Ravaged

by C. R. Lacerte

  What I wouldn’t give to follow his lead, submit to his desires...He could be the master of the house and the master of my body, whatever that might mean. I picture him pressing me up against the hard wood wall, pinning me there with his lean but powerful hips as I wrap my legs around him. I imagine what it must feel like, having his rock hard dick slide up inside of me, parting me as I clench down around him, unable to control myself.

  I nearly swerve off the road picturing the hard length of him.

  “Better focus on the road, Hannah,” I chide myself, “If you want to live long enough to see Mr. Roth again, clothed or not.”

  I park in front of my apartment and hurry inside, absentminded in my flight. I want to get back to the Roths as soon as possible, and to get settled into my new digs. I pull a duffle bag down from my closet and hastily pack it with the essentials: toiletries, favorite clothing, hair dryer. I have no idea how long I’ll be staying at their home—I want to be prepared. Rifling through my sock drawer, my fingers close around an unopened box of condoms and pause. I’m already on the pill, of course, but Sophia’s suggestion comes back into mind all of a sudden. Talk about being prepared.

  “Those for me?” says a deep voice behind my back.

  My blood freezes in my veins as I whip around and see Sloan standing in the threshold of my bedroom doorway. He pulls his face into a theatrical pout.

  “What, you’re not happy to see me?” he whines.

  “What...How...?” I splutter.

  “You left the door open, idiot,” he laughs, “Christ, Hannah. You really can’t take care of yourself without me around, can you? Any lunatic could have walked in off the street just now.”

  “Clearly,” I say.

  Sloan’s brow furrows.

  “The only lunatic in this room is you,” he growls, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going with all this, huh?”

  “Sloan...You need to get out of here,” I say, clutching onto my dresser. I’ve got pepper spray in my purse, but it’s all the way across the room. Besides, it would probably just piss him off more if I used it. The only thing I can do is try to reason with him.

  “You’re not allowed to leave,” he says, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m not leaving,” I insist, trying to placate him, “I’m just staying with a patient for a week or two. She needs around the clock care. It’s temporary, Sloan.”

  “You’re not allowed to leave me,” he shouts, slamming his fist against my wall. I jump, my knees turning to water beneath me.

  “Sloan, please,” I whisper, “I need to get back. They’re expecting me.”

  “Who?!” he yells, closing the space between us, “Your new sugar daddy? I always knew you were a dumb bitch, Hannah, but I never took you for a fucking whore.”

  Before I can stop myself, I’ve hauled my arm back and slapped Sloan across his square jaw. His head snaps to the side and back to me. I’ve never once hit him back, not ever. He’s actually too shocked to move.

  “You don’t get to call me a whore, Sloan,” I hiss, grabbing my bag and racing around him, “I’ll wait three minutes before calling the police once I leave. You’d better be gone when they get here.”

  Tears blur my vision as I leap down the stairs and out to my car. I can barely get my key in the ignition, my fingers are trembling so much. Finally, I peel away from the apartment at record speed. I watch in my rear view mirror as Sloan lumbers out of the door and stares after me. My horrible ex—always lurking just out of sight. Will there ever come a time when I don’t feel him right behind me?

  My own show of force took me by surprise. Since when do I have the strength to stand up to Sloan? I decide not to question it too much, and book it back to the Roth's.

  I manage to compose myself by the time I arrive, and thank goodness. Lukas is waiting for me on the front steps, his hands folded behind his back. His expression is welcoming, but neutral. I’m reminded once again that our relationship is professional, nothing more. At least I'll have my fantasies to sustain me.

  “Let me take that for you,” he says, as I approach with my duffel.

  “Thanks,” I smile.

  Thomas appears at Lukas’s shoulder to park my Buggy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that grin of his was downright conspiratorial.

  “I hope you don’t mind taking the annex,” Lukas says, leading me back around the house, “I figured you might like a measure of privacy while you’re here.”

  “I’d be fine with a twin bed and a shower,” I tell him, “Don’t you worry about me.”

  “Well, I had something a little less primitive in mind,” Lukas says, stopping in his tracks as the grounds open up before us.

  I follow his gaze and feel my breath catch in my throat. Nestled among towering oaks and winding strands of ivy is a stunning, two-story cottage. Lukas leads me forward and pushes open the little home’s red front door. I pause at the threshold, uncomprehending.

  “This is the annex?” I ask, bewildered.

  “Of course,” he says, taking my elbow firmly in his grasp, “This will be your home while you stay here with us.”

  I’m pulled into the shabby-chic guest house, and as I take in the interior, I’m glad that Lukas’s hand is there to steady me. The ground floor of the annex is sunny and rustic, as cozy as can be. An open kitchen laded with copper pots and pans leads seamlessly into the living room, complete with a fireplace and a dozen down throw pillows. A worn wooden table overlooks the winding garden, and the entire place smells deliciously of pine.

  “Come on,” Lukas says with a smile, “There’s more.”

  I follow him up the stairs, not at all oblivious to the fact that we’re entirely alone. My fingertips ache to brush against his muscled form, to undress him inch by inch. I want to run my hands through his short brown hair, feel that sexy stubble against my skin. This is dangerous, us being alone together. And not for the first time, I can feel that Lukas knows it, too.

  “Here we are,” he says as we come to the top of the stairs. “The bedroom is right through there.”

  I walk ahead of him down the hall and tentatively push open the cabin’s bedroom door. I have to keep myself from whimpering in delight as I peer across the threshold. The little room is the ultimate in rustic bliss. Exposed beams run across the vaulted ceilings, and wide windows offer a wonderful view of the grounds below. An enormous sleigh bed stands against the far wall, covered in soft flannel sheets and a thick quilt. The hardwood floors are scuffed but spotlessly clean, and lacy curtains sway softly in the breeze.

  The bathroom door stands open, and I nearly swoon as I spot a claw foot bathtub, just like the one we have at home. How could Lukas have known about my soft spot for a nice soaker tub? This place couldn’t be more perfect if it had been designed with me in mind. I’m speechless with gratitude and more than a little turned on by the secluded location. I turn as Lukas sets down my bag, edging into the room to join me.

  “It'll do I hope?” he asks.

  “I love it,” I reply, painfully aware of the huskiness in my voice. “Thank you for this, Mr. Roth.”

  “Call me Lukas,” he says, taking a step toward me. “And I should be the one thanking you. It’s been wonderful, having you around the house.”

  “If you’re not careful, I might never leave,” I laugh nervously.

  Lukas’s mouth twists unreadably. “Well...” he says.

  A long, tense moment of silence stretches out before us. My eyes dart restlessly toward the wide bed. Surely, it would be more than willing to accept our weight should Lukas pick me up and sprawl me across its length. I realize, with more than a little alarm, that my fantasies have moved beyond the realm of the hypothetical. Somehow, my desire for Lukas has become real. And pressing. And absolutely agonizing.

  I bring my eyes to his, daring to make my thoughts known. As gracefully powerful as a big cat, Lukas takes another step toward me. His dark blue eyes are positively sizzling, his gaze boring into me. There’s no ambigu
ity in that charged, fiery gaze. He wants me. Badly. And I’m oh so willing to have him, to give myself over to whatever he wants in the world. I wet my lips with my tongue, drawing in a breath to speak.

  A shrill, blaring screech shatters the silence of the cabin, startling me out of my skin. Furious, Lukas whips his cell phone out of his pocket and glares at the screen. As his face hardens into stone, my eyes wander down to the front of his trousers. The long, thick outline of his cock is unmistakable. He’s hard for me. Just standing across from each other in an empty room was enough to get him ready to fuck me. Damn that stupid phone of his straight to hell.

  “I...have to go,” Lukas mutters, his voice pained.

  “Oh,” I breathe, “Of course.” The slickness between my legs is irrepressible, unmistakable. I wonder if he can smell how horny I am from across the room.

  “Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything you need,” he says, turning away from me, “I’ll see you...later.”

  “Running errands?” I ask, trying to sound chipper.

  “Sure,” Lukas replies, “Errands.”

  He bounds down the stairs and out of the cabin. Once he’s gone, I melt onto the king bed, overcome with frustrated desire. I was this close to feeling those strong hands run down the length of my body—moments away from learning how Lukas Roth tastes. I know that I need to get a grip, mind my p’s and q’s, but that’s far easier said than done when someone like Lukas is standing in front of me.

  I let my fingers trace down between my heaving breasts and skirt across my belly. Parting my knees on the bed, I bring my hand down to my throbbing, aching slit. God, he’s got me sopping wet. I let my knees fall apart as I begin to touch myself, tracing long, slow lines along the length of my sex. I have to find some kind of release, or I’ll never make it through the night.

  A moan of delight escapes my throat as I begin to trace light circles around my clit. The tight bundle of nerves quivers as I stroke and knead it, working myself into a frenzy of my own invention. I call Lukas back into my mind, picture him sinking into me as I finger myself feverishly. I let his name roll off my tongue as I raise my hips, summoning the orgasm that’s been building within me for days.

  Rubbing my clit fast and hard, I slide the fingers of my other hand up inside my throbbing slit, flexing against the silky flesh there. I groan softly as my own intimate touch sends a shuddering, delicious orgasm rippling through me. I lead myself through it, rubbing and stroking myself along wave after wave of bliss. God, I’d needed that. I don’t know how I’ve made it this long without a good, proper orgasm.

  My hands fall heavily against the soft quilt, my chest rising and falling with each panting breath. If Lukas doesn’t take the lead soon, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never been the dominate type, but this whole thing might just drive me to take charge and jump him the next chance I get.

  I push myself up off the bed and take a moment to clean up in the charming bathroom. I’d treat myself to a calming bath, but I need to get back inside to Gertrude. Hopefully, she won’t be able to discern what it is I’ve been up to out here while she’s been sleeping. That might make for a spot of awkwardness in my bedside manner. I hastily unpack my things and head back to the main house.

  “There you are,” Gertrude says happily as I slip into her room.

  “Oh, you’re awake!” I say, “Thank you so much for inviting me to stay, Gertrude.”

  “Don’t thank me,” she shrugs, “It was Lukas’s idea.”

  “It was?” I ask, “He told me—”

  “Come over here, dear,” she cuts me off, patting the bed beside her. I do as she asks and settle onto the comforter at her feet. She looks at me long and hard, peering past my carefully cultivated facade without breaking a sweat. “Are you OK, Hannah?” she asks, “You look alarmed.”

  “It’s...been a strange day,” I tell her.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “Oh, I don’t want to turn you into my counselor,” I laugh, “I already have...Um...”

  “Don’t you dare act ashamed of being a little worse for the wear after spending almost thirty years on this planet,” she says to me, “If you didn’t have a few bumps and bruises, I wouldn’t trust you.”

  I flinch at her mention of bruises. Surely she can’t have guessed that, too. “I’m not exactly perfect,” I tell her, dropping my eyes to my lap.

  “None of us are, Hannah,” Gertrude says, “And anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar and a damned fool. I just need to know that you’re alright. That you’re going to be alright. Or really, whether there’s anyone who needs his kneecaps broken.”

  “Well...” I laugh, “I don’t know about that, but...There is someone. From my past. Someone who is very persistent about being part of my future. He’s not a good man. He’s terrible, to tell you the truth, but he’s...got this hold on me. He’s making it impossible to move on and start the next part of my life. I’m afraid of him, Gertrude. I have no idea what he’s capable of, if pushed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, grabbing hold of my hand, “I know it doesn’t solve the problem, but our private grounds are totally safe. An intruder couldn’t so much have the thought to break in without being apprehended by the police. As long as you’re here, you’re safe. Besides, Lukas would never let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s...such a comfort. Truly,” I say, squeezing her hand ever so gently.

  “You’re safe with Lukas,” she says again, “Whatever he might tell you. Some things...are beyond our control, Hannah. But you can’t let the worst people in this world dictate the course of your life. Your will is stronger than the victimhood they would visit on you. Believe me when I tell you this.”

  “I want to believe you,” I sigh, “It’s just a bit easier said than done.”

  “Remember who you’re talking to,” she quips.

  “Oh...I’m sorry,” I backpedal, “Of course, what I’ve gone through is nothing compared to—”

  “Oh, don’t make this into a pissing contest,” Gertrude says, waving my apology away, “We’re neither of us properly equipped for such sport. Let’s not get bogged down in the bad, OK? I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a cup of that lemon ginger tea of yours.”

  “Of course,” I smile, rising from the bed, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” she says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I make my way back down toward the kitchen, my head racing. How can I feel so drawn to, so open with these people I’ve only just met? My own family has never felt so open and available as the Roths, even Lukas and his cold, guarded ways. Being here feels very much like being at home, as crazy a thing as that is to admit.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, coming to my senses. I look around at the maze of rooms I’ve wandered into and realize that I’ve lost my way. This house is actually big enough to get lost in, apparently. I try and recall which way the kitchen is, and set off in a rather random direction.

  I tiptoe down the hardwood hallway, peering through cracked doors and past elaborate tapestries. If I get lost in here, I wonder if anyone will ever find me? Maybe they’ll send a search party to look for my remains, if enough time passes.

  As I round a corner, a spot of light catches my eye. One of the many doors along the hallway ahead stands open, casting a square of warm light onto the floor. Could that be the kitchen I’ve been rooting around for so hopelessly? I approach the doorway at a quick clip, eager to put this little escapade behind me. I step around the open door and into the room beyond. One thing becomes abundantly clear the moment I take in my surroundings—this is most certainly not the kitchen.

  The room is an enormous, jam-packed weapons locker. On every spare inch of wall, guns and knives of all shapes and sizes hang on display. The floor is stacked with cabinets and drawers, each filling to the bursting with different sorts of arms and ammunition. I take a tentative step into the space, my mind reeling at the sight of so many instrument
s of violence. There have to be a hundred different weapons in this room, a hundred means of visiting pain and destruction on another living soul. What the fuck is a room like this doing in Lukas’s home?

  I am constitutionally opposed to violence, and I despise weapons of any kind. I grew up around guns—my father had a collection all this own. Dad wasn’t a sportsman—he simply like to possess the weapons to give him a feeling of power. He liked knowing that, at any time, he could grab a gun and end someone’s life. Whether he’d ever have the balls to kill someone, I couldn’t say for sure. But the fact that he equated power with life and death disgusted me. No one should be able to end someone else’s life, no matter what the justification. It would seem that Lukas does not feel the same.

  Slowly, I approach the far wall of the room, immersing myself in the disturbing presence of the armory. The entire stretch of all in front of my eyes is covered is different kinds of guns, blades, and other tools that I can’t even identify. Or rather, almost the entire wall is covered. There’s one gap in the array, just above my eye level. An empty rack is all the hangs there, the negative space of what looks like a very large rifle. But if the gun in question isn’t there among the others, where the hell has it gone?

  “Hannah?” says a voice from the doorway.

  I spin around and spot Thomas peering in at me, his face a mask of concern.

  “I-I was looking for the kitchen...” I stammer, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t snooping, or—”

  “Of course not, dear,” Thomas says hurriedly, crossing the room to me. “Let me show you the right way. This house is a little tricky to navigate at first.”

  “Right. Tricky,” I say, allowing myself to be led from the room.

  Thomas shuts the door to the locker tightly behind us and slips a heavy key into the lock. He secures the door and ushers me away, practically trotting.

  “Thomas,” I venture, my voice quivering, “What is all of that?”

  “Oh, just Mr. Roth’s collection,” Thomas says, trying to keep his voice light. “He’s quite the hunter, you know. Deer, elk, game fowl, you name it...”