by Gemma James
“No.” I shook my head, as if the denial alone wasn’t good enough, as if he could see me anyway in the darkness.
“I’m calling bullshit. You want me to fuck your ass.”
“I’ve never…done it before.” Anal sex was the one area where I was still a virgin, untainted by Zach’s brutal obsession. The thought of Rafe penetrating the last place left untouched turned me on in ways I couldn’t explain, yet it also terrified me.
“I can be your first.” He wedged a finger between my lips. “I bet you’ve dreamed of my dick in your mouth too. Do you like sucking cock?”
I closed my lips and sucked, unable to stop myself. His finger tasted of salt and something that was undeniably him. The way he stroked my tongue made me ache to have something much bigger in my mouth. I’d never wanted it before, had often endured Zach’s forceful intrusion while giving it my all just so he’d finish that much faster. But Rafe…putting my mouth on him would be different.
He withdrew his finger and traced a wet path down my throat. “I’m going to release you, and you’re going to obey every fucking demand, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I said, biting back a moan.
He set me free from the shackles, and my arms fell to my sides, as if weighed down by cement blocks. Not allowing me a chance to stretch my protesting limbs, he pulled me though the blackness, as if a sudden charge of urgency drove him, and my heart thrummed an erratic beat as he pushed me up the stairs, fingers pressing into hips with a touch that was so not gentle. His hands on me, gouging with pain and power, flooded my pussy with heat and dampness. My breaths came rapidly, a wheezing sound more in tune with fear than with want, but wanted him, I did.
We entered the living room, and his hands rose to my waist as his mouth closed over my neck, sucking and nipping as he walked me forward, one step at a time. I dropped my head against his shoulder and moaned, eyelids drooping. Parting my lips, I thought I spoke his name, but if I did, it was lost to our heavy breathing.
He halted at the edge of the room and pulled down a stepladder. “Climb up,” he said with a groan. His hard-on jabbed my spine, and his large hands wrapped around my sides as he guided me up the steep passage. He switched on a light, and I saw the top consisted of a loft bedroom with a slanted ceiling. Double skylights undoubtedly gave the illusion of space during the day, though the king size bed took up most of the room. It was cozy and inviting, and I wanted to sink into the mattress and find out if it was as soft as it looked, preferably while his naked body blanketed mine.
He whirled me around, and I met his gaze, plummeting into impossibly green depths shadowed by lashes longer and thicker than mine. Those eyes radiated manic obsession, devouring me with a feverous edge. He pounced without warning, muscles bunching as he hoisted me up by the neck. I kicked my feet helplessly as he strode across the room and slammed me onto the bed. This was about more than sex. He wanted to hurt me—I felt it in my bones where his hands had left their imprints.
Gasping, I propped up on elbows and watched him warily, my shaking knees falling to the sides. He stalked me slowly, shedding his clothes with each step closer, and his fierce expression said I belonged to him. I shouldn't feel excitement, shouldn't feel warmth pooling between my legs, but that was me—the fucked up girl who got off when she shouldn't.
“Turn over,” he growled. “On your hands and knees.”
I rolled to my stomach, pushed onto all fours, and the mattress lowered when he climbed behind me. He wrapped his large hands around my hips and dragged me backward until my bottom pressed into his lap, my thighs spread as far as they would go. A rough hand shoved my cheek to the mattress, and my strangled moan tore through the air as his erection teased the opening of my sex.
“Are you on birth control?”
The question evoked a deep ache in my heart. I’d been on some form of contraception since I was fifteen. “I just had an injection a couple of weeks ago.”
“Are you clean?”
“Are you?” I countered.
“I’ve been in prison for eight years. What do you think?”
I didn’t answer, as I didn’t like to think of Rafe in prison.
“I asked you a question,” he bit out in that unnerving tone I was beginning to recognize. “Are you clean?”
I’d only been with one man, and considering Zach’s obsession with me, I doubted I had to worry about STDs. I wished Zach had turned his focus onto someone else, as horrible and selfish as that sounded. “I’m clean.”
He curled his fingers into my hips and nudged me. “Do you want this?”
God yes.
I let out a pleading moan. I shouldn't want him this way. It was twisted and wrong, but just the thought that he'd do it anyway if I fought him made me even hotter. I hated my body; it had it all backwards. Sex shouldn’t be about power and control.
His hands closed around my wrists and yanked them to the mattress, next to my spread thighs, and I’d never felt so helpless and exposed—not in a way that was so exhilarating.
“I won’t be gentle.”
My whole body shuddered. “I don’t expect you to be.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not stopping.” Something ominous laced his words.
“You’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?” Another shiver went through me, and I couldn’t decide if I was exited or horrified. Zach had hurt me so many times that it had become second nature, but Rafe wasn’t my psychotic step-brother. Rafe was the guy I’d obsessed over for years, and now he had me pinned down and spread, easy prey, and I worried he was about to figure out just how fucked up I was.
“No orgasms allowed.”
I groaned. “You’re crazy if you think I can hold back.” Every atom in my body zinged with the need for him to fill me.
His fingers flexed around my wrists. “I think you’re gonna find a way, unless you really want to test me. I’m not fucking you for your pleasure, sweetheart. I’m fucking you because you’re my piece of ass.”
That was all I’d ever be to him. A piece of ass, a thing he held in contempt for unforgivable sins. Lips trembling, eyes stinging with unshed tears, I tried to swallow the hurt, but this wasn’t how I’d imagined our first time.
I wasn’t a monster. If I told myself that enough times, maybe I’d believe it.
She swiveled her head and looked at me, dark curls tumbling over her shoulder, and her jade eyes glimmered with unspoken hurt. She still didn’t understand that I hungered for her pain, her tears. I smacked her hard on the ass. “Keep your head down.”
I slammed into her, and her spine arched under my onslaught of savage greed. My entire body ignited with the sensation of being joined. No latex barrier, just pure skin-to-skin contact. Shit, her pussy was ready for me. Tight, wet, hot. If I weren’t so on edge, I’d bury myself in her for hours. Finally, after so many fucking years of wanting this girl, I was inside her. The sense of power intoxicated me, as did the discovery that this was more than just sex. I could deny it all I wanted, but our chemistry didn’t lie. There was something irresistible about her. It was true when she was fifteen, when my values kept her safe from me. Now she was even more irresistible because she’d come of age, morphed into a woman I wanted to consume, and I was more than justified in taking her.
Swiveling my hips, I shoved deeper and thrilled at the way her body sheathed my cock like a glove. We slid together in sweat and need, and I pressed my thumbs into her wrists where her pulse galloped in tune to my thrusts. The sounds she made, so guttural they vibrated straight to my dick—fuck they sent me flying. I plunged harder, faster, and squeezed her wrists until my fingers whitened at the knuckles.
“You're hurting me,” she said, her voice wafting in the air like a tattered feather.
I yanked her upright and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, one hand clamping her arm to trap her against me. The other gripped her throat, fingers on either side of her neck, forcing her head back. Her spine arched as I pumped.
“You feel that?
That’s my cock inside you.” I drove into her violently, increasing the pace, the pain. I wanted to hurt her, wanted her tears. Each thrust was an angry, unforgiving act of punishment—a way to hide what tortured me deep down; things I’d grappled with for eight years. I craved this girl yet hated her guts, all at the same time.
“Please…” she whimpered.
“Please what? You wanted me to fuck you, and now...I...am.” I bit back a grunt and flexed my fingers around her throat.
“Rafe...oh God, Rafe! I'm gonna come,” she bit the words out through gritted teeth, and those blessed tears I craved slipped from her eyes.
I licked each salty drop from her cheek and let her shame linger on my tongue. “You’re not coming,” I said, clutching her throat and angling her neck to the side. I sank my teeth into tender, creamy skin and clamped down harder when a screeching cry tore from her lips. My dick celebrated that wail.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Cry for me. Fight me.”
“Can’t…stop…it.” Her voice lilted into a continuous moan that wrecked me as her pussy clenched.
She wasn’t fighting, wasn’t struggling or begging. She was fucking getting off.
Oh fuck no. She would struggle.
I inhaled deeply, seeking absolute control because anything less was dangerous. It’d been too long since I’d experienced the addictive rush of adrenaline flooding my system, a high I only achieved by stealing someone’s breath and sanity, when I was God to them in those seconds when they straddled the line of life and death at my hands.
I couldn’t screw this up because no matter what I told her, she meant too much. I wanted her struggle and her terror, but I didn’t want to kill her. I tightened my fingers around her throat, adding just enough pressure to restrict the blood flow to her brain.
She writhed like a rabid animal, her fingernails digging into any part of me she could reach. Blood rushed my cock, and I’d never felt so hard, so insane and frantic as I rammed her from behind. Her body bowed backward, and I counted the seconds as I came. She relaxed in my arms as the last bit of pleasure shot from my dick. I withdrew, heart pumping too fast, and laid her limp body onto the mattress.
Strong, muscular arms surrounded me as I gasped, and I clawed at my throat, fighting against the horrifying experience of not being able to breathe. Despite the disorientation and confusion, I sank deeper into his warmth, loving how his body folded around mine. I coughed and gasped some more, and little by little, clarity returned. Cold, harsh reality doused the warm and fuzzies.
Rafe had tried to choke me.
I struggled from his hold and made it to the edge of the bed before he trapped me in his arms again. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“You fucking choked me!”
“You fucking came.”
“Are you trying to kill me? Do you hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate you that much, Alex.” He moved one arm from my waist and wound a fist in my hair. “You need to remember I’m the one in control here. Just because you have a hot pussy doesn’t mean you can disobey me. When I say no orgasms, I mean no orgasms.”
Intense hurt welled, unstoppable, and I let out a sob. More followed until I was bawling like a baby. He’d taken something from me—something I’d held onto for years. He’d taken my first time with him, had sullied the memory with his cruelty.
That was something I’d never get back, and it hurt so incredibly bad because he didn’t seem fazed. I was just another piece of ass. Even worse, I was someone who deserved his contempt.
I did deserve his hatred, but I didn’t deserve to die.
“Stop crying, or I’ll put you back in the cellar.”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole?”
“Why did you have to send me to prison?” he shot back, adding another painful yank on my hair.
“I didn’t want to. God, Rafe…I didn’t want to.”
“I’m done tiptoeing around this. Either tell me why you did it, or I’ll choke you again.”
Another sob escaped, and I tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come.
He rolled me to my back, pinned both wrists to the mattress with one hand, and circled my throat with the other. My pulse pounded out of control. But he didn’t apply pressure. Instead, he stared into my eyes, as if searching for an answer.
“Please…don’t. Please…” More tears seeped from my eyes and dripped down the sides of my face. He leaned down and licked them up.
“Either tell me the truth, or you go nighty-night again.”
“Please!” I begged. “I didn’t want to do it. Rafe…you have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do. That’s the interesting thing about being locked up, Alex. I had way too much time to think. You wanted me, only I wasn’t giving in, was I?” He lowered his face until we were nose to nose. “You couldn’t handle the rejection.”
I didn’t know if I was more appalled or indignant over his assumptions.
“Admit it! You were nothing but a pampered, spoiled little brat, and you didn’t think twice about throwing me away like trash when you didn’t get what you wanted.”
“I loved you!” I screamed into his face. “I loved you so fucking much.” I turned my head and wished the mattress would split open and swallow me.
Oh God. I was ten shades of mortified.
His silence weighed more heavily than his body did. He flexed his fingers around my locked wrists. “You have a funny way of showing it,” he finally said.
I had no answer to that. His hand twitched around my throat, still threatening punishment. “Please, Rafe,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do this? You have no idea what you did,” he said. “I want to squeeze every last breath from you. I want to fucking break you until you’re nothing but pieces in my arms.”
“Please,” I gasped.
“They raped me in there, Alex.”
I couldn’t breathe, and not because his hands threatened to shut off my air, but for the first time, I really allowed myself to see what I’d done to him. “Kill me,” I said, hot, salty drops of regret trickling into my mouth. “I deserve it.”
He narrowed his eyes—eyes suddenly bright with pain—and pressed harder on my throat.
My mouth opened, and I gasped as spots floated in the air. The room narrowed, walls closing in a little more with each thump of my heart. I thought it would pound out of my chest. “Do it,” I squeaked.
“Fuck me,” he choked out. The vulnerability in his tone tore me in two. He let go of my throat, and I sucked in air until I thought my lungs would burst.
“I wish I could take it back,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. I’d caused him so much pain, had ruined his life. I’d done this to the only guy I’d ever loved. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I said it over and over, wishing he’d believe me, wishing I could turn back time. “If you need to talk about it—”
“Shut up.” He returned me to my side and trapped me against his body. “It’s late. Get some damn sleep.” Instead of returning me to the cellar, he clung to me, one hand fisting my hair while the other claimed my breast. His legs tangled with mine.
I knew this conversation was far from over. He wouldn’t stop until he got the truth, and I wondered how long I could hold out. How many choke holds could I handle? How many hours suspended by my wrists, alone in the cold, dank cellar? How many times could I withstand him torturing me with sex?
I brought my fists up, pressed them to trembling lips, and dug sharp fingernails into my palms. When it came to Rafe, I never knew what was coming next, and I didn’t know what he was capable of, especially in light of his admission. I shuddered to think of what he’d been through. I was a pampered, spoiled brat. Selfish to the core. I should have stopped it. I should have spoken up and told the police the truth, but as the first hours passed, most of them spent in a state of shock, I lost what small bit of courage I might have possessed. Hours turned into days…days into months…month
s into years.
All the while, Rafe had been in hell.
For all the tough guy front he put up, I believed he did care about me, somewhere inside him where the guy I remembered still existed. He might have loved me, if things had turned out differently. If I hadn’t wrecked him.
Life was what it was. I couldn’t change the past. I could only deal with the present as it hurtled toward me.
Sometime later, his breathing evened into gentle snores, and I carefully tugged my hair from his fist and lifted his warm palm from my breast. Little by little, I extricated myself from his hold and crawled from bed. When a floorboard creaked under my foot, I froze, fear rising in my throat in the form of a lump. He didn’t move. I swallowed hard and inched toward the panel that would drop the ladder onto the first floor.
God, I was quaking like a leaf. The situation reminded me of one of those scary movies I used to make Lucas watch with me—the ones where I’d yell at the heroine, lamenting her stupidity because there was no way she was getting out of there alive.
I had to. For both our sakes. I didn’t hold anything against him. The horrors he’d experienced in prison were my fault. I wouldn’t take that from him, wouldn’t attempt to deflect blame. We all made choices, some good, some bad. When it came to bad decisions, Rafe and I were batting one for one.
So I had to get out of there before the situation escalated and he did something we’d both regret.
I kept his sleeping form in my periphery and released the ladder. It dropped to the floor with a ridiculous amount of racket, and my whole body stiffened. He rolled over, underneath the layers of blankets, and for a moment I wanted to crawl back into bed with him. What a ridiculous notion.
As soon as his soft snores resumed, a burst of adrenaline shot through me. I climbed down the steps and landed with a soft thud on the hardwood floor. I turned in the darkened room, thankful for the heavy rain hitting the roof in a cacophony of taps and dings. Under the cover of noise and shadow, I rushed through the house in search of my clothes. Heck, I’d settle for a jacket at this point.