by Jane Henry
The night was dark, the moon casting little light on the ground. Cole peered out the window, plotting what he would do next. If Pearson and Monty thought for a minute that Cole wasn’t who he said he was… Pearson already doubted him, had doubted him since a month earlier when Cole had refused to shoot an innocent woman in a raid at a bank. Pearson never dirtied his hand with the raids, but when word came to him that Cole hadn’t pulled the trigger, Cole knew then a seed of doubt had been planted. He had to work this perfectly, and if he did, Pearson’s presence here and now could aid his ultimate plan well. Very well. But it was a razor’s edge he walked until then.
A sharp knock came on the door to the room. Stalking over, Cole yanked the door open. Junior stood, staring at him with wide open eyes. Cole gestured for him to come in.
Junior fidgeted nervously as Cole shut the door.
“Heard Pearson,” Junior said. “Didn’t know I was there. I went to go check on the horses before dinner, and Pearson was in the stable with Monty.” He swallowed. Cole frowned, crossing his arms on his chest, but he gave Junior an encouraging nod.
Junior continued. “I heard Monty say you shared a bedroll overnight, and he thought you were fixin’ to make her yours. Pearson said if you showed yourself weak with a woman, you couldn’t be trusted, with what they have planned.”
Cole’s frown deepened. “Is that all?” he asked.
Junior nodded. “For now, yeah,” he said. “I just thought you ought to know.” Junior spoke in a low voice, with a subtle gesture that might’ve looked like he was swatting a fly, or flicking a speck of dust. But Cole understood, his eyes trained on the dark wooden dresser that stood between the rooms. Cole knew the implication, moving his eyes intentionally out the window so he wasn’t staring at the dresser. There was a peephole between the dark wooden dresser and the bed.
Cole clapped Junior on the shoulder. “Thanks for that,” he said, and Junior took his leave.
The door opened and Aida emerged. Her face had been scrubbed, her hair tidied, and her dress smoothed out. She still needed fresh clothing and a bath, but she was pretty as a picture as she was. Her eyes met his and for a moment unveiled, but when he reached for her hand, it was as if she remembered he was not to be trusted, and her eyes shuttered again.
“Come here,” Cole said, tugging her hand so that she was as close to him as she’d ever been, while purposely keeping them angled away from the peephole. “You listen to me, and you listen well. No matter what happens over the next few hours, you try to understand. Remember? Trust me, darlin’. Can you trust me?”
She glared at him, her jaw clenched.
“Trust you?” she asked helplessly. “Trust the man that took me from my home. Trust the man who whipped me over his knee. Trust the man who’s holding me hostage and planning to do who-knows-what to me?” Her face frowned in disgust. “I don’t trust you.”
Of course she didn’t. God, he’d been such a fool. He had her, right there in the palm of his hand, and now she’d turned from him again.
Spurred on by the need to make her understand what these men were capable of, he whispered in her ear, “You heard Monty talking earlier. You know what has to happen now. I promise I’ll make it good for you, darlin’. But you need to do exactly what I say.” He needed her to cooperate. She had to. “Do you have any idea what those men are capable of?”
Her eyes flashed. “Something worse than taking me against my will, whipping me, and holding me hostage?”
Cole chuckled darkly. “Oh, honey. That would only be them getting off to a good start. What I’ve seen those men do would make your toes curl.”
She turned her chin away from him defiantly.
Quickly, he tugged her closer. Fear raced through her eyes as if she feared punishment, as with her last act of defiance.
“No, I’m not spankin’ you right now, little girl,” he said. “Though if you keep it up, you will earn a trip over Daddy’s knee. No, it seems you’re still angry over what I said earlier.” He pulled her head down to his ear. “Darlin’, it’s nighttime. I still owe you a reward. And I’ll give it to you.” His voice dipped low as he whispered in her ear. “But they’re watchin’.” They could see but they could hear nothing but low murmurs, so he would have to use that to his advantage.
She started and whispered back, “Who’s watching?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled, whispering, “Pearson. The guy that brought us to this room.”
Her eyes widened, as he pulled her head down and crushed her mouth with his. He pushed her over to the bed, and gently but firmly made her lay back on the bed as he straddled her. Her breath came in gasps as her eyes widened, but she did not protest. She gasped, but his hand went to her mouth and he hushed her, speaking in a low whisper in her ear that couldn’t be heard by anyone but her. “I’m gonna take you, Aida. Take you while they watch. But I want you to fight me. You need to struggle. Struggle, girl. It’s for your own good,” he said.
She shook her head from side to side, her eyes wide and frightened, and he guessed anyone who was peering in at a distance would think that she was resisting him. But he knew she wasn’t shaking her head to feign resistance, but saying that she wouldn’t cooperate. She was defying him.
“Aida,” he warned, but she continued to glare and shake her head. Lifting his hand, he brought it down with a sharp crack to her thigh. She squealed, and he spanked her again.
“Struggle,” he hissed in her ear.
Her eyes narrowed and she froze in place, not moving. She didn’t believe him. Did she think he was lying?
So that was how it would be, then.
He took both of her hands and pinned them by her sides as his lips found hers. She moaned beneath him, her tongue meeting his as he took her mouth hard. She pushed her hands against him but could hardly move while he straddled her. It was an easy matter to overpower her. She wiggled helplessly beneath him, but it wasn’t real enough yet, it wasn’t desperate. The struggle had to be real and convincing.
He rolled off of her, sat on the bed, and hauled her straight over his lap. She squealed as he yanked her skirts up and her drawers down.
“No!” she screamed.
Now they were getting somewhere.
She flailed an arm helplessly back, her hand trying to slap his away, but he deftly pinned her hand to her lower back and slapped her naked backside, not pausing to even catch his breath as blow after blow fell. It would show those who watched him that he was in charge, in control, and that she was his captive.
He knew he was being a brute, but he also knew that playing the part of brute would be most convincing.
Yanking a fistful of her hair up, he pulled her head up.
“You gonna do what Daddy says now?” he growled, releasing her hand. She tried to get up, but he kept her in position with a hand on her lower back.
“Go to hell,” she hissed, her skirts falling as she twisted herself on his lap, layers of dress and petticoats getting in his way.
The clothes would have to go.
He pushed her off his lap, standing her in front of him. Spinning her around, he quickly leaned down and removed a dagger from his boot.
“Don’t move,” he hissed. “You move, and you’ll get hurt. Fucking hell, girl,” he muttered under his breath. “You’ll do as you’re told. It’s for your own good, to prove you’re my captive. They can’t think I have feelings for you.”
He had to move quickly before she realized what he was doing. Dipping the tip of the dagger at the laced bodice in the back, he drew it down with one firm tug, expertly avoiding her sensitive skin and effectively slashing her dress clean down the center. He was prepared for her gasp and braced for her to jerk or spin around, but fortunately she chose this time to obey. Holding his dagger in his right hand, with his left he pushed her dress over her shoulders, tearing the clothes off of her until she stood in front of him stripped and naked, her undergarments pooled at her feet. She crossed her arms on her chest, glaring at
him, her cheeks aflame with anger. He wanted to pull her close to him and cover her, the thought of Pearson seeing her like this infuriating. But he had to make it look real, had to show them what he was capable of.
“Don’t move, Aida,” he hissed. She reared back and slapped him as hard as she could, straight across his face. He could feel the snap in his jaw and the flare of pain, which he quickly shook off.
Grasping her quickly around the waist, he hauled her over to him as he got to his feet. Pushing her to the bed belly down, she was now lying over the edge. She gasped at the sound of his buckle clasp. In a matter of seconds, his belt whizzed through the loops on his trousers. His cock was already rock hard, and spanking her would make him even harder. He doubled over his belt, holding her in place on the bed with his hand on her back. Quickly, he delivered a hard lash. She yelped and protested, but he easily overpowered her as before, lifting the belt again and administering another searing swat.
She yelled, squirming underneath him, but he ignored her, the heady excitement of overpowering her intermingling with the need to prove himself to Pearson by making her fight him. Another hard lash fell, then another, her bottom now a deep cherry red as the sound of leather hitting her bare skin resounded in the small room.
After a dozen searing lashes, he threw his belt on the floor. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her, and rock her, and call her Daddy’s little girl. He wanted to turn her over, bury his face in her sweet pussy until she grasped his hair and screamed in ecstasy. But no. No, she had to submit to him or all would be lost.
She was momentarily without fight on the bed, having been stripped and spanked, so he took the opportunity to quickly unfasten his trousers. He leaned in and whispered in her right ear, the opposite from where the others could see.
“Fight me, honey,” he said. “Fight me, but I’m not gonna hurt you now. I’ll go slow enough so you feel me and if you focus on me, focus on submitting, it will be easier on you. You don’t like it, and you won’t admit it, but you’re wet as hell after I’ve whipped you, and it’ll help.” She was silent, lying still beneath him. She had to fight. Grasping her hair, he tugged her head back. “Fight me,” he ordered, with a resounding slap to the side of her thigh. She howled, twisting beneath him, as he pushed her on the bed and lifted her torso up so she was on her knees, chest down, ass in the air. God, she was beautiful.
Straddling her from behind, he nudged his cock into her pussy. “I’m gonna take you darlin’,” he said. Though her eyes were closed tightly, she nodded once, just enough that he alone could see.
He wanted to go slow. He wanted to make her pleasure his goal. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard. She gasped as he plunged his cock into her core. She tightened around him as he filled her, and he groaned out loud with the feeling. He planted his hands on her hips, driving himself hard within her. Her pussy tightened around his cock with every thrust, slick arousal welcoming him to drive deeper, push harder. Her face tipped to the side and she groaned, a primal beg for more.
He focused on her beneath him, and shoved his right hand between her body and the blanket, grasping her breast. He glared, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, hoping that it would look like he was simply ravaging her, as the fingers that were hidden from the peephole flicked and primed her nipple, desperately hoping he’d arouse her. He slowed, leaning down to her, and whispered into her ear, “Such a good girl. You’re so wet for Daddy. Come for me, darlin’.”
She moaned again, her eyes closed now. He flicked a tongue out to her neck and licked the sweet skin. She was panting now as he dipped a finger to her nub and stroked. Her breath hitched, and she pushed back against him with a cry, her pussy milking his cock. She finally gave in to her own release, moaning aloud as she climaxed beneath him, his own cries of pleasure mingling with hers.
She sniffled quietly. Fucking hell, he hoped the bastards who watched were gone now. They’d gotten their show. How could he take care of her now without them noticing? He slumped against her, feigning exhaustion, as he withdrew himself.
“Stay there,” he hissed, pointing a finger at her so that anyone watching would think he was growling out an order. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, but you stay there.”
He zipped up his trousers and made his way over to the dresser. He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms up over his head, and flicked the lantern off so they were plunged into darkness. He unbuttoned his shirt, turned to the bed, and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. He didn’t look at first where it landed, but when he met her on the bed, a stream of moonlight illuminated the room. He could see how his shirt had landed in a perfect balled-up mess right on the dresser, effectively blocking the peephole. If they hadn’t moved on yet, and they likely had as there were more shows to watch in the other rooms, between the light being off and the clothes on the dresser, they wouldn’t see a damn thing more.
“Darlin’,” he said, as he walked over to the bed, stroking a hand against her hair. “C’mere.” He climbed onto the bed wearing nothing but his trousers. She turned away from him, her back to him, and pulled her legs up to her chest, a sight that made his heart twist in his chest. Did she want to protect herself from him? He closed his eyes and sat up on the bed, reaching a hand out and gently touching her back. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered, but still she did not move. Another pause. “Come to your daddy now, darlin’,” he said, and it was then that she finally turned to him, put her head on his chest, and cried.
* * *
Aida could see the self-loathing in his eyes. She knew he felt he’d had no choice but to do what he did. It had been an easy matter to fight him, as it wasn’t just him she fought, but her own dark inclinations and instincts. For as her mind told her to turn away from him to protect herself, his strength and power was the enigmatic pull she could not resist. Her backside throbbed from the strokes of his belt, and she felt the ache in her pussy from his brutal claiming. She wanted to push him away and hate him. She tried.
“Leave me alone, you savage,” she said, a tremor in her voice, and yet she didn’t move.
“Hush, darlin’,” he whispered. “If they thought I felt anything for you, they wouldn’t believe I was with them,” he explained. “You’ll understand soon, but you had to fight me.”
It made no sense. The tears were rent out of her, and she wished she could pin her hatred on him, but she couldn’t. The loss of control while over his knee, or beneath him on the bed while he claimed her, made her feel more alive than she had in years, perhaps ever. She tried so hard to shove her base desires away, to tell herself not to trust him, to try to fear him. But she could not. Frustration welled in her and tears coursed down her face as he held her, strong arms holding her close to him, his bare chest under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of wishing that somehow this was real, that somehow he meant the gentle caress.
How could she explain that the tears that fell were born from a desperate need to know he really cared for her? There was too much to dwell on. “You make me call you Daddy,” she said in a half-drowsy state. “You want me to hate you.”
He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, his hand on her neck drawing her closer, tighter, and yet she wanted him to hold her even closer and tighter.
“You have to hate me,” he said, his voice catching at the end. “A man like me isn’t good for a girl like you.”
He was wrong, so very wrong.
“If you say so,” she murmured. Leaning in closer to his bare chest, she kissed him gently, then her tears flowed even harder as the words flowed. She could not hate him. “You did that because you had to.”
I felt like a real woman. You make me feel like a real woman.
How could she get him to see? This was the moment, here, in the dark, when they were alone and bared to one another, when she could entrust herself to him. In the light of day, they’d have to pull up their facade again, feign hatred and maybe even violence. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
Resting her hand flat on his chest, she spoke frankly, softly. “You were not the one who took my innocence. You were not the one who stole my purity. I was defiled long before you ever touched me.”
She’d said too much.
Trust me, he’d said. Could she trust him?
“I don’t hate the man I call Daddy,” she whispered, tracing a finger along the prickly dark hairs on his chest. “You’re the only man I’ve ever called that.” She made a face of disgust, as if she’d eaten something rancid, and her mouth twisted. “But my father… I hate him. I hate him so much.”
Cole’s hand reached for the back of her neck and squeezed. “He violated you,” he said, the barest lilt at the end of his voice, a question. One tilt of her head with closed eyes was all she could muster.
It still came to her in the night, the sickening hopelessness and terror, the nausea she felt when touched by soft, greedy hands. She needed the strong, sometimes painful touch of the hardened man who now held her, the loss of control with him that somehow freed her from the shackles of shame and bitter memories.
She nodded her head again. Had she said too much? But no. His grip tightened and to her surprise, his whiskered lips grazed the top of her forehead in a fierce kiss.
“Soon. So soon, you will see, it will all come to light. Until then, you need to trust me. If I say fight me, you fight me. If I say obey me, you obey me.” He paused and his voice deepened. “And Aida, if I say run, you run.”
A chill ran down her spine and the small hairs on her arms rose, but she nodded.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Cole’s voice had hardened when he spoke, though he still spoke low enough that no one would hear him but Aida. “I can’t say much to you, not now. But you mark me, Aida. He’ll never lay a hand on you again. His day will come. He’ll pay for what he’s done.” His voice was deep and menacing now. “I’ll see that he does.”