by K. Webster
“Fuck, Natalie,” he growls. “Fuck, you make me only want one thing. You.”
He thrusts hard against me, filling me to the brim with him. His cock slides almost all the way out, rubbing against the glorious place within me before slamming back in. Our skin makes a slapping sound and my whimpering becomes screams. Screams of delight and need and pleasure.
I’m drunk on vodka and him. Deliriously happy and completely out of control. My body thrums and hums with pleasure. When he hits G-spot again, I come hard and violently, my body squeezing around him so hard he growls. He pulls out quickly, leaving me to shudder out the rest of my climax alone. I expect his cum to spatter against me, but he has other plans.
His fingers collect the juices running from me and then he’s lubricating me. Higher. Between my cheeks. Pressing into the tight hole there. All the times Alan took me here, I hated it. Yet with Cole fucking me with his sole finger and then inching in another, I find that I’m desperate for him to fill me here too. He works me until I’ve loosened up for him before slipping his fingers out. I let out a low, guttural groan when he pushes the head of his thick cock against the hole. The burn is savage and brutal. I crave it anyway. Hot tears leak from my eyes as the pain assaults me. Stretching and filling me, he’s relentless. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt. His hand fists my hair and pulls me back against him.
“I have to have you everywhere,” he hisses in explanation. I don’t need an explanation, though. I know. I have to have him everywhere too. I want him to erase Alan and rewrite everything with him. “Does it hurt?”
I sob. “Yes.”
His body tenses, but then his hand grips my wrist and pushes it down. “Rub your clit, Natalie. Make it feel better.” His tongue runs along the outside of my neck, hot and hungry.
Clumsily, I massage at my clit, eager to bring some pleasure to the act. When he sucks on my neck, my ass clenches. Another sob rattles from me. So full. I’m burning from the inside out. I feel like he’s impaling me and when he pulls out, he’ll take vital organs with him.
I’m failing to make it feel good and let out a frustrated cry. And then we’re falling. He’s dragging us to the floor, jerking me to all fours, and then fucking me like we’re barn animals. My hand slips in the spilled vodka and my face hits the floor. With my butt prone to him, he savagely takes my ass. Tears leak out, but I don’t want him to stop. I like this. The pain, the ownership, the humiliation. I want him to take it all from me.
Oh God.
His fingers have found my clit and he’s rubbing it like only he knows how. Tugging and pinching and slapping. I squirm and scream as my climax nears. Coupled with the fullness in my ass, I’m starting to unravel. The burn hurts, but it’s evolved into something powerfully addictive. I clench against him, loving the hiss he makes, loving the pain it brings me. His other hand slaps my ass cheek over and over again. The other magical fingers bring me over the edge of ecstasy and I dive into the abyss. A hot flood gushes into me and then he pulls out, releasing the rest on my sore skin. I completely collapse, weak and unable to move. The vodka soaks my clothes. I’m a mess. His mess.
He pulls away and yanks my jeans away. They were tangled around one leg. Once I’m naked, he undresses and then scoops me up. I’m carried bridal style to the bathroom. An intense emotion burns through me like an inferno. It could be the alcohol or it could be simple realization.
I’ve fallen for him.
And he caught me.
I don’t want him to ever let me go.
After our shower, he makes love to me again in his bed in the dark. Slowly. Gently. Like a lion afraid to hurt his mate. I scratch and plead and beg, but his lips are sweet. His caresses soft. He works me up into a mess of emotions that are no doubt heightened due to the alcohol. Once he’s made me come and his own release fills me, he doesn’t pull away. His cock remains like a cork, keeping the evidence of our lovemaking locked inside me.
“My heart aches,” I murmur, my fingers scratching through his scalp.
“Because of me?”
“For you.”
He nuzzles against the side of my face. Licking and kissing. Nipping and adoring. “My heart aches for you too. My soul bleeds for you.”
I smile in the dark. It’s loud and bright. I know he sees and feels it. “I never want to leave.”
“I’ll never let you.”
I wake in the middle of the night to thrashing. Cole’s having another nightmare. He’s yelling in his sleep. At a woman.
“I killed them all! Three before you!”
A coldness settles in my bones. He’s remembering the torture and the killing. The ones he was responsible for.
“This is not a game,” he roars, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Cole,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. “Cole?”
He pounces on me, wrangling my wrists onto the bed. His cock is hard as he rubs it against me. “This isn’t a game,” he growls. “I killed them and I’ll kill you too. Scream. Beg.”
I start to cry because trying to bring sanity to a lunatic is a full-time job. I’m unsure what to do. “Cole,” I choke out. “It’s me, Natalie.”
He pries my thighs apart and I suck in a sharp breath when he pushes into me with one thrust. I’m still slick from earlier. His palm finds my throat, but he doesn’t choke me. Simply grips me. Warm, hungry lips find mine and then he’s kissing me like he does so well.
He’s awake.
He’s here with me.
“Cole,” I mutter against his mouth.
“Natalie.”
We make love like this over and over throughout the night. He has nightmares that end with him inside me. I lull him back into a peaceful sleep with loving caresses and sweet whispers.
This is not normal.
It’s terrifyingly beautiful.
I STARE AT THE TELEVISION, sipping my coffee and willing the rage to quell. That motherfucking liar, Alan Dusana, paints such a sad picture for the media. He tells them he spoke to me. That I made threats and demands. That I want money—the real reason I stole her. He’s ready to concede to my demands and pay me the five million I’ve supposedly requested just to get his sweet cousin back.
It makes me see fucking red.
In all his babbling about how worried he is, he lets slip that he’s exhausting resources to find her. Private investigators. They have some leads. Something about the call coming from Ocean City. My hackles rise. He’s too close for comfort.
“He’s coming,” Natalie whispers from behind me.
I turn to see her wearing one of my T-shirts and her dark hair is messy. Terror gleams in her gray eyes. She bites on her bottom lip as she worries.
“He won’t.”
“He will,” she argues.
“He won’t,” I say again, harsher. I tug her to me and hold her close. “He won’t.”
She tilts her head up to look at me. “If he does and finds us, it’ll be bad. They’ll find the bodies. They’ll take you away from me.”
“They won’t find shit because they’re not coming. When I bought this house, I didn’t buy it through my name. We’re safe.”
“Your Tahoe?”
“Same thing. They won’t find you here. Alan won’t get to us.”
“I’m scared,” she says. “I’m scared of going back to him.”
I stroke my fingers through her hair. “I’d just steal you again.”
Her smile is breathtaking. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Five weeks later…
“No,” Natalie growls. “Cole, stop. I have to get this right.”
But I don’t stop. She’s up to her elbows in flour as she attempts to make homemade noodles and I’ve attacked her. I have her yoga pants pulled down and my fingers inside her.
“You’re good at multitasking,” I tease. “Don’t mind me. I’ll stay back here out of the way.” I push deeper into her cunt, loving the way she moans.
&
nbsp; She looks over her shoulder and gives me a hot, sassy look. For little over a month now, she’s evolved into this woman. Hell, I’ve evolved too. We’ve managed to seemingly kill the monster in our world. We live in our own. It’s quiet and peaceful. In our world, we spend every second wrapped around the other.
It’s like she heals me.
I’ve detached myself from the man from nearly two months ago. I don’t know who he is. I can’t imagine stealing a woman from her life, fucking her, keeping her captive, cutting her. That’s not me. Not Captain Cole Heart. I’m not a monster. The monster has been extinguished.
I hope.
She cries out with an orgasm and then I leave her weak and shaking to finish her cooking. Later, when we’re fed and content, she brings up the same question she asks every day since we saw her cousin on the news.
“Will you teach me how to protect myself from him?”
And just like every day she asks, we stop what we’re doing and I practice with her. Show her how to hold a knife. How to slice and stab at someone larger and stronger than her. We practice having her break from my hold. She pushes me each time, wanting it harder and harder. So brave, this little one.
“What if he…” she trails off and frowns. “What if he tries to rape me?”
My blood boils and my body thrums with rage. “I’ll cut his throat out.”
She huffs, shaking her head. “What if I am alone with him? I need to know how to get away.”
Gritting my teeth, I throw my hands in the air. “If you were alone with him, which won’t fucking happen, you use everything I’ve taught you to get away.”
“I want you to try it.”
I blink at her. “Try what?”
“Try it like he would.” Her voice trembles.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Not anymore. Not ever.
“But he does.”
I cock my head to the side to study her. Despite her shaking, her gray eyes flare with determination. She doesn’t want to be weak and helpless. She wants to fight.
“You say the safe word and it’s over.” I snap my fingers. “Just like that.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears and she nods. “Monster.”
“Monster,” I repeat. Our safe word when we practice.
“I’m ready,” she says, wringing her hands together.
“Are you ever ready for him? Did he ever allow you to prepare?”
She shakes her head.
“You’ll be ready when I’m ready. Keep your guard up.”
Her mouth parts in shock when I saunter off to go shower. Eventually she follows me. I fuck her sweetly against the tiles and then again in our bed.
I’ve just come home from picking up groceries when I hear her in the laundry room. I peer around the corner to see her bent over the washer, pulling clothes out and throwing them into the dryer. She’s hot as hell in her yoga pants and oversized sweater.
And completely unaware.
It’s been days since she asked me to do this and she keeps bringing it up. I keep telling her the same thing: I’ll catch you when you least expect it.
Wasting no time, I pounce.
She screams in surprise when I grab her from behind. It takes her all of a second to realize this isn’t a friendly sneak attack, but a practice round for if that fuckface ever decides to come after her again. She kicks out and twists in my arms. But I’m stronger. Despite her wiggling and thrashing, I drag her from the laundry room into the hallway.
Her body slides out of my arms as she deadens her weight. I lose my grip on her. She scrambles away on her hands and knees, but I recover quickly. I tackle her to the ground and start ripping at her clothes. She screams and sobs but never yells the safe word. Defiance and determination dictate her every action. I’m not gentle with her as I yank her pants down her thighs. My cock is hard at the sight of her ass and I manage to pull my dick out of my pants with one hand.
She breaks free and lunges forward but gets tangled in her pants trying to stand. I bring her to the floor again and wrench her arms behind her back, gripping them with one hand. My dick presses into her and she bellows, defeated. I release my hold and curl against her. I kiss her neck as she cries and fuck her gently.
“I thought I could do it,” she cries, clutching my hand and twisting her head to kiss me. “I thought I could do it.”
“You can,” I rumble. “You will.”
“I will.”
The next time I attack her is in the middle of the night. She manages a knee to my balls and nearly gouges my eyeball out. I still win. I fuck her until she cries hysterically.
She never uses the safe word.
Days and days. More of the same. She’s obsessed with winning. All she’s doing is waking my monster. Reminding him he still thirsts for violence. I like hunting her down. I like pretending to rape her. It’s sick that I get off on her terror. But I do. I come hard every time.
Earlier today, I caught her while she was brushing her teeth. She tried to stab me with her toothbrush. I busted my forehead on the mirror. Despite her frantic attempt to get the upper hand, I nearly broke her spirit on the bathroom floor. This time, I took her ass.
“What’re you reading?” I ask as I approach the couch.
She’s tired this evening. Dark circles ring her eyes. The urge to prepare herself against attacks that will never come have left her defeated and weak.
“A book about fairies,” she says with a yawn.
“Sounds boring.”
She shrugs. I take a step closer and her nostrils flare. Good girl. She senses my attack. Never twice in one day, but today I’m changing the rules. My cock thinks it’s time for a lesson. I want her screaming and squirming beneath me. Helpless. Mine to devour and destroy.
“I’m tired,” she tries, her voice shaking.
“Did Alan ever care?”
She swallows, tears welling in her eyes. “No.”
“Do you remember your safe word?”
Her chin lifts. “I do.”
“Say it. Say it, honey, and I’ll carry you to bed. We’ll cuddle and go to sleep.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll say the safe word…” Her eyes turn wild like a hurricane. “In Hell.”
With a flash, she bolts. Past me and out the front door. Barefoot and barely dressed. It takes a second for me to mentally catch up. My beast roars and beats on his chest. Chase her. Hunt her. Hurt her.
I run from the house at full speed. My ears perk up as I listen to where she could have gone. Her grunts of exertion as she runs gives her away. Tearing off in that direction, I ignore the bite of the cold and the sting on the bottom of my bare feet. I chase my zig-zagging little sweetness across the rocky terrain along the edge of the cliff. The ocean crashes as though to yell at us that these sick games are twisted and fucked up. She squeals—teases the beast—we ignore the warning of the ocean.
Gaining on her, I can nearly smell her scent. An herbal variety wafts through the air, part shampoo and part spices from her cooking. I want to lick and bite her. I want to eat her.
I’m faster and stronger and more cunning than her. I catch up to her and hook her middle with my arm. She cries out when I crash to the ground with her in my arms. I land on my shoulder, taking the brunt of the crash as not to truly hurt her, and then paw at her panties under her shirt. Her skin is already icy cold.
“Get away from me, you…” she trails off mid-scream.
I pause for a moment, anticipating the safe word.
It’s a big mistake.
Pop!
White bursts across my vision and I attempt to blink away the pain. Black eats away the light and then I’m fading out of it. What the fuck?
Black.
Black.
Black.
I wake to shivering. Blinking, slowly, I take in my surroundings. Natalie lies on top of me, crying. Her body shakes violently. Both palms find her back and I stroke her, checking for injury.
“You okay, honey?” I ask, my
voice slurred and raspy.
“Cole!” Her lips rain cold kisses down over my face. My head hurts like a motherfucker.
“What happened?”
“Y-You were winning,” she chatters out. “I c-couldn’t l-let that h-happen.”
I try to sit up, but a wave of nausea crashes over me. “I feel sick.”
“I hit y-you in the head w-with a rock,” she admits and then bursts into tears. “I’m so s-sorry.”
This amuses me and I let out a chuckle. “You knocked my big ass out?”
“It was the only way,” she says, pouting.
“Good girl,” I praise. “Good, good girl. Let’s get you home so I can reward you.”
She grips my cheeks and presses her cold lips to mine. Then, she whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” The words are blurted out before I can stop them. I’m not even sure I would have tried to stop them. Now that they’ve been said, they feel right as an aftertaste on my tongue.
I love you too, honey.
I didn’t think I was capable of love, and yet with Natalie—my sweet, strong girl—anything feels possible.
HE WINS MORE THAN I do. Our sick little game of cat and mouse is every bit an addiction as it is a lesson. I love it when he catches me. When he pins me down and takes me brutally. My mind is a mess with him. I’m unable to make sense of our actions, but I need them. I need him always coming for me. It’s a sweet comfort I feel down in the marrow of my bones.
I like it when it’s just Cole and me playing our dirty games. But there’s always a roiling in my gut reminding me Alan is coming. I know him. He’s relentless and psychotic. I have the millions from my mother’s death that is within his grasp. Now that I’m officially twenty-one, the money is mine. I just need to go get it.