepted his proposal. I gnaw on this thought for a while, but then my logic fights back. I had noticed no red flags or signs hinting that he was hiding a very dark side.
“If you are unable to produce an answer, I will produce one for you,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “All women are the same. They willingly fuck a man who appears to be the more dominant, more superior one.” He studies me, eyes razor-sharp and hostile.
“That is not true,” I murmur, finally finding my voice.
“Bullshit,” he snarls. “But let me tell you this, sweetheart, I’m the dominant one, and I will certainly do a better job of protecting and caring for you than Julian. I shall also have to be more firm with you.”
Derek produces a small, rectangular 24-karat-gold container from the breast pocket of his suit. He opens it and I watch in horror as he does a line of cocaine in front of me.
“You’re welcome to have some if you like,” he says as he brushes away the excess white powder from his nose.
I can’t take being around him anymore, so I stand up, ready to leave. Derek’s reflexes are faster than mine, and he pulls me back on the couch. “Where do you think you are going?” he hisses. “You follow my rules. I will no longer tolerate disrespectful behavior from you.”
I still can’t believe how different he has become. It makes me miss Julian all the more.
“It is rude to leave my company without asking permission,” he barks.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. “May I please be excused?”
“No, you may not,” he says harshly.
I take another breath. “It’s that time of the month. May I please be excused, Derek?”
He frowns, then waves me away. “Go darling, take care of yourself.”
I stand and rush upstairs into the master bedroom. I shower, change into a pink camisole top and panties, and get into bed. I stare at the ceiling as I hug the beige silk bed covers, processing Derek’s behavior. It can’t get any worse than this…can it?
CHAPTER EIGHT
I am suddenly awakened from a pleasant dream of kissing Julian. Derek’s gruff voice and rough fingers inside me make me feel as if I’ve being splashed with icy cold water.
“You fucking lying bitch,” he roars. “I don’t see any blood.”
I blink my eyes several times as he withdraws his fingers and shows them to me. It’s dark outside but the bedroom lights have been turned on. His eyes are a vibrant red and his face is contorted in rage.
I sit up and shove him away. “Stop this,” I scream. “You’re a monster.”
He lifts me out of bed, slings my over his shoulder, and strides though the penthouse into his home office. He locks the door and puts me in a leather chair near his imposing huge dark wood office desk. I watch tiredly as he searches through one of the drawers. I look at the transparent glass clock on the desk; it’s 2:09 a.m.
He has found what he’s looking for—a pair of scissors. He approaches me looking like the devil, with bloody red eyes, a flushed face, and messy black hair. “I’ll cut off your clit and you will never lie or stray from me again.”
A chill runs through me. I stand up and back away. He looks possessed, his eyes moving rapidly in their sockets. His breath is stale and bitter. I have no doubt that he is extremely drugged up.
I find myself cornered against the wall. My heart pumps with fear and anguish. “Derek, you’ve gone fucking crazy! Look at yourself,” I shout.
He uses the scissors to slice through my camisole top. It falls to the floor. He easily slices through my panties. Clearly, the scissors are sharp and will do what he is threatening.
I stand stark naked, trembling against the wall. Derek holds the scissors in his hand. “I shall perform the procedure on my desk.” He waves the scissors in my face, watching my reaction.
My mind races at the same speed my heart beats. Is he really serious about going through with this or is it just a threat—a psychological game to inspire terror in me?
He lifts me and strides to his desk. He leans over to lay me on it. I claw at and hang on to him, afraid to be set down.
I am horrified. This is no joke. He is serious about this. I can’t reason with him. Tears gush from my eyes and I whimper in fear.
“Derek, stop, stop,” I cry, hoping my pleas will break through his drug-fueled brain. “You’ve gone crazy.”
He is trying to put me down, but I hang on to him, avoiding the desk at all costs. His hands are wrapped around my waist and he tries to rip me off him.
“Derek, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, it’s all my fault,” I cry in desperation. “You’re right about everything. Please don’t hurt me.”
He hurls me off him and I topple to the floor. I scramble to stand up but he places his foot on my back to keep me down on all fours.
“If that was a sincere apology, I want to hear it again, just the way you are.”
His foot presses into my lower back, holding me still and at his mercy.
“Derek, I’m sorry for everything,” I murmur, trying to sound genuine and apologetic.
“Very well then, stand up,” he instructs. He takes his foot off my back and I raise myself to my feet.
He approaches, his eyes icy cold and blasting through mine. He wipes my tear-streaked face with two fingers and lifts them to his lips, tasting my sorrow.
Tears continue to stream down my face as I tremble uncontrollably.
“Do you love me?” he asks.
I know he will accept only one answer. At this point I am willing to say anything to save myself.
“I do love you, very much.” I am glib and insincere. I hear it in my voice, and he hears it as well.
Unexpectedly, he grabs me and bends me over on the desk, face-down. I cry out as he shoves his hard cock into me.
“No, no,” I scream as his hard, fast thrusts stab me.
His heavy balls whack against my rear with each lunge. His speed is unbelievable and he emits animalistic growls and grunts. He’s never fucked me like this before and I know it’s only because of his high.
I hear myself moaning as his length hits and rubs my g-spot. My mind goes blank as I explode with a powerful orgasm. My body spirals and unwinds as I scream shrilly.
He is still thrusting deep and hard. I hear the slap of my naked body against the solid, smooth desk. I am being fucked ruthlessly as though I were a rag doll. He grabs my hair and pulls hard.
“Fuck…yeah,” he roars, pounding, drilling his cock into me.
He continues thrusting for what feels like an eternity. My insides are throbbing and pulsing. My skin beads with sweat. I close my eyes and pray that it will soon be over. I have two more unwanted and uncontrollable orgasms.
He moves like a jackhammer and finally unleashes a torrent of hot, thick liquid inside me. He jerks and quivers as he milks out his balls.
He withdraws, exhales in satisfaction, and peels my sweaty body off the desk. He lifts me and carries me into the master bedroom.
My insides feel raw and inflamed. I can’t even look at him.
I close my eyes and gulp back tears. He lays me on the bed, on my side, then gets behind me and covers us with the silk covers.
“Tired, sweetheart?” he asks sweetly, sounding like a different, more compassionate man.
“Yes.” My voice is hoarse and shaky due to an abundance of unshed tears.
He kisses the back of my neck. “Sleep, darling,” he says as he spoons me, holding me close. “Good night, my beautiful angel.”
I feel his hot breath on my neck and his sweaty chest inhaling and exhaling against my back. I doze for the few hours remaining in the night.
The next day, Derek presses a lingering kiss to my forehead before he leaves for work, a morning habit of his. I blink several times in the bright sunlight. I shift and feel a strong pain pulsate inside me, reminding me of last night’s rough sex.
Why hasn’t Julian come yet?
I get up, shower, and eat breakfast. I take an Advil to relieve my pain. Derek has never made me this sore before. The drugs have made him stronger, faster, and more powerful. Much to my dismay, they have also made him unpredictable and malevolent. Have the drugs simply brought out his dark side, or is this who he really is?
I look down and touch my belly. What will the stress do to the baby? I can’t handle any more of this.
A dark thought comes to my mind. Why haven’t I thought of this before? I berate myself for being so naïve, then head to the nearest drugstore.
When Derek returns that evening, I surprise him with a bright smile. I’m standing in the living room with a bottle of red wine and two glasses already filled.
“Cheryl, what a nice surprise,” he says as he admires me. I’m standing and posing for him in lacy red La Perla lingerie.
He approaches and pecks me on the cheek. “I’ll take a shower and change. I won’t be long.” He leaves and my heart pounds.
When he returns, I hand him a glass and smile. “I’m sorry for everything, Derek, I really am.”
He takes the glass and analyzes me. “What are you sorry for?”
“Just how everything turned out,” I say, trying to sound sincere. I tap his glass with my own, smile, and take a sip.
I wait for him to follow suit, but his attention is still on me. I watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes darken.
I take another sip and glance at him. He is eerily motionless. I take a third sip of my grape juice, suddenly nervous and uneasy. After a fourth sip, I smile, trying to lighten the tension.
“And you couldn’t think of a more discreet method of poisoning me?” he says, his voice low and menacing.
CHAPTER NINE
My heart leaps into my throat as I nearly choke on the juice I’m drinking. How did he know?
“How perfectly convenient that my future wife is trying to kill me,” he roars.
He throws his glass against the nearest wall. I flinch as it shatters, spilling wine everywhere. He grabs my throat, gripping it firmly in his powerful hand. I drop my glass and it crashes to the floor.
Our eyes meet. Any warmth that was there before has vanished. His brown eyes are unusually dark, like two bottomless black holes.
I could plead for him to stop or say I’m sorry, but all I can ask is, “How did you know?”
His hands tighten around my neck. “You think I’m fucking stupid, Cheryl?” I begin to gasp for air, my hands flailing, trying to push him away from me.
“Please,” I manage to sputter.
He withdraws his death grip. I cough and gasp as air fills my lungs again.
“Maybe I am stupid for believing in love—in loving and trying to trust,” he says quietly.
I inhale deeply as though I’m coming up out of deep water, having held my breath for too long.
I glance at him. “You are stupid,” I mumble under my breath, unintentionally thinking aloud.
His arm swings fast and his hand lands on my cheek with a loud smack, knocking me off the couch. I land on the cold, hard floor. I look up at him and see no mercy in his eyes. He regards me as though I am a dog he is trying to train.
He offers his hand to help me up. I refuse, so he grabs my arm and lifts me up forcefully. He drags me into the master bedroom as I wail and protest. For many hours he forces himself on me, using me for his sexual pleasure until he is satisfied.
In the morning, I feel defeated. Once he has left for work, I have no energy to get up. I cry quietly for a while, feeling sorry for myself.
I begin to think of the inconceivable—whether Julian is ever even coming for me. I wonder whether Derek’s violence can get any worse.
Depression possesses me. I have no will to get out of bed. I spend the day napping in bed and blankly watching the television mounted across from the bed.
In the evening, before Derek’s arrival home, my depression surges. As soon as I see him enter the bedroom, the depression unexpectedly turns to rage. I don’t want him to force himself on me any longer.
Derek approaches to kiss me, but I unleash my wrath. I use all the power in my body to defy him and prevent him from touching me. If I were an outsider looking in, I would say that Cheryl has lost her mind and gone insane. I scream, wail, shriek, push, and shove Derek away.
His strength overpowers me. Before I realize what’s happening, I’ve been pricked with a needle on the side of my neck that causes me to relax, then black out.
During the time that I’m unconscious, I have no way of knowing what Derek does to me. When I wake up, I’m lying in the queen-sized bed in the guest bedroom. I feel drowsy, weak, and extremely tender on the inside. I shift under the silk bed covers and whimper—the pain on my insides is unbearable. I can be sure he fucked and used me while I was comatose. I fucking hate him.
I run to the en suite bathroom to vomit. Once I finish, I shower and dress, but when I try to exit the guest bedroom, I find that it’s locked from the outside. I try several times, then realize that Derek must have locked me in. I check the time on the bed stand clock; it’s 1:13 p.m. My stomach grumbles with hunger.
I spend the day in the guest bedroom, hungry, restless, and bored, pacing the room. The room has nothing more than a queen-sized bed, a dresser with a mirror, a coffee table, a beige velvet couch and armchair, a television, and my internet-disabled transparent glass tablet.
In the evening, I am released to have dinner with Derek. He doesn’t converse with me during dinner. After dinner, he forces me to give him a blow job. Once I please him, he finally speaks to me.
“If you behave yourself I may let you have some privileges again,” he explains. “However, that’s only if you behave and fully cooperate with me. For now, you will remain locked up day and night.”
I am locked in the guest bedroom for the night. I accept the fact that I’ve brought this punishment on myself by defying Derek. He has made it clear that he wants a submissive, cooperative future wife.
The days drag on in the same way. I am locked away during the day and provided with breakfast and lunch in my room by Derek’s maid. I am only released from the room with Derek’s permission in the evening for dinner. After dinner, I must give him a blow job or let him fuck me. Then, I’m locked away in the guest bedroom for the night. I no longer question Derek and he no longer converses with me. I’ve come to accept my punishment of solitary confinement.
I would lose track of time if it wasn’t for the calendar on my tablet and the exact date on the television’s news channels. Two weeks go by, then three. I pray that my baby bump will not show. I recall hearing that a baby bump starts to show between twelve and sixteen weeks or sometimes even longer.
I couldn’t possibly lie that it’s his baby because if we were to go to a doctor, Derek would find out how many weeks I’ve been pregnant, and know it’s Julian’s baby. My fear is that Derek will cut it out. Another fear of mine is superfetation, getting pregnant with Derek’s baby as well. Then I would be pregnant with two babies simultaneously—Derek’s baby and Julian’s baby. However, it happens so rarely that it’s a lesser fear of mine.
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br /> I have only a small glimmer of hope that Julian will come soon. Every day that I wake up, I pray that today is the day that Julian will come for me. Until then, I no longer refuse Derek or try to struggle against him, I don’t want any further punishment.
My days are lonely and my nights are even lonelier. I try to cope as best I can, but I feel that I might eventually crack psychologically.
For the past several years that I’ve been in relationships with Derek and Julian, I’ve grown used to always sleeping next to a warm, firm, male body. I didn’t realize how much I crave it until now that I have to sleep alone in a cold, empty bed. It’s like I’ve developed an addiction to snuggling next to a warm body during the night and I just can’t be without it.
I hug one of my goose-down pillows each night and pretend it’s Julian. When I close my eyes and hug the pillow tightly and with my great imagination, it almost does feel like Julian.
During the day, I always turn on the television just to hear the sound of people talking even if I don’t watch or pay attention to what is being said.
Thankfully, I have a large collection of fiction books stored on my tablet as well as the access to millions of movies on the high-tech television. Each and every day I escape into a movie or a book, briefly forgetting about my quandary.
After a while, I begin to miss the freedom of being outside—the breeze blowing through my hair, the sun on my face—and I yearn to interact and converse with another human being.
My time with Derek each night during dinner is very brief. He is cold, aloof, and silent. I feel worse than a pet; at least owners talk to their pets. Derek doesn’t say a word to me.
The only time he does speak to me is when he is barking orders to me during the sex we have in his master bedroom. He will tell me to lay on my back, or get into doggie, or bend over for him on the bed. I feel like his whore and nothing more. If he had any feelings of love and warmth for me before, it appears to be completely gone.
I ache desperately for the loving touch that comes from a man who cares for me. Actually, I crave any sort of touch that isn’t sexual. Derek only touches me when he is spreading my legs, or holding onto my waist as he fucks me from behind. He doesn’t even bother cuddling me to him after he’s done with me.
Rapine 3: Retrieved by the Billionaire Page 5