Hero

by Leighton Del Mia

  Tears instantly leak from the corners of her widened eyes. She shakes her head hard, her hair cascading like a chocolate waterfall. I let myself have this moment. Stripped in front of me, I can’t help, don’t want to help, my gaze from scanning every inch of her. She’s leaner than I imagined, or, I wonder, has that happened since she’s come here? Her hair falls long past her shoulders, grazing over the mounds of her breasts so just her pink nipples push through. Her breasts—she’s hidden them well over the years. I’ve fantasized about them beneath the unflattering button-downs she wore in the office. They’re bigger, fleshier than the blouses let on. Her waist sucks in, her hips flare, her tummy is flat and taut. She has a small bush, and I wonder if she’s always kept it that way or just since she’s been here. I wish I’d checked the moment she arrived. I want to know what that pussy looks like completely bared for my mouth. I want to lick her and show her how good it can be, but first I want to shave her.

  She’s crying without modesty now, unable to hide her face since her hands are still perfectly secure behind her back. She’s fucking beautiful, especially in her pain, and I want to bury myself in her. My cock up to the hilt, my mouth between her breasts, my hands wound through that mess of overflowing, disobedient hair.

  “Dance.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t fight me,” I advise her. “You’ll never win, and you’ll only anger me. Dance for me.”

  Her shoulders tremble with silent sobs, but her hips begin to sway. Her hair swishes around her shoulders and teases her nipples. She’s fluid, even when she doesn’t know it, even when she’s not. Her upper torso is stiff, but her hips call to me like a goddamn siren song. My hand is down my pants before I even realize it, my cock in a death grip as I watch. I relax my fist and begin to stroke. “Good, Sparrow. Turn around. Slowly.”

  She rocks between both feet as she spins for my viewing pleasure. Her backside is full, maybe even plump compared to her lithe body.

  I rub the scruff on my chin as I restrain from going to her. “How many men have you had in your ass?” I ask.

  She gasps. “None.”

  “Yeah, right,” I tease her. “I don’t believe that.”

  “I swear.”

  “None of your boyfriends ever tried?”

  Her voice drops. “I never had any.”

  My heart hammers, my thoughts blurring. “You’re lying.”

  “I haven’t,” she insists quietly.

  “Keep dancing.”

  My command jumpstarts the swing of her hips again. She’s afraid of me. I haven’t truly hurt her, not the way I’m capable of, but she’s afraid. I like her this way, unsure and obedient. Everyone should be afraid of me, and she’s no exception.

  Mesmerized, I say, “Now, make yourself come.”

  Her movements falter, but she doesn’t stop. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t,” she says. “My hands . . .”

  “If you want it bad enough, you’ll find a way.”

  Her head bows toward the floor. “I can’t. Not when you’re watching.”

  “I have all night,” I say. “The quicker you do it, the better you’ll feel.”

  I half expect her to come sit on my lap, but what she does instead is even sexier. She trudges to one of the four posts of the bed and presses herself against it. She looks at me from the corner of her eye and hesitates. “Don’t make me.”

  My pants grow tighter in the crotch with every second she’s up against that pole. “Disobeying me is what got you here in the first place. From now on, you do as I say. No backtalk. If I want you kissing my feet as I finger-fuck your asshole, you’ll do it. If I want to feed you nothing but my cock for a week, you’ll do that too.”

  I can almost hear her objection, but she just pulls her quivering lip between her teeth. Finally, her hips roll forward, and she drops her head against the post with a sigh.

  When she repeats the motion, I ask, “Does it feel good?”

  Her response is the mere utter of an exhale.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes,” she snaps. She rises onto the balls of her feet. Her knees bend for a better angle, and I watch her calves shake as she humps the post. Her head falls back so her hair cascades down her back. She turns her neck and gives me a look I’ve never seen. “But you feel better,” she says.

  My jaw clenches at the unexpected invitation. She might as well have licked my cock, that’s how hard her words make me. Cataline is sexy without trying, and it occurs to me for the first time that if she tried, she could possibly unravel me. This thought keeps me glued to my seat.

  She’s moaning now, but there’s a stilted frustration in the noises she’s making. She steps away from the bed, flushed with desire, all traces of modesty stripped away. Her breasts rise and fall as she struggles onto the mattress. With her teeth, she drags a pillow to the center and lies down on top of it. It’s too much for me, and everything from my torso down tightens as she positions her hips over the pillow. With her first undulation, I know I’m about to come in my pants. Her toes curl, and her pace increases. I’m stroking myself fast, helpless to her show. Her guttural groan, her face shoved into the mattress, her ass flexing with each ripple—it’s my undoing, and I’m spilling shamelessly all over myself, reduced to a teenage boy by this girl without even touching her.

  Even after I finish, as my throbbing mellows, my eyes remain riveted on her. When she sits up, frustrated tears spill down her cheeks. “I can’t do it,” she cries. “I’m so close. Please, Calvin. Do it for me.”

  Her angelic voice is the devil’s words in my ears. I’d die happy if that were the last thing I ever heard. I could put my hand between her legs and have her coming all over my fingers in seconds. She needs me, and the feeling goes straight to my head. But no matter how many times I remind her, she still thinks she’s in charge. I stand up and swing the chair back into its place.

  “I’ll be back to fuck you in the morning,” I say as I leave the room.

  She cries out for me, but I just lock the door and head back to my room. I’m asleep in a matter of minutes.

  For the first time in years, I wake up groggy. During a normal night, I sleep until I can’t anymore and spend the early-morning hours patrolling. It’s not lost on me that Cataline could be just as bad for me as I am for her.

  In the shower, my favorite images of Cataline from the night before filter through my mind. A good night’s rest has done nothing to quell my fierce need to have her. I want her every way I can get. I want my cum to be the first to fill all her holes. I only bother with a towel around my waist before heading to her room. I can’t wait any longer.

  I open the door without knocking, but it doesn’t matter. She’s sleeping on her stomach, her lips parted against the pillow for tiny breaths. Her hands are still fastened together behind her. A silk cobweb of shiny, brown locks spreads all over, some strands just at the corner of her mouth. In the early dawn, there’s only a filter of light coming through the gauzy drapes. I tread slowly to the bed, savoring my sleeping beauty until she wakes for her beast. When she doesn’t stir, I let the towel drop to the floor. My eyes follow the line of her body, lingering over the curve of her ass. I place one knee on the edge of the bed and keep going until I’m on top of her, her thighs between my knees.

  My fingers almost shake with desire when I clear hair from her back and kiss the top of her spine. My cock twitches from the proximity to her thigh. With my lips just touching her skin, I glance up to find her eyes are still closed. I press another gentle kiss lower. Her hot skin is soft with fine golden hairs. I’ve never kissed a woman this way, never cared to wonder what every part of her feels like on my lips. Sitting back on my calves and straddling her upper thighs, I pry her ass cheeks apart, letting my thumbs graze lower toward her heat.

  Fuck. That she can sleep through this both arouses and infuriates me. I hate the idea that just anyone can touch her while she’s at her most vulnerab
le. Myself excluded. I pull at the soft lips of her pussy, spreading her open. My hard-on is touching my stomach, and I can’t wait to soothe it with her smooth heat. I lean over her with one outstretched arm, and my other hand presses my head against her opening. With a firm push, my crown is inside. I continue inching until I’m halfway. I enlist all my restraint and only roll my hips into her.

  She stirs, and her forehead creases. With a throaty noise, she opens her eyes. “Calvin?”

  “Promised I’d fuck you this morning,” I say.

  She’s growing wet, so I push deeper, and she gasps. “Oh, God.”

  “I’m the one doing this to you. Use my name when you’re being pleasured.”

  “Pleasured?” she repeats. “This is rape.”

  My hips pulse, trying for deeper. I wait before I thrust again, still gently, but this time I don’t stop. I bend my mouth to her hair, maddeningly aware of the sweet, shallow breaths escaping from her separated lips. “I’ll stop, Sparrow,” I whisper. “Just say the word.”

  Her mouth opens to speak, but her eyes squeeze shut as I give her a long, deep drive. I take her ear between my teeth and lick my way down the curve until my lips find her neck. I suck her skin into my mouth and release it with an exhale. I’ve worked myself all the way in now and can feel her pussy sucking me deeper, grasping at my cock. She shoves her face into the pillow and squeals.

  I stop moving. I slide my hand around the front of her throat and lift her head so she can only look at the headboard. My cock is buried all the way inside her when I say, “Tell me to stop, Cataline. I’ll stop right now, and I’ll never come back.”

  She chokes back a sob. I remove my hand to bury it in her silky hair and pull her up so her back arches away from the mattress. “Do you,” I start slowly, “want me,” I pause, “to stop?”

  “No,” she says through her teeth. “Don’t stop.”

  My answering growl is inhuman as I release her head and prop myself up on my arms. I let her have it, making good on my promise to fuck her. I fasten her to the mattress with relentless drives, relishing the way her hands strain against her lace binding, the way her desperate, mangled mewls are the only thing I hear.

  I move my palms to the center of her lower back, right underneath her hands, pushing down on her as I drive into her harder.

  “Oh, my—Calvin.” She calls for me over and over, and it sounds like a prayer. A prayer that I intend to answer. The headboard threatens to knock down the wall. The bed shudders every time we collide, but I still sense the convulsing of her small body. My balls lock up as I watch her come, watch her swallow up every inch of me. Her teeth bite the pillow and I lose control, giving it to her with more force than I mean to. I can’t stop myself though, and soon I’m draining myself into her, claiming her pussy as mine and knowing, as she drinks me up, that I’ll never let anyone else near it.

  “Oh, fuck,” I say, collapsing over her body. My dick glides through her swollen slickness until I’ve emptied every last drop in her. I push the hair off the back of her neck and lick the sweat away so she shudders beneath me. “Tell me how that felt,” I whisper.

  She swallows loudly with her eyes closed. “I never . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’ve never felt anything like it,” she whispers back.

  I give myself a minute to catch my breath and inhale all the jasmine from her hair that I can. Finally I draw back, and the heavy way my cock falls out of her makes me feel dirty.

  “I can’t feel my arms,” she says softly.

  I sit back to unknot and unwind the underwear. Her arms drop lifelessly on either side of her. I take one of her hands and begin massaging life back into it. Her eyes droop when I move to the next hand, and just before her breathing evens out, she says, “Thank you.”

  She’s asleep, but I’m confronted with the mess I’ve made. The wrist in my hand is striped red and purple from fighting her restraints. Her hair is tangled, her cheeks tear-streaked, and though I can’t see it, I know she’s covered in my cum. Since my parents passed away, I’ve never cared about anything in my life but protecting our city. And I’m not even sure I can call it that anymore. Protecting denotes something positive. Every day I walk a line between my need to defend and my desire to hurt, maul, and kill. To kill a predator makes me high. What kind of a predator does that make me?

  I touch Cataline’s hair, gripping some in a gentle fist. Is wanting to protect her out of a sense of duty the same thing as caring for her? My mind is made of straight lines and edges that fit together like a square puzzle. But she blurs those lines, makes me question how it all comes together.

  Has my debt been paid, protecting her for sixteen years? And if so, could I walk away from her now? If I let her go for good, remove her from my life completely, Carlos Riviera would have no use for her. And then she’d be safe from both of us. Isn’t that ultimately what I want?

  Cataline’s cheek rubs against the pillow. “Calvin,” she breathes.

  I remain still, but I can’t look away. Her tongue flicks over her lips and for the first time in my life, I desire another person’s mouth. To taste her, probe her depths, and feel her in an entirely different way than I’ve ever experienced a woman.

  “Calvin,” she repeats.

  “Hmm?”

  Her eyes flutter open, and she looks back at me with surprise. Her arms jerk out, and she reddens when she realizes they’re no longer restrained. “You’re still here?”

  “Let’s get you in the shower,” I say as I finally get off her.

  She sighs and sits up, pulling the sheet tightly around her breasts. Her cheeks are tinted pink as her eyes avoid mine. “Um.”

  “What?”

  She glances down and shifts. “You came,” she says, “inside.”

  “Making a mess of my sheets, are you?”

  “No,” she snaps, but her expression softens, searching my face for something. I don’t know what until it hits me.

  “I’m sterile,” I tell her.

  She blinks once and softly exhales, “Oh.”

  “So, the shower?”

  “I can do it,” she says.

  Anger bolts through me, but I inhale a deep breath. “Let me help you. I want to help.”

  “I don’t want your help,” she replies instantly and without emotion. “I obviously have no say in anything, but for the record, your help isn’t wanted.”

  I raise an eyebrow. It’s clear that all of the last week’s lessons have been lost on her, and I can’t help shaking my head. But my guilt is still fresh, and I’m all fucked out, even though her insolence makes my cock stir.

  “Do you mind?” she asks. “I really, really need a shower.”

  “Fine. Behave today,” I warn before leaving her to clean up.

  “Behave today.”

  Mist curls over the shower door as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Pasty, flaking cum coats my chest, some of it crusting in the ends of my hair. I run my fingers over a deep, purple bruise on my neck. Do I look different now that I’ve lost my virginity?

  I do. I’m calmer, my eyes less wide and twitchy. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. After having my virginity ripped from my clutches, I’d have thought I’d be on the floor in a puddle of tears; instead, I feel tranquil. There was no kissing, no whispered words of reassurance, no warm candlelight. No declaration of his love. My head tilts toward my shoulder, and I touch my reflection with my fingers. I’m not a person to Calvin. I’m an object, a possession, and it’s strangely liberating.

  In the shower, I fantasize about Hero breaking in this morning and pulling Calvin off of me. They fight as I scream, stripped and shaking like a leaf. Their bodies are a blur of fists and muscle as they wrestle each other to the ground. I want Hero to pin Calvin to the floor and beat him within an inch of his life, but my mind won’t conjure it. Calvin is so powerful, so strong; I can feel it in his every sinewy movement. I’m not sure even Hero can defeat him.

  I skip to the end, wh
ere Hero leaves Calvin bloody and mangled on the hardwood floor. He whisks me away into the sunshine, but even in make believe, I turn around and look back.

  Frustration drives my fist against the tile. I practically begged for him last night, the bastard. After he left, I lay aching in the bed, wishing he would come back and follow through with his threat to fuck me.

  Even now I burn with curiosity for his kiss. Would it be rough and fast like everything else he’s done to me so far? Or have I not seen that part of him because it’s sweet and gentle? Meant for someone who isn’t just an object?

  I laugh aloud, a mirthless sound that echoes through the bathroom. Sweet and gentle were things I thought he might be before I learned the truth. Before I met the monster in the mansion.

  I towel off and change for breakfast. Downstairs, Norman serves me quietly and with downcast eyes. I wonder how much he knows, how much he’s . . . seen. Disgust for Calvin and even for myself, for the way I acted, overcomes me when I think of the cameras in my room.

  When I’ve eaten and Norman reaches to clear my plate, I put my hand on his wrist. He freezes, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth. “I’m okay, Norman,” I say.

  He doesn’t return my gaze but nods once. I’m not okay, but for some reason, I need him to believe that I am. He starts when loud ringing fills the room. This happens randomly every day or so, and as always, he rushes to one of the locked rooms without a word.

  Back on my cushioned sill, I’m staring out the locked window when Rosa knocks. I smile dully at her as she cleans. I sit motionless until she’s finished, calling her name before she leaves the room. “Can you wash the sheets?”

  Her forehead creases, and she shrugs. I stand and walk to the bed where I pinch the sheets between my fingers. With too much irritation, I repeat, “Sheets? Can you wash them?”