by Renard, Loki
I could break her of that tendency. I could make it so she doesn’t dare fight. But those are the old impulses, and I’m trying to leave them behind. I’m trying to be a better person, one who women don’t run from.
Siri
God I love the way he looks at me, those dark eyes blazing into me, making my entire body fizz with desire. He’s not even touching me, and yet he’s changing me chemically. I react to him with a powerful hormonal flow which will not be ignored.
“So you came all the way here for what… a date?”
A smile captures his mouth and makes him look all the more menacing. “I think we’re past dating, don’t you?”
“So what did you want? You wanted sex? Was that it?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“I want to look after you,” he says.
“You came all the way here, hopped out of a ship like a shitty birthday cake, demanded to talk to me and now you want to look after me?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.
“Love doesn’t.”
“Oh, so now you love me too?” I can’t believe this. I don’t believe him. Men like Stavros don’t love anybody beside themselves. He probably came after me because I got away, unlike the other girls he usually gets rid of by selling. I’m the one he can’t have, and he can’t stand it.
There is no way he loves me, because he doesn’t know me. He knows a girl who turned up in his basement, someone who barely spoke to him except to lie, someone who left him unconscious and fled his life. I am done with Stavros, because I am done with all men. There is no such thing as love.
But there is such a thing as sex.
As I look up into his cocky face, I’m realizing that I want him, but I want him on my terms. I want to be with him, but not as his captive. I want to be on top. I want to ride him. I want to show him that not only did he not break me, that I was never even close to cracking.
I walk up to him. I take him by the shirt, my fingers clutching at his collar. He looks down, his lips twisting with what might be amusement. He’s not used to me taking charge, but here, I am in control.
“Come with me.”
He follows me like a puppy dog, and I relish in the feeling of being in charge as I lead him into my home. It is nice here, not rich or palatial, but homely and cosy. I’ve never had a place like this to call my own before, and I love it. Everything in this small cabin perched above the fjord means something, a testament to the woman I am becoming.
There is a loft at the top where my bed is. Stavros follows me up the narrow little staircase, bending with the curve of the roof until he stands in the center of the space, his head nearly hitting the ceiling.
I expected Stavros to be out of place here. He is a man best viewed against a backdrop of cold marble, but he pulls off his blazer and stands in shirt sleeves, one hand in his pocket, the other loose at his side. His hair has grown out a little since I last saw him and the slight curl is becoming more pronounced.
He’s old enough to be my father, but sometimes I forget that. It’s not that his energy is young, per se. It’s that there’s something timeless about him. And I like the way he is looking at me. There’s curiosity as well as desire. He’s always seen through my exterior. Most men see a pretty teenage girl with long hair and longer legs. They stop thinking at that point. Stavros has never made that mistake.
I don’t know what to say to him, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not words I want from him. It’s his body. I want to feel him under me. I want to be filled up and stretched and… fuck. I bite my lower lip as filthy thoughts flood my mind.
“I missed you, Siri.”
I walk up to him, press a finger to his lips and whisper. “Shut the fuck up.”
His hand comes down against my ass, but he doesn’t slap me. He squeezes my cheek, pulls me hard up against his body and kisses me deeply. Our tongues meet and passion takes over, lust which doesn’t care about what he did or who I am. Only my need for him that matters. Our clothing is discarded, ripped and pulled and cast on the floor.
I feel the heat of his hard, bare chest against mine as he lays me down on the bed. I’ve never felt him like this before. We didn’t spend any time embracing. There were always bars and belts and lies between us, but now the truth has set us free, and his mouth is crushing mine, kissing me with possessive longing. We’ve never kissed before. Not properly. His tongue plays against mine, invading my mouth and I feel his domination just as clearly as I did when he stood over me with leather and lashed my bare skin. Stavros doesn’t play at dominance. He is naturally dominant in every way, and it is so easy to give in to it, to let him take over, to spread my legs and feel the thick length of his cock pressed against my belly.
“I want to be on top,” I murmur against his lips.
He responds by swinging me around, rolling at the same time so I find myself atop him, straddling him from above.
“You look good up there,” he smiles up at me.
“You look good down there,” I smirk back.
He really does. From this position, I can inspect every line of his handsome face, not to mention his powerful neck, his muscular shoulders, his arms which ripple as he reaches up to cup my breasts, his fingers scissoring gently around my nipples. I arch my back and let out a shuddering moan, my pussy sliding over the thick ridge of his cock at his bidding. Even down there he’s still in control.
I arch up and feel the tip of his cock rising against my belly, sinking down to my sex. When I rotate my hips back, the head of his dick slips between my outer lips and I begin to sink down on it, pushing slowly, impaling myself. He is just as incredible as I remembered, his thickness so fucking hot inside me.
He lets me take him slowly. At any moment he could reach up and slam me down, but he seems to understand that this is important to me. If he fucks me hard now, if he takes over, if he becomes the one who is controlling this, then it is over, forever. I need this on my terms. And to my surprise, he lets me have it.
We make slow love, his cock slicked with my juices as I roll my hips back and forth against him, the shaft of his dick inching out and then pushing back inside me, filling me with every inch he has.
“You…” he tries to talk, but I reach down and cover his mouth. No words. Not now. This is about flesh. The way our bodies meet and writhe is exquisite. He is not a good man, but he is an incredible fuck toy.
“Is this what you do to women?” I ask the question I’m not going to let him answer as I pump my hips up and down, fucking him. “Do you turn them into fuck toys and pass them along? And then you think you can come for me, here, and what? Be my boyfriend? Sell girls on the side? Take me back? I’m not for sale anymore, Stavros. I’m my own woman. And nothing you do or say can change that. If you try to take me by force, I’ll escape. And I will destroy you. I will fucking…mggghh oh fuck… I will fucking…”
My hips are moving with more intensity as I threaten him, his cock so fucking hard inside me, both my hands pressed over his mouth, muffling any attempt he might make to speak. None of this is on his terms now. It’s on mine. All mine.
Orgasm is rising in me. I’m going to do to him what he’s done to so many before me, what he would have done to me if I’d been as helpless as he thought I was.
I’m not going to sell him, but that’s because the market for middle aged assholes has been flat for a while now. Instead, I’m going to use him for sex and send him on his way.
I hate the turmoil of emotions he unleashes in me. I want to be in control, but even now, riding him manically, I know I’m not. His flesh commands mine, his will and wit are forces to be reckoned with and every lie we ever told each other is being fucked out between us in heated slaps and thrusts which leave us both glistening with sex and roaring with release.
Like animals, we orgasm fast and hard. This is about scratching an itch, getting what I need. I angle my hips just the right way, make that cock of h
is work inside me perfectly, grinding my clit against his dark pubic hair until I lose control and my pussy grips his dick with powerful contractions which threaten to send him over the edge so quickly I just have time to pull off his cock before he can shoot inside me. His cum arcs into the air, spatters against his heaving chest and abs, and I pull my hands away from his mouth to let him take the deep gasps of air he needs as that full body climax leaves him weak the way men are after they cum.
“You need to go.”
“What?” He’s panting, one arm up over his head. He looks exhausted. All fucked out.
“You heard me,” I say. “The sex was fantastic, but you and I, we have no future.”
He turns his head and fixes me with those big, dark, passionate Greek eyes. “Siri…”
I don’t want to hear his pitch. I’ve fucked him. I’ve gotten him out of my system. And even if that’s not true… even if that’s a total lie I’m telling myself just because I am terrified of ending up beholden to any man ever again, it doesn’t matter.
He has to go.
Stavros
My heart is fucking breaking. Siri is one of the most incredible women I have ever encountered. She has made me want to change everything. But I know she’s not going to believe my words. Her entire life has been a manipulation. She’s been a tool from the moment she was born, and she doesn’t dare give herself to anyone - except me, but even then, only sexually.
I can’t rush this. I can’t push her. As much as I want to grab her by the hair, spin her over and fuck her ass until she damn well listens to me, that’s the old Stavros talking, and it wouldn’t work anyway. She’d endure the brutality with her usual elegance and strength, and then she’d run again.
She thinks I am another tyrant, and she might not be wrong about that. My entire adult life has been one long conquest, financially and physically. I have expanded my territories as ancient generals used to expand through barbaric lands. I have turned markets to my will. I have made vast amounts of money, and I have used women for my entertainment. Why should she expect me to respect her wishes, when all I’ve ever shown her is the man who takes what he wants, and to hell with everyone else.
“You want me to go? I’ll go.” I get up and start locating my clothes from around the floor, dressing quite calmly and casually. A grand display of passion isn’t going to sway her. Nothing is. She needs more time to herself, and I can give her that.
Siri watches me suspiciously. She probably thinks that this is some kind of trap, but it’s not. This is me doing what needs to be done to have a chance at a real relationship. It might take months, or even years, but I am a patient man, and I can wait as long as it takes.
“One thing before I go,” I say once I’m dressed and ready to leave. “Stop selling drugs.”
Her face reddens, even over the post coital flush which still graces her cheeks and chest. “You sell women! Women is worse than drugs. Don’t lecture me on what to sell!”
“You’re destroying lives with this shit. Including your own.”
“Oh fuck off, Stavros. You never did anyone any favors. You made money. Just like I do.”
She’s not going to listen. I can see in her eyes that she’s too fucking frightened of me to really pay attention to what I’m saying, no matter how clearly I spell it out for her. She thinks I’m here to drag her back into the dark and turn her into my owned thing. She’s not entirely wrong. I want her back. I want her to be mine. Where she’s wrong is thinking I’m going to force it. There are some things in life that cannot be forced if they’re going to be real, and love is one of them.
I’m looking at a girl who has operated her entire young life in survival mode. It has gotten her this far, further than anyone could have expected, but now she’s on the wrong path. If she keeps selling drugs, she’s going to start cutting into claimed turf, and when she does that, she’s going to start drawing attention to herself. Drug lords have ways of ferreting up pipelines. They can pick up a street slinger in Venice and know who the original seller was within a week.
She’s going to get caught sooner or later, and when she does, it’s going to be bad. Her father has been humiliated. Her promised husband is furious. The entirety of the southern European underworld is in an uproar over this, grown, brutal, hardened men gossiping about Sirios Medici as if she is a character on a television show.
Siri has become a thing of legend, but I’m not telling her that. The last thing this girl needs is an ego.
It would be best if she surrendered to me now, admitted to the connection between us, stopped being so afraid of loving me, but I know why she can’t do those things. And I can’t deny my desire to control her, not when she looks into my eyes and sees how much I want her.
“What would you say if I told you I’ve stopped selling women?”
“I’d say you’re a liar.”
She’s defensive and stressed and really not taking any of this in. Cynical and jaded, she expects the worst from me, even though I’ve given her some of the best I have to give. I draw in a breath and try to restrain my anger. I’m not angry at her. But I am furious at the father who so destroyed her ability to trust, who turned her into a liar who sees lies everywhere, and who can’t even feel the truth of real love when it is inside her.
Maybe if I was a better man, I might be able to save her, but I want everything from her. I want to possess her. I want to make her mine so deeply she can never belong to anyone else.
“You want me to go?” I ask her one last time.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“Good. Go.”
Siri
He gives me one last dark, sexy look and walks down the stairs, leaving me naked and well fucked in the bed which now smells of him. I wonder almost immediately how long his scent will cling to the sheets.
I hope it never fades.
I miss him already. It is a gut twisting feeling which makes me feel fluttery and nervous and terrible.
He has to go. I had to make him leave. This is too complicated and emotionally dangerous of a situation to be distracted in, and I don’t trust the way Stavros makes me feel. I go from being strong, centered, and certain of what I want, to feeling all mixed up and jittery, wanting to be saved and at the same time knowing that Stavros has never saved anyone in his life. He is not one of the good guys.
That doesn’t mean I don’t have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from saying something stupid, like come back, as I hear him descend the stairs, and close the front door of my home.
He’s gone.
Actually gone.
I don’t know what to make of that. I guess some part of me never thought he’d actually go. I thought he was nothing more than his role. He is The Seller. He is not The Man Who Respects Womens Feelings.
He told me he loved me. Was that true? Was it a lie? Was he trying to get me back? Was it revenge? There are too many questions to answer. All I know is that the only safe place for me is alone.
Chapter 9
Siri
For weeks, I alternately celebrate and grieve having turned Stavros away. I watch my little business grow, product seeping out into the European market where it enjoys popularity in a wide range of venues. I might be young, but I have been trained in the fundamentals of business since near infancy.
My father made it clear that everything was a potential product to be sold. He and Stavros are similar in that regard. I don’t think my father ever sold human flesh, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he had, especially in the beginning. Son of a Greek mother and an Italian father, born into one of the most ancient and powerful family names, he always understood that the riches he enjoyed had not been earned through common work, but through the systematic crushing of the weak. He continued the tradition without any qualms. We were rich and we were powerful. We enjoyed the kind of life most people dream of. I had closets full of clothes. I had anything and everything I wanted. I didn’t even had to ask. I just had to ask one of t
he servants to get it for me.
What I didn’t realize was that everything I was getting was payment in kind for a service I didn’t know I was expected to perform.
On my twelfth birthday, I was made to realize that I was no exception to the product rule.
It had been an amazing birthday, a big party with dozens of friends and the crowning glory of all of it was a palomino pony. I wanted to go out riding right away, but my father called me into his office, and I knew better than to refuse even on my birthday.
Don Corelli was old, even then. I did not pay any attention to him, thinking he was some associate or friend of my father’s. My memory of him is as a heavyset man in a suit which didn’t quite fit him. He was sitting in an old arm chair, filling it to the brim, and when he looked at me it was with an expression I didn’t understand and didn’t like.
“Sirios,” my father said with a casual wave of his hand. “Meet your husband to be. In six years, you will be married.”
I didn’t understand then, not fully. I smiled because I was confused, and I asked if I could go and ride my horse.
He nodded and dismissed me.
It was a short meeting. Nothing untoward happened. I was never touched, but from that moment on, I was expected to conduct myself as though I was already married. I could not have a boyfriend as a teenager. I couldn’t even be seen with one. I tried once, formed a relationship with a cute guy when I was fifteen. He was seventeen. After we were seen together, he disappeared. His body was found several weeks later. Nothing was ever said directly to me about it, but the implication was obvious.
I have lived my entire life in fear, owned by one man or another, and I refuse to now. No man is ever going to command me. I used Stavros to escape, and perhaps he thinks he is better than Salvatore Medici or Don Corelli, but he’s not. He’s precisely the same as they are, a man with a brutal ego who will rage against all creation when he realizes that everything was not put on this planet just for him to exploit.
I remind myself of that over and over again as I lie alone in bed and play the carnal memories we made together through my imagination. I am lonely. I miss him. But this world is too large, and freedom is too important to me to give myself to any man, let alone one who wouldn’t know morality if it slapped him in the face.