by Zoe Blake
“Golden hair. Like sunlight. I saw it on the television too, but it’s so much softer than I thought it would—” His hand caught her wrist as she swung the bottle hard towards his head, and pain shot up her arm as he twisted his grip sharply. A yelp escaped her as the bottle dropped, undamaged to the mattress.
Shit.
Tawny brown eyes stared out from the mask, somehow angry even through the watery haze of the alcohol. “Rapunzel,” he growled, and she channeled Judith, shouting as she reared back and kicked his arm hard, breaking his grip on her wrist.
As soon as she was free, she threw herself backwards, almost tripping over her own feet, but she recovered and rushed for the door. Her hand closed around the handle and ripped it open in a single breath. Brighter light, more concrete, but she didn’t care. She was out of that damn room, out of the web.
Rebecca chose a direction and ran.
The hall ended in metal doors and she was maybe fifteen feet away when a sharp jerk at her hair almost yanked her completely off her feet. Somehow she turned the fall into a simple stumble, smacking into the wall, but he didn’t wait as he secured his grip in her hair more fully. “That was not smart, princess.”
Forcing her to bend forward, he tried to pull her back with him, but she dug her heels into the concrete floor and threw her weight to the side. The ripping sting at her scalp wasn’t enough to stop her, and he stumbled with her. His balance imperfect, he wavered on his feet, and they struggled for control. She hit his chest, clawed at his bare hand in her hair, but he was impossibly strong. Eventually he managed to knock her leg out from under her and she landed hard on her knees. With uneven steps, he half-dragged her back towards the room, tears stinging her eyes as the fierce ache ran down her neck, but still she raged. “Let me go. Let me the fuck up! I won’t be a fucking pawn for you anymore!”
Collapsing to the floor just before the heavy door to her prison, she forced him to stop short. He turned on her with a guttural, animalistic growl. “Get up.”
“No!” she shouted. Borrowing Judith’s strength to fight against her own Holofernes. This evil, black masked, bastard. Stubbornly she fixed herself to the floor, her legs out to her side so that if he wanted to move her, he would have to do it bodily. She would not walk, or crawl, back into her own prison.
“Do you have any idea what I can do to you?” he threatened, but she laughed bitterly.
“Are you fucking kidding?! I’m covered in bruises from you! Welts! I ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU DO!” Turning, she tried to kick at his leg, but he barely grunted and she screamed in frustration as she reached back to dig her nails into his bare hands. Air hissed between his teeth as she tore his skin, but it was pure victory when he released her and she scrambled backwards. Breathing heavily, she took in his huge, broad form, knowing that another dash for the doors was useless. “What the fuck do you want from me? Why won’t you just tell me?”
“Haven’t I made it clear?” He tilted that flat, expressionless mask as he looked down at her. “I want to use you to destroy him.”
“I won’t let you. I’m done.”
“You are so blind, Rapunzel.”
“Stop calling me that!” The scream was a combination of all of her rage, her shame, her pain, but he used that moment to lunge forward and grab her arm, hauling her forcibly back into the room. Instead of throwing her to the floor, he turned and lifted her, pinning her to the wall, his body flush to hers.
Forcing a knee between her thighs, he spread her as she tried to push his chest back. “What bothers you so much, Rapunzel? That I call you that, or that Daddy wanted to keep you his little princess forever?”
“Fuck off!”
In an instant he cupped her ass and lifted her from the floor, his hips splitting her legs until she had no choice but to wrap them around his waist. The tingling hum at the base of her spine ushered a surge of shame through her system. She was not enjoying this, didn’t want this, she was not—
“Tell me… if I touch you right now, will you be wet?” His voice was a low purr that amplified the sparkling heat inside her and she hated it, hated him, and hated most of all that it was true.
“Let go of me.”
“You’re wet. I know it. You always are for me.” The man leaned forward, brushing the mask across her shoulder as he nuzzled her neck. He took a deep breath against her skin, a groan escaping him as he pressed his hips forward, the growing hardness unmistakable. “You need it as much as I do, princess.”
For a moment her hands were still braced against his chest, trying uselessly to push him away, to ignore his words, but then a thought struck like lightning. Before the fear could stop her, she reached up and ripped the mask over his head in a single, fluid motion. Tawny brown eyes immediately went wide beneath sculpted dark brows. He had the features of an angel, too beautiful to be so evil. A seraph with high cheekbones, the faintest shadow of a beard covering his cheeks sloping towards lips that parted in shock. The mask hung at her side, gripped white-knuckle tight in shaking fingers, as his beautiful face contorted with rage.
He caught her by the throat, slamming her head back against the wall as he snarled. “What the fuck have you done?”
“No more hiding,” she hissed at him, and his eyes danced over her face.
“That’s what you want? You want to see me?” Releasing her throat, he pulled her away from the wall, grabbing her hips, and he almost stumbled as he walked them both towards the mattress. Dropping her onto it, he followed and pushed his way roughly between her thighs, miming a thrust. “You want this?”
“No! I—”
“Are you really going to try and lie to me right now?” His hand slipped between them, and an instant later he swept up her cleft. Soaking wet. Slick with the damning evidence of her twisted urges, and she cursed herself. Damaged, broken, wired wrong. Catching her legs, he pushed her knees towards her chest and then spread her wide, sliding down until his shoulders held her open—and then he dragged his tongue through her wetness in a confident swipe.
Oh God.
The pure shock of it made her lift her hips. It had nothing to do with the tingling buzz at the base of her spine, or the way his thumbs dug into the tender flesh of her thighs to bare her completely for him. “Yes…” he groaned against her, the low vibration of his voice making her shiver, but all she could see was the tousle of dark hair atop his head as he started to devour her.
“Please, stop! I don’t want this! I don’t want you! Stop!” Rebecca pleaded in desperation, because no matter what her mind thought, she knew what her body felt. Pleasure stormed through her like an invading army, pushing its way past her borders, starting a war inside that she was ill-equipped to win.
“So. Many. Lies.” Each word was punctuated by a deviously long trace of his tongue that ended with a torturous flick over her clit. Just as she opened her mouth to beg for him to stop, he focused in on that bundle of nerves, sending her into gasping moans that cleared the words from her mind.
When she tried to arch her back, to lift her hips against him, he simply pressed her flat with the strength in his arms, pinning her exactly where he wanted her.
Why had she ever thought she could win?
He concentrated all his attentions on her clit until she was a whimpering mess. There was no relief from the constant, vibrant teases that had her on edge in minutes. In one moment he would bring her to the very brink until she thought there would be no way to hold back the pending orgasm, and then he would slow, lapping at her pussy in long strokes of his tongue that slowed her racing heart. She would ease back, slowly calming until she felt somewhat in control of her body again, and then he would take it back.
It was a twisted game, one that made it clear he could choose to satisfy, or ruin her, at his leisure. The various bruises across her front and back, around her wrists and ankles, were testament enough, but this taunting amusement of bringing her to the cliff, holding her over until her hips were bucking against her will, seeking completion, th
is was pure torture. Pure evil.
Tension coiled inside her, forcing her muscles to a painful tightness, and she couldn’t take it. “I want to come, please!” The plea leapt from her lips before she had even thought it through, and he looked up from between her thighs, his chin wet with her.
“Say it again.” Spreading her further, he held her knees painfully apart, straining the muscles as he leaned up. The hard outline of his erection was evident behind his boxers, at the bottom of his carved abs. Forced to look at him, she couldn’t make her tongue shape the words. With a low chuckle, he moved up her body until he was rubbing himself slowly, deliberately against her, a wicked promise of completion as sparks lit their way up her spine. “Beg me.”
“No.” Rebecca shook her head, whimpering as he started to rock. Teasingly slow, but he never got her close enough that she could push herself over with a shift of her hips, and after a moment she realized she was effectively grinding her clit against the hard ridge of his cock in desperation. “Damn you!”
“I’m already damned, princess. Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Oh God, I hate myself,” she confessed on a whisper as the arousal turned to fire in her blood, and he laughed, his lips tracing over her collarbone as he slowly rolled his hips above her in a mockery of what she needed.
“Give in. Say it.”
She groaned, winding her hands in her hair to pull at it like she might reactivate the section of her brain that could still function. The part not drowning in this primal need to be overpowered, to be taken by this monster between her thighs.
“If it helps, I kind of hate you too. But a hate fuck will still scratch the itch.” He grinned down at her, and the devilish smirk somehow undid her. There was nothing good in this situation, nothing redeemable, but somewhere in the chaos, the torture, the nightmare of it all—she’d lost the ability to care.
“I want to come.”
“And I want to fuck you,” he growled and moved against her.
Clenching her jaw tight, she relaxed her thighs, letting his weight settle over her, and he nuzzled under her chin, his hands sliding up her sides to hold her arms gently above her head.
“I want to hear you say it, princess.”
“Say what?” she snapped at him, bucking her hips up towards the hardness between her thighs still infuriatingly encased behind cloth, but he growled down at her. A wordless chastisement.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel…” He nipped at her breast. “Say it or I’ll leave you high and dry. Well, high and very, very wet anyway.”
“I can’t.” The words were a whine, and he laughed softly as his tongue traced her skin, his hips starting to pick up a rhythm that was more torment than pleasure.
“Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to make you come, princess? Just nod for me.” It was exactly what she could have never said aloud and even though she cursed herself, hated her weakness, wished she could be noble and fierce like Judith—she nodded. A satisfied groan escaped his lips as he propped himself on an elbow to shove his boxers out of the way. She caught one glimpse of his hard shaft before she forced her eyes back towards the ceiling, not even fighting as he lined up and thrust hard.
Instantly, achingly full.
The gasp was half shame and half satisfaction, but he wasn’t waiting for a second invitation. He swung his hips back and slammed into her again, and again, and her hips met him every time. Low grunts of effort left his parted lips, but he nuzzled against her neck like a lover. His mouth tracing firebrands of nipping kisses over her skin, damning her with each thrilling pulse of pleasure from between her thighs.
“Why?” she whispered, biting back the moans as he groaned above her.
“Just accept it, accept that this is what you were always meant for. This is what you’ve always needed.”
The painful truth of it silenced her, and those visions of strength, of being unbreakable, were shaken to their core. Something about him seemed to burrow under all her defenses, all her well-formed logic, all her intellect and day-to-day strength, and it left her bare and raw.
Each thrust stoked the growing fire inside her, the one that had her spreading her legs wider, that kept her from struggling when he forced one knee to her chest to send the next thrust even deeper—making her ache. Making her want him to do it again, because with the pain came some kind of absolution for the pleasure she was taking. If it hurt, it cancelled out the sparkling heat that wound its way up her spine, blurring the thoughts in her brain until all that mattered was that he would keep going. Keep pushing her towards that intolerable horizon she knew was waiting.
And it was close. Too close.
“Please,” she begged on a hoarse whisper.
Give me more. Give me enough to end this. Give me oblivion.
His fist found its way into her long hair, winding until his grip forced her head back, baring her neck to him like some sacrificial lamb. He nipped at her like he might tear her throat out, but his teeth pressed into the place where her shoulder began instead, and as the sharp shock of pain crashed into the swell of pleasure—she came.
It was lightning and thunder in the same breath, the world shaking under her and inside her all at once. She cried out something senseless, digging her nails into his back to leave deep furrows in their wake, and then he growled low against her skin and joined her. His cock kicked deep, and she barely flinched when she felt the warm rush of seed filling her, pulse after pulse.
Damned.
Their breaths were a cacophony, his teeth lifting from her skin to leave the soreness behind, but even that quickly faded into the myriad of bruises and welts that covered her. A map of their interactions painted across her skin in reds and deep purples, blues, and fading sickly greens. Her body was a book she couldn’t bring herself to read, to even acknowledge.
Traitor.
“Fuck…” he hissed as his cock slid from her, but he stayed poised above her, tawny brown eyes finding hers in the aftershock of what she’d done. “You are so beau—”
Tears threatened to choke her as he froze, and she swallowed them down, breaking the stare to turn away from him. “Oh God… no, no, no…”
“What is it, princess?” There was a hint of humor in the languid tone of his voice, the sated beast had returned. Luxuriating in her pain, in her shame.
“I can’t believe I—” The words wouldn’t come and she groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I hate myself,” she whispered.
He laughed quietly as he pushed himself off her, and then she felt him settle on the mattress near her legs. “Take this, it helps.”
Peeking between her hands, she saw the offered liquor bottle and rallied herself into a sitting position. Grabbing the bottle without another word, she unscrewed the top and poured a hearty amount into her mouth. The burn almost made her choke, but she swallowed hard and then coughed, her eyes watering as the fiery, sweet rum hit her stomach like a bomb going off. Remnants of the explosion immediately crashed into her bloodstream, her body taking it in as if it had been waiting for it, and before she’d opened her eyes again she felt the first rush. “You’re right,” she rasped, and took another hard drink, feeding the fire. “This is what I needed.”
“All right, share.” He took the bottle back and tilted it up, swallowing with no visible reaction to the burn.
“I want more.”
“Of me?” His lips formed a lopsided, cocky smile, and she rolled her eyes and turned away from his angelic face. There was a throbbing pulse between her thighs, the lingering sparks of her orgasm refusing to be ignored as her nervous system tried to wind down.
Too much adrenaline. Too much fear. Too much futile rage.
“Will you just tell me why you’re doing this?” There wasn’t even desperation in her voice anymore, she felt hollowed out by all the torment, the mind-games, the violence. When he offered her the liquor again, moving the bottle into her line of sight, she took it gladly.
“You know why.
It’s all to destroy your father, and—I might add—it’s working.”
“But why him? Why us? My father has never done anything to deserve—”
The man scoffed hard, a scowl passing over his lips as he looked away from her, snatching the bottle back. “Don’t be naïve, Rapunzel, we both know he’s not as perfect as he pretends to be.”
“He has never touched me.” The accusation from before popped up in her mind, and she denied it again. He had always been a good father, sometimes absent, sometimes distant, but always good.
“Then I guess you really do live a charmed life.” Just as he went to take a drink, she took the bottle from his hand and drank instead.
“He’s a good man.”
“Do you really believe that?” There was open disgust in his voice, and she looked over at him, finally able to study his features. His dark brows were pulled together, his lips parted as soft breaths moved in and out. So beautiful to be so evil, so full of hate.
“Yes.”
He huffed out a bitter laugh and stood up, his boxers popped back into place, and he held out his hand for the bottle, mute and sullen. When she didn’t offer it, he growled and turned on his heel, moving to the door in furious silence. The lock grinding into place removed any hope that he’d forget in his distracted state, but she still had the liquor—and that was better than anything else he’d given her. Even better than the lights. She could still feel her pulse between her thighs, her clit pounding out the rhythm of her heartbeat, and what small, sane piece of her could still feel guilt was wracked by it.
Fortunately, there were still several inches of rum in the bottle.
A few minutes later, when the lock on the door shifted again, there was one less inch in the bottle and she was rapidly heading towards drunk. The man hadn’t bothered to gather the mask, but he did dump a pile of manila folders onto the floor. They scattered some, pages peeking out from inside them. “Why don’t you read these and tell me what you think of daddy dearest, princess.”