I shake my head. “You can’t.”
He stiffens against me and restarts the engine. It’s almost dark-fall before he stops at an abandoned farmhouse with half its roof caving in. He shoulders a large pack, then bends to scoop me up.
“I can walk,” I snarl.
Ignoring me, he pulls me tight against his chest and carries me inside, down the stairs into the basement, and switches on an LED lantern. “Stay here.”
Where else am I going to go? He climbs the stairs as I settle into the blankets.
It’s cold in here, but not as cold as I feel inside. Tentatively, I brush my fingers against my scalp. Crusted bald spots dotted with tufts of hair tell me how bad I really look. It’s not nearly as bad as I feel.
Axel returns some time later with a load of wood. He vents the basement’s only window and soon has a fire going on the cold concrete. He gathers me onto his lap and burrows his face in my neck. “I never was good. Never. You’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to me, Melody. The only good thing.”
“I’m not good.” I’m less than a cockroach. “I killed all those men. I killed them.”
“No!” He jerks my head up so I have to meet his eyes. “Centos gave that order. You had nothing to do with it.”
“That doesn’t excuse—”
“You thought it’d be a fair fight. You were told it would be. You had nothing to do with that slaughter.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Colonel Barry was such a nice man. He didn’t deserve what you did to him.”
He sighs. “He’s dead, then?”
I shake my head. “He’s in bad shape. Half his face burned off.”
“And he let you go. Jesus, I fucking went nuts on him. I should have just grabbed you and got out of there.”
I don’t know what to say.
“When I lived in the streets, there was this older guy, an Army vet. He taught me how to survive. If it wouldn’t have been for him, I’da been dead before I reached my twentieth birthday. That or I’d be fucked up on dope.”
I nod. I know he had it bad growing up.
“Take what you can, he told me, because no one is going to give it to you.” He chuckles. “He was right about that one. Don’t put up with anyone’s shit was another one of his rules. Everyone wants something, so question everyone’s motives; always work on your fighting skills, and never be the victim. Be the dominator or be dead. All good rules for the apocalypse, I’ve got to say.”
My mood sinks. None of this resembles in any way the things I experienced growing up. He’s right. He was raised to survive the Yellowstone disaster.
“Were there any other rules?” Really, because no one’s ever given me any post-apocalyptic advice except play the piano and don’t tell anyone who you are. I could use some instruction.
He’s silent for a moment, and I feel rather than see him nod.
“He had a couple things to say about women.”
I stiffen. “Like what?”
“Women will dick you over every time, so don’t trust them. They’re good for sex. Period.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears that threaten. I never had a chance. Never. “The only advice I ever got growing up was be good and do what you’re told.”
No one prepared me for the world. For men. For Axel.
He shifts me around in his lap so I’m straddling him. He cups my face, and his eyes roam over the mess I’ve made of my head. “Why?”
“I would have slept with him.” My gut clenches, and I close my eyes. “I lost the baby, and I killed those men.”
“You were punishing yourself.” His voice is hard, accusing. “That’s my job, not yours.”
I stiffen. “What?”
“Look,” he says. “Let’s get a few things straight. First, the baby never would have made it. The only reason you’re alive is because that asshole took you back to Asheville with him.”
“He’s not—”
“I know. I know.” He wipes a hand down his face. “It’s sick how those guys died, but it was never up to you. Centos is a real bastard and that’s just what he does. If there’s an easy way to cut out the competition, he’ll take it.”
“You shouldn’t be with people like that.”
He nods and purses his lips. “It took me a while to figure that out. I also know the way I turned on you— God, I never meant to hurt you that night. I just meant to push you off so I could get at that bastard. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Okay.” I never thought he shoved me into that post on purpose.
“No, it ain’t. Melody, I hate the thought of you with another man—I hate it! I totally lost my shit. I should have thanked you. What you would have done for me—you knew I’d hate you for it, and you were going to do it anyway so I’d live.” He ducks his head. “Instead I called you a whore an’ walked off like you were garbage.”
“I am garbage.”
“You were never!”
“You broke me.”
His face is pained. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“I think.”
His face washes with relief. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be whoever you want. Just let me—”
“I can’t be with you.”
He blinks a couple times, and his face falls. “I guess I understand.”
“I’m broken, Axel. What’s left is garbage. This?” I point to my head. “This doesn’t even begin to fix me. I know you said nothing was my fault, but that’s not what I feel. I don’t know if I can ever punish myself enough for what I’ve done.”
“Punish yourself?”
“I’m dirty. Outside all the way in to my soul.”
A whirl of emotions passes over his face. He grits his teeth. “I’ll never lose my shit like that with you again. If I’m angry, I’ll walk away. I swear.”
“Axel…”
“But it’s clear to me that you do need punishment.”
As he speaks, his cock stiffens. I go cold. “I don’t—I don’t see where you’re going with th—”
He peels back my blanket. “Get up.”
I stare at him.
“I told you to get up.”
Confused, I get to my feet.
“Take off your clothes.” It’s not a request. It’s a command.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to—”
“Take off your clothes,” he says, enunciating each word.
“The doctor said I might not be able to have children.” If that’s something important to him, he should know that now.
He rubs his hands along his legs. “Do I need to do it for you?”
I shake as I lift the sweater over my head, then my T-shirt.
“Everything. Now.”
I shuck the boots and socks, then the jeans. I stop when I’m down to my bra and underwear.
He tilts his head, and a dangerous glint flickers in his eye.
I slide off the bra. The panties. I cross my arms over my chest.
He looks me up and down and moistens his lips. No doubt that hard-on is uncomfortable in those tight-fitting jeans, because he rearranges his gear before getting to his feet.
“Now,” he says, “bend over and brace your hands against the wall.”
I gape at him.
“Do it,” he snarls.
An adrenaline surge sends my heart racing. I creep toward the wall, bend at the waist, and place my hands against the cold concrete block. I am open. I am completely vulnerable.
“Spread your legs,” he directs. “Now.”
He’ll try to have sex with me, but I don’t want it. I’ve never not wanted it with him, but I’m so dirty. The last thing I want is someone touching me. But he’s made it clear no is not an acceptable answer. I spread my legs.
It’s a complete surprise to me when I feel the first stinging slap. I jump.
“Hey!” I pull away from the wall and try to straighten, but his hand clamps down on the back of my neck.
“Hands on the wall. Do you want to h
it your head?”
I return my hands to the wall.
“I’m going to hit you and it’s going to hurt. Do you understand?”
I draw in a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“Every time I do, I want you to thank me.”
“Thank you?” He’s crazy.
“You will thank me. You will not remove your hands from that wall, and you will not protest. If you do, I won’t use my hand. I’ll use my belt.”
I yelp as he deals another stinging slap to my buttocks.
“What do you say?” he demands.
I stifle a sob.
“What do you say?” His voice is harsh, vicious.
“Thank you.” I nearly choke on the words.
Another slap. This one is brutal, and I cry out. I suck in my breath and manage to squeak out another thank-you. I’m frightened, not so much of Axel but of when the next blow will land. Of how bad it will feel.
“Good girl,” he says and then delivers another and another and another. I’ve seen that belt of his. It’s thick, and the buckle is wide and made of silver. I thank him again. Again. Again.
The pain only grows with each strike. Axel is breathing heavily, and I realize he’s giving it to me as hard as he can. I clench my jaw, my whole body against the savagery, and I can barely get out my thank-yous. I want to beg him. I want to plead with him, but that will only bring the belt.
I’ve lost count of the blows. The bruising, the stinging, it overwhelms me. I’m not sure if the pain I feel is inside my head or if it comes from the sharp, masterful blows to my backside. I give over to it completely.
Then I’m not sure I want him to stop, and although I’m still crying—oh, I’m crying—I find myself arching my back, literally begging for the next strike. My breaths come in knotted, shallow gasps.
He administers a series of fast, searing spanks. He delivers the final one with a grunt.
“Thank you.” It’s barely a squeak. I’m trembling. It feels like I might never stand again.
The last thing I expect him to do is press a soft kiss to one of my swollen cheeks, then the other.
“Thank you! Thank you!” I cry over and over again, sobbing against the beauty of it. Standing with my hands pressed against the wall, with my feet spread humiliatingly apart, having just received a mind-blowing spanking from the man I love, I feel so blissfully empty. He’s done what I couldn’t. He’s given me pain, yes, but he’s cleaned away the ugliness that almost destroyed me. I need him. I will always need him.
He bends and whispers, “I love you,” in my ear. He cups my breasts and massages them ever so gently. I arch back against him, leaving my neck exposed to his grazing teeth. He pinches my nipples, not hard but enough to feel it, enough to know who is in charge. It’s not me.
“I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice shaking. He straightens and slides a hand down my back, down the crack of my ass. His fingers stroke my pussy, and it feels good. It feels so good and so…right.
“But only if you want me to,” he rasps. “Only if you don’t feel dirty anymore.”
I break down and cry again. Long, keening sobs of release.
“Do it. Fuck me. Hurt me. Make me yours.”
He draws a ragged breath, and I hear him unfasten the buckle, hear him unzip his pants. Hear the slide of his jeans as he lowers them just enough to pull out his cock.
“Please!” I’m throbbing, not just my sore backside but my entire body. I need to feel him inside me, to be taken by him.
A moment later I feel the head of his cock kiss my outer folds. He enters me slowly, exquisitely so, and I sigh. I feel every inch of his penis as it strokes and stretches me, until at last he’s fully inside. This time it’s slow. It’s not violent or rough. He caresses my back, my breasts, my belly as he moves against me, careful not to slam into my bruised backside.
I tingle. I rock my body against his.
He gives a particularly deep stroke, and I swear he touches my womb. I moan at the feel of it.
He goes still. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” I gasp. “Yes. I need it. I need you.”
“Baby,” he groans.
“Harder!”
“Oh yeah,” he breathes. Grasping my hips, he pumps urgently with deep, desperate strokes. His dick stretches my walls and punches the back of my tunnel. His balls slap my pussy, and oh God! I never want it to end.
"I’m gonna come,” he gasps. He reaches around and rubs my clit with vigorous strokes that match what his cock is doing, and this ends me.
Waves of unbearable pleasure shoot from my clit to my pussy, and electric ecstasy pulsates through my body. I feel like I’m tearing my vocal cords, as my cunt contracts so violently that I feel it in my womb. All of me vibrates with the sensation of his hands on my body, his cock in my cunt, and his soul merging with mine.
“Fuck!” Axel grinds his cock deep inside me and shoots stream after stream of cum. I clench down on him; I drink everything he has to give.
“I’ll never leave you,” he says. We’re wrapped in the blankets in front of the fire. Our bed tonight will be unyielding, cold concrete, but I know I’ll be warm with him.
I sigh and burrow closer. “I’ll just follow you if you do.”
“I mean it,” he says. “I found out what it’s like to be without you, and I never want to feel that again.”
“Please don’t.”
He blinks. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave me behind. Don’t ever let me go. You saved me from suffocating to death in Sadie’s Bend. You showed me what it could be like to be with you, and now I need you to keep me.”
He buries his face in my neck and inhales deep.
“You’ve got it wrong,” he says finally.
“No, I don’t.”
“I’ve always been a dick. Not just with you, but my whole life. But you—you make me feel good. You make me want to be a man. A real one. I’m not saying I won’t ever steal nothing, or I won’t kill someone if I have to. But I want to be a good husband to you.”
I balk. “Husband?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I stand with you in a church full of people, in front of your pastor, and claim you as mine?”
“Yeah, but—”
“I don’t want you to be my girl,” he says, caressing my face. “I want you forever.”
Then, like the spigot I am, I burst into tears.
“I made you my wife, my Imogen.”
“Melody,” I correct him through my tears. He carried me over the threshold. Twice, if you count when he carried me through the gate at the fort.
He kisses my ruined scalp. “I’m never going to leave you or let another man take you. I’ll protect you, and I already love you, and if I can find a way to give you another baby, I’ll make damn sure the little dude knows how much I love you both.”
I sigh blissfully as he massages my breasts and gently pulls at the tips. “Okay.”
His hands go still. “Okay, what?”
“Axel, I’m so in love with you. Of course I’ll be your wife. I’m yours forever.”
“I have a condition,” he adds.
I bite my thumbnail. “What kind of condition?”
His pupils flare, and I feel his dick stir to life. “I ain’t no vanilla guy. I like it rough. I need it that way, like last night.”
My butt is sore. Really sore. I think it may turn purple by tomorrow, but my muscles contract and moisture seeps from my slit at the thought of him doing it to me again and again. He always told me hurting me turns him on; it’s something he needs. Well, I need it too. I crave what he can do for me, and knowing he’ll help me when I need it—that he’ll take control of my pain and my pleasure—makes me feel safe. Loved.
I sigh. “You don’t hold back, that’s for sure. It hurts; it really hurts. You make me cry.”
He lets out a breath and hangs his head.
“Afterward I feel so good. God. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like go
ing to confession. When you hurt me, I feel like I’m paying for my sins. I really need it. I mean, a lot.”
His breath quickens as though I’ve just offered to lick his cock ten times a day. “God, you’re so fucking hot. So fucking hot.”
Thank you for reading Stolen Melody If you enjoyed this story and would like to know when future titles will be available, please sign up for my NEWSLETTER. Honest reviews are always welcome and encouraged, as they help other readers find good books. If you enjoyed your reading experience, please feel free to leave a review on AMAZON or GOODREADS. And now for a sneak peak from my next book, The Other Brother.
THE OTHER BROTHER
CHAPTER ONE
“I don’t know if we should get married.”
“I understand.” Colonel Kent Barry clenches his hands into fists and looks out the window. The right side of his face flushes, and the mottled burn scars on the left side of his face pull the corner of his mouth down slightly. “I am not an attractive man.”
My heart sinks. “You think I mean your scars. It’s not that at all.”
“Right. Fine. Now, if we’re done here…”
Shit. “It’s not you. It’s me!”
“Jesus. Are you kidding me?” He looks like he’s going to throw me out. I clench my toes, my fingers, my face. Everything.
“No!” My face is hotter than a volcanic pit. “Your brother broke off our engagement because I told him something. It was enough for him to risk the alliance and literally flee the city. You shouldn’t have to marry me and then find out.”
His eyes flicker, and he just stands there staring at me like he expects me to continue. You don’t just throw stuff like that out there and not explain.
I shake ever so slightly, and I feel like I have bees in my stomach. I never talk about what happened. It’s too private, too hideous. But like I said, I can’t marry him without telling him first. I pick at my thumbnail and hope—pray—I don’t die from the shame. “I was fifteen. Just a couple months after Yellowstone erupted. Right when things were getting bad, you know?”
He nods curtly.
The bees in my stomach morph into hornets, and the glue that holds me together begins to crack. I fold my arms over my chest. “A gang came through our subdivision. They were looking for food, guns, stuff like that. I tried to hide, but they found me.”
Stolen Melody (Snow and Ash #2) Page 14