Raw, A Dark Romance

by Taylor, Tawny

  My head spun. I staggered back another step. “You paid money to fuck me?”

  “I paid money to do whatever I like to you. For one week. And we’re wasting time.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. My head spun. Thoughts whipped through it, jumbled. “How much money? Maybe I can return your money?”

  One brow quirked. “Do you have two million dollars, esclavo? You said you had nothing.”

  I gasped. Then, because for some reason the oxygen I’d gulped didn’t make it to my lungs, I gasped a second time. “Two million? Two million U.S. dollars?” My legs wobbled. “Two million?”

  “Two million.” Once again, he closed the distance between us. “So you see, esclavo, I will get whatever I want. I’ve paid a great price for the right.”

  “But…but…I’m not for sale!”

  “You were.” He prowled closer, evil smile in place, eyes glittering. “And I was the highest bidder.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Had Sid’s boss sold me like a common whore? My stomach convulsed, and I fell to my knees. I heaved but nothing came up.

  Something hard and tight clamped around my arm and within a split second I was pulled across the room. With every inch I was dragged my terror swelled. And so did my fury. I fought. I kicked. I writhed and screamed until I was breathless and heaving and trembling all over. Stopping in front of the big wooden X bolted to the back wall, he hauled me to my feet then jerked one of my arms up.

  Oh God. If he tied me up I wouldn’t be able to fight. He would be able to do anything he wanted to me. Anything at all.

  Sid was a zillion miles away.

  And Tonya…? Where was she?

  Shit, I was alone. There was no one here to help me. He could kill me.

  I fought even harder. I fought with everything I had. My rage pummeled my system, and I used it to drive me to keep fighting, even when he had one wrist bound. I swung with the other one and kicked with both feet until he’d secured both wrists and ankles in cuffs.

  I’d fought. I’d lost.

  But I wasn’t giving up.

  I was chained to a big x, my back facing my captor. But I was still a virgin. For now.

  But for how much longer?

  My muscles were so tense they cramped. My nerves were jangling so badly I shook from head to toe. My senses were hyper-alert. I heard him moving behind me. I felt the slightest gust of air when he came closer. His cologne filled my nostrils.

  His heat burned my back, even though I was still wearing my clothes.

  The hairs on my nape stood on end.

  “I enjoy your fire, esclavo. Now, let me see if you enjoy mine.”

  What did that mean?

  My insides twisted.

  Heat gushed to my core.

  What the fuck?

  Shocked by my body’s reaction to the menace in his voice, I let my head fall forward until my forehead rested on the structure to which I was bound. “Go to hell.” Since when did the threat of rape turn me on? Since when did a bastard who didn’t give a fuck about me make me cream my panties?

  I was sick. Sick!

  I deserved to go to hell too.

  Confused and disgusted with myself, I smacked my head against the wood and curled my fingers so tightly my fingernails dug into my palms. A sob ripped up my throat.

  Behind me, he said, “Now, it is time to see what I have paid for.”

  I felt a tug at the back of my shirt and then the sound of rending fabric echoed through the tense silence. My spine arched and I jerked in a desperate (but pointless) attempt at escape. A breeze chilled my back as the torn pieces of my sweater and tank top fell aside and my skin prickled with goose bumps. My bathing suit strap snapped and my breasts fell out of the cups. My nipples hardened almost instantly. And another blast of heat pulsed to my center.

  I was fucked up.

  “Stop it,” I yelled. “Stop it now.”

  “Ah, esclavo, keep screaming. Keep shouting. Your pretty little voice makes my cock hard.”

  My skirt was next, cut, torn, I couldn’t tell which. The material slid down my right leg, catching on a cuff at my ankle. My bathing suit bottoms would be next. Oh God.

  My pussy clenched. Hot, sticky cream coated my folds, dampening the lining.

  He audibly inhaled. “I can smell your cream. Intoxicating.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “As you wish.”

  I felt the tug at the waistband and panic gripped me. I writhed, fighting the chains holding my ankles and wrists in place. But there was no hope, no use. I was bound tight, unable to resist. Fingers slid down my lycra-covered crack. I trembled. Tears coursed down my cheeks, even as more heat pounded to my pussy. I was shocked and ashamed by my body’s response. I despised this man. I didn’t want him to touch me. Not my back. Not my ass. And…oh God…not down there.

  “No,” I said on a whimper. “No, no, no.”

  His fingers grazed over my sensitive flesh. No man had ever touched my pussy. It felt so good. Good but wrong. Wrong but thrilling.

  “Please stop,” I begged.

  “Do you know what the scent of your cream does to me? Esclavo, you are so wet. I want to cram my cock into that slick, tight heat and make you scream until you can’t scream anymore.” My thighs tensed. My feet slid wider apart, as far as the chains would allow, opening my center for his probing digits.

  What the hell was I doing, welcoming his invasion?

  My breathing quickened. My heartbeat thumped through my body, sending wave upon wave of lust burning through my core. My pussy was empty and clenching, so wet and hot I ached. Instinct told me to open wider, surrender to him, even as my brain told me to resist, to fight, to beg for mercy.

  I couldn’t let him take what was mine.

  But even as that thought blazed through my mind, I quivered with need. His fingers slipped into the leg of my bottoms, fingernails grazing my labia. My insides pulsed, and the air filled with the sweet scent of my need.

  I was shameless. I was a whore. A whore who didn’t just want his touch to delve deeper, I needed his touch to delve deeper.

  Closing my eyes, I waited, my breath in my throat. My blood was like lava, burning through my body. Every nerve in my skin was electrified. His touch awakened a part of myself I hadn’t realized existed. The feral self who didn’t give a damn about shoulds and should nots.

  “This is mine. My cunt.” When his finger slipped between my nether lips, I whimpered. I quaked. I bit my lip and dug my fingernails into my palms. Deeper. I wanted his touch to go deeper. To thrust inside, stretch me wide.

  Instead, it slid out.

  “You surrender so quickly, esclavo. Where did that fire go?” He walked away, leaving me standing there, barely able to hold myself up. My legs were as soft as molten gelatin. Knees wobbly. Pulse pounding in my ears. Arms practically numb from lack of blood supply. And the evidence of my need dripping from my pussy.

  Was he done?

  The door’s hinges creaked. His footsteps echoed. He was out in the hallway.

  I pulled in a deep breath. Was I safe? Where was he going? How long would he be gone?

  For now my virginity was still intact. But my pride…that was long gone. With just a few strokes he’d tamed me. I’d gone from kicking and screaming to protect myself to spreading my legs and practically begging him to take me.

  And this was just the first day. The first hour of the first day.

  If he kept to his word (and that was a big if, in my book), and would release me at the end of the week, there were still many hours of this torture ahead of me yet.

  How would I survive?

  What was this feeling? This nagging curiosity. This frustrating desire to watch her? To touch her? This irritating need to…protect her? --Kace R.

  Four

  I stood in that room, chained to that big X, for what seemed like a lifetime. The whole time my ears pricked, my heartbeat raced. That horrible man would come back, and when he did, what would he do next? Wou
ld he whip me until I screamed in agony? Or would he caress me where I ached to be touched until I begged him to take me?

  Either way, I was screwed. Perhaps literally.

  Footsteps. I heard footsteps.

  My spine tensed. My heart raced. My fingers curled. He was coming.

  My breath caught in my throat as the sound grew closer, louder. He was in the room now. Almost within touch. I tried to twist my body, to look back.

  I couldn’t see him yet.

  Closer. Closer.

  I strained. I stretched.

  At last I saw someone. It wasn’t him. Oh God, it wasn’t him.

  A red-hot wave of shame raced through my body. Someone was seeing my bare ass and back. That someone clasped the buckle of one of my wrist cuffs and unfastened it. My arm fell limply to my side, the blood having drained from it, making it heavy and numb. I shook it out as I watched my savior unbuckle the other wrist.

  She was a female, dressed in a simple uniform, similar to the plane’s flight attendant. Black pants. White button-down shirt. Black jacket.

  She was attractive. Slim. Petite. She had a friendly face.

  She was the woman who had greeted me when I’d first arrived. The one I’d assumed was the concierge.

  As the blood returned to my arms, I was able to cross them over my body, one holding the front of my tank top against my chest the other pressing the remains of my skirt over my nude mound.

  “Come with me,” she said, her words in a heavily-accented, but completely understandable, English.

  “Thank you.” A little wobbly, I shuffled after her, letting her lead me through the enormous house.

  She said nothing as we traveled down wide corridors and through rooms full of gorgeous furnishings. At last I recognized where I was. She opened my door for me, stepping inside before shutting it behind her. “There are fresh clothes in the closet.” She opened the door to show me. One look at those clothes and I knew they weren’t mine.

  “That’s not my stuff,” I told her.

  “Yes. Your things have been stored for safe keeping. They will be returned to you at the end of the week.”

  My things had been taken away? Why? What the hell did he do that for? He’d taken my clothes? My underwear? My make up?

  My phone!

  My ID.

  My passport.

  My teeth gritted. I couldn’t stop myself; my anger blasted out. “He stole my things. Why? Why would he do that?” I demanded.

  Unfazed, the woman motioned to the closet. “Señor Ramos has provided ample garments for you to wear during your visit.”

  “That’s not the point!” I quivered as another fresh wave of rage smashed through me.

  That bastard had stripped me of everything. My freedom to leave. My clothing. My phone. My dignity. I despised him more than I’d ever hated a human being before.

  My eyes began to burn. I lifted my trembling hands to hide them. I didn’t want this strange woman to see me cry. It was bad enough she’d seen me practically naked. I was humiliated enough as it was.

  A second later soft and warm draped across my shoulders. Without opening my eyes, I grabbed the front of the garment, a robe, I imagined, and clenched it tightly in my fists. I could hide my body. But I couldn’t hide my shame, my confusion, my anger, or my fear. I felt hands smoothing my hair back from my face, tying something around the long tresses.

  “Come, sit.” The woman used gentle hands to steer me toward the bed.

  I was blind, tears blurring my vision. I blinked through them, gaze fixed to the floor, as I let her guide me to the bed.

  “Sit. Please,” she coaxed.

  I sat. My nose was burning now too, and runny, thanks to the tears leaking from my eyes. I dragged my hand across my face, under my nose.

  The soft scuff of a tissue being pulled from a cardboard box raked over my raw, frazzled nerves.

  “My name is Adela.” She placed the tissues in my hand. “I have been in your position. A long time ago. Señor Ramos’s father brought me here, just like you, to be his puta, his whore. I was afraid and ashamed at first. But it was okay. And once he died, his son set me free. Yet I have stayed. All this time, many years. Señor Ramos is a good man. He will not scar you. He will not break you if you don’t let him. You will go home whole.” She slid to her knees, positioning herself in front of me.

  I didn’t meet her gaze. I was too confused, too lost in emotion to look her in the eyes. But I appreciated what she was trying to do. She had confessed something very private. And she’d done it to show I could survive this.

  I swallowed the big sob clogging my throat. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how this happened. There was a mistake. I thought I’d come here to go on a date with a billionaire. I didn’t know…”

  “See me.” The woman cupped my face in her hands and forced me to look her in the eye. “Do you see any pain in my eyes? Do you see any fear? Señor Ramos is a good man. You can believe me.”

  I dabbed at my soggy face again. “If he’s so good, why does he do this terrible thing? Why does he buy women?”

  “He has his reasons,” she answered, patting my knee. “It makes him no less honorable or respectable in my eyes.”

  “But it was a mistake. Shouldn’t he let me go?” I insisted.

  She gave me a friendly, reassuring smile and stood. “Just as he has his reasons for buying you in the first place, he has his reasons for keeping you. Trust him.”

  Trust him?

  Was she insane? I was supposed to trust a strange man who lived in a strange country, who supposedly bought women so he could beat and whip and rape them?

  Maybe this kind woman was wrong? Perhaps she was so broken she didn’t even realize it. And that was why she was willing to come to his defense.

  That had to be it. She was brainwashed. She’d lost touch with reality.

  I didn’t even know how to respond to her crazy suggestion. It was so out of touch with reality, I couldn’t do anything but shake my head.

  Trust him? She had to be joking. Clearly I couldn’t trust him, or her. Or probably anyone else in this house of horrors.

  Or that bitch, Fallon Franchot.

  When it came down to it, Fallon Franchot was responsible for my predicament. Clearly she’d made arrangements neither I nor Sidonie knew about. Sid couldn’t have not known what kind of man Señor Ramos was, and what kind of demands he would make.

  But Fallon Franchot did. The bitch.

  Blind date, my ass.

  Fallon Franchot was a madam. A pimp. No better. And as soon as I had feet back on U.S. soil, I was going to tell my bestie to quit that job and find something else, anything else. Flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant was a more respectable way to make a living than working for a women who sold innocent girls to psychos like Señor Ramos.

  My mouth tasted bitter with hatred. I ached to talk to someone who would understand, who would help me get the hell out of this nightmare. But the asshole had taken all my things. My phone was in his possession, not mine. And my credit cards and passport, too.

  Feeling unsettled, I ran to the bathroom and cranked on the water as hot as it would go. Then I stripped off the robe and shredded scraps of my clothes, tugged out the red ribbon Adela had tied in my hair and threw it on the countertop, and stood under the scalding stream until my skin was numb. While I stood there, I let all the pent up tears flow. And did they ever flow.

  I was terrified of the unknown. There were so many things I couldn’t be sure of. What if he didn’t let me go at the end of the week? What if I was kept a prisoner here forever? Or what if he sold me to someone else after he grew bored of me?

  And…ohmygod, what if Sid hadn’t been sick? What if she was poisoned by Fallon Franchot so she couldn’t interfere? What if I never saw or talked to her again?

  I didn’t feel much better by the time I finally cut off the water. Pruney, I toweled off and got dressed. After having been stripped of my clothes and my pride
, I wanted to wear a lot of clothes, despite the warm sea-scented breeze wafting through my open French doors. I dug through the contents of the closet.

  Truckloads of expensive clothes hung on hangers and lay folded neatly on shelves. The panties and bras were all beautiful, lacy and delicate. And all of them had tags. They were all brand new, never worn.

  That should have made me feel a little better, knowing he’d bought them for me. At least I wasn’t forced to wear some other woman’s clothing. Or plural, women’s clothing. Evidently he’d gone out and purchased all new, in preparation of my arrival. But I still despised the fact that I wasn’t stepping into my own panties or clasping my own bra, or tugging on my own t-shirt.

  There were no pants, so I had to be satisfied with a skirt. At least it was long. The silky material draped over my hips and skimmed the floor as I walked to the French doors. Barefoot, since I hadn’t found a single pair of shoes in the closet, I peered outside. The sun was a fireball, perched high in the sky and dousing everything in brilliant light. The rolling sea flashed as the beams reflected off its surface. The sand glimmered. The green leaves of the plants and trees shone brilliant emerald.

  I stepped outside, onto the cool, shaded patio and a thought passed through my mind. How far would I have to walk to find a neighbor? A few hundred feet? Farther?

  I padded around the swimming pool and went down to the beach. The warm sand sank under my feet, squishing between my toes. I peered to the right. Waves battered the huge jutting tumble of rocks, sending glimmering sparkles into the air. If I followed the shore, I would have to climb onto those rocks. Those steep, slick rocks.

  Probably not the best idea.

  I looked to the left. The sandy shore arched for roughly a quarter mile then ended at a steep ledge, identical to the one on the right.

  Fuck. I was, for all intents and purposes, caged in.

  Caged.

  Like an animal at the zoo. Exactly like an animal at the zoo.

  There I was, surrounded by spectacular beauty. Brilliant blue freedom stretched out in front of me for hundreds of miles. And yet I couldn’t get away. There was no chance I could swim to safety.