Tower: A Dark Romance Rapunzel Retelling (Ever After)

by Measha Stone

  She whimpered when he released her. The return of the blood flow to her nipples stung, and she tried to rub it away. He swatted her hands away.

  “You never cover yourself from me.” His words were hard, like he wanted to be sure she knew he meant business, that he was the one holding the reins, and she could either comply or be punished. And she’d seen how much he loved to punish.

  She had no doubt he would switch to the paddle instead of thinking of sex if she resisted him.

  And did she really want to resist him? Hadn’t she already decided that afternoon while she worked on his business that she wanted him to take her? She wanted every part of her to be touched by him. Even if they were only together for a short time. Even if she was going back home with her mother when she arrived. To have that memory. To feel his desire for her, to sense the urgency and know she gave him everything. She could live on that memory for a long time.

  “If I say no?” she asked, already toying with the hems of the black leggings.

  “I’ve never forced a woman,” he replied, his expression stone cold.

  It wasn’t much of an answer, but what had she expected? Even if he had forced a woman, would he cop to it? Would he tell her the truth?

  In their time together, as far as she was aware, he’d never lied to her. Studying him, she looked for a crevice in his honesty, a crack in that stern exterior. Nothing.

  “Are you saying no, Azalea?” His voice was husky.

  “Shouldn’t a girl’s first time be…I don’t know...” She felt her cheeks heat at the implication. She was going to say special, but what did that even mean?

  He gave a low laugh. “Want me to spread rose petals all over the bed for you? Light a few candles? Maybe write you a quick sonnet?”

  “No.” And she didn’t. She couldn’t imagine it being that way with him. With all his sharp edges and dark glares, he’d look out of place. It would be—wrong.

  “You’re mine, now, Azalea. And I always take care of what’s mine. Always.” He inched closer to her, taking away what little space stood between them.

  She believed him. Even when her mind rebelled and told her she shouldn’t be giving over to him. She never should have agreed to play his little game and let him own her for the short time they were together. Even if he offered everything she wanted, she should have held firm and told him to fuck off.

  But she would never get to do anything in her life if she always listened to that horrible voice in her head telling her to be good, to do what she was supposed to do and lay low.

  “You’re still dressed,” he said, pulling the elastic of her leggings away from her stomach then snapped it back in place.

  Hooking her thumbs into the band, she pushed them down to her ankles, bumping her head on his chest as she bent over slightly. He didn’t back up, didn’t give her room, simply stood his ground.

  Like always.

  Like she’d come to expect from him.

  Once she managed to step out of the leggings, she shoved them to the side. Not sure where to put her hands, she clasped them together behind her, figuring if she covered her sex he’d slap them away.

  “Very good,” he whispered, trailing the tips of his fingers over her collarbone. “Get on the bed, Azalea,” he ordered.

  She took a deep breath and pushed herself up onto the bed, scooting back as far as the headboard would allow her. As much as she wanted him, wanted him to be her first, she had a bubble of fear in her belly.

  When he touched her, it was easy to forget how experienced he was. She didn’t think about all the other women he’d been with or who he would be with once she was gone. When he touched her, looked into her eyes, he made her unable to think about anything other than him.

  But now, watching him shed his clothes, even with his focus on her, she knew she’d fail at this. She knew he’d probably find her lacking and naive—just like he did in every other avenue of life. She would always be the sheltered girl who knew nothing because her mother cared too much about her to let her live a normal life.

  “Azalea.” He called her name firmly, and she dragged her gaze to his face. A wrinkle of concern creased his brow, but his eyes remained stoic. “Stop overthinking. There’s nothing to think about here.”

  He shoved his slacks down, let them fall to his feet, and his cock sprang free.

  She reached for him, to touch his length, his strength, but he caught her wrist and shook his head. “No.”

  He climbed up on the bed, pushing her thighs apart like he had before, and moved down to his elbows. He brought his mouth to her clit, licking, flicking then sucking.

  Her stomach clenched, and her breath caught.

  More licking, slow and treacherous before the sharp bite of his teeth.

  “Fuck.” She let out a breath.

  He gave a low laugh. “Such naughty words.” He bit down on the inside of her thigh.

  He spread her legs open wider, moved up her figure, and kissed her mouth. It felt good having his naked body against hers, the warmth, the strength of him pressing her to the mattress.

  His cock touched her entrance, and she tensed.

  “Shh, don’t get all wound up on me. It will make it worse,” he said between kisses.

  His hands roamed her body, feeling her curves, her tits, and tweaking her nipples while his tongue did things that made her mind blank.

  “Your pussy is soaked,” he said against her mouth. “My cock is already wet with your juices.”

  Again, her cheeks heated from the humiliating way her body reacted to him.

  “Why is your pussy so wet, Azalea?” he asked, pausing in his kisses to stare down at her.

  When she tried to turn away, he caught her face with both hands and held her steady. “Why?”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said. He got off on making her acutely aware of every fucking sensation, every pleasurable thing he did to her.

  Yeah, a complete asshole.

  He laughed. “Tell me.” He shifted, making the tip of his cock press harder against her entrance. Another move like that, and he’d be inside her.

  She didn’t want him to plunge inside and feed the animalistic hunger, she needed it.

  “Because I want you.” She pressed her hands against his chest, not pushing him, but holding the distance between them.

  “See, honesty isn’t so hard.” He shifted backward, shoving her leg up toward her chest. She’d never been so exposed, felt so vulnerable.

  “I want you, too, Azalea,” he said, gripping his cock and stroking it. “More than I’ve wanted a woman in a long time.”

  Was that his great romantic declaration?

  It needed some work.

  He ran the head of his cock through her folds before settling at her entrance. He drove forward, stretching her around his thick head.

  She curled her fingers into his bare chest, still not forcing him away, but preparing to if needed.

  His lips tensed into a straight line, like he was trying hard to keep himself composed and focused.

  He thrust, and she yelped.

  “Peter,” she warned, panic starting to build in her chest. Her pussy stretched around his cock. The sensation pinched, sweeping away her breath. She needed to breathe.

  “Azalea,” he groaned driving forward again, slow, but not pausing in the least. Another inch—how many had already filled her—and he stopped, leaning back and running his hands down her thigh.

  She relaxed her fingers, noticing the small marks her nails made on his pecs.

  “Keep your eyes on me, Azalea. Just me, nowhere else,” he instructed, still caressing her thighs.

  She nodded. Afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d beg him to hurry up and thrust into her. She knew he was trying to save her from the discomfort, but it was the discomfort she craved. If he was going to claim her, claim her, dammit.

  She found him beaming down at her, a tilted, cocky smile.

  “You like it this way.” He edged into her a bit mor
e, grinning wider when she grunted. “You like the stretch and the pain.”

  “I would like it more if you stopped stopping,” she said, feeling much braver now that he was nearly completely inside her. She just needed him to take the plunge, to fill and push and fuck her hard.

  He raised an eyebrow. He ran a finger over her clit, rolling it in circles, making her arch her back. The movement took him in farther, and she felt the stretch increase.

  Moving over her again, he removed his fingers from her clit and captured her face once more. “Eyes on me, don’t even blink,” he ordered and thrust hard forward.

  She cried out, the pain catching her off guard. “Fuck!” She slapped at his shoulders, pushing him, but not getting him to move.

  He stilled over her.

  “Relax, your pussy will adjust, just relax,” he said and kissed her cheek where a tear had fallen. She took several long breaths, watching him as he relaxed along with her.

  The pain ebbed, leaving her with the desire to push up at him, to regain some of the ache. When he slipped a hand between their bodies to play with her clit again, completely wiping away the pain and twisting it into incomparable pleasure, she arched upward.

  He pulled back and plowed forward again. She moaned and brought her legs back, opening herself more to him. Wrapping her hands around his back, she held onto him as he fucked her. Slow at first, bringing himself almost all the way out before plunging back in, but once he seemed appeased she wasn’t hurting, he fucked her harder.

  The bite of pain was back, but pleasure dragged right behind. Every thrust, every buck of his hips drove her to another plane of pleasure.

  “Fuck, Azalea, fuck,” Peter grunted with a hard drive forward. His face tightened, his concentration back in full force.

  She hauled her legs back further, enjoying the slip in his control when she made the movement.

  His fingers rolled around her clit, and he bent lower, kissing her, nibbling on her lower lip.

  The burning pressure in her belly building, she planted her feet on the mattress and arched up, taking his cock and wanting more of it.

  The bed creaked beneath them.

  “Peter.” She grabbed him, matching his thrusts with her own.

  “Almost there, pretty girl?” he asked, taking her clit between two fingers. “Show me. Show me how pretty my girl is when she comes for me.” He squeezed her clit, giving her that extra pinprick while he plowed harder into her, filling her so perfectly.

  It was enough to spark the ignition. Her body went off like a bottle rocket.

  She screamed—his name, a curse or two, but mostly his name. Over and over, as she bucked up at him, taking every thrust he gave, feeling every bit of his pinch while the waves repeatedly crashed into her.

  Just as the electricity died down, he released her clit and grabbed her hips. His jaw clenched, and his fingers dug into her flesh while he pounded his cock into her. Grunts turned into groans.

  “Oh fuck,” she whispered, feeling his cock thicken inside of her now-sensitive pussy. With one more thrust, he stilled, letting out animalistic moans while his cum filled her.

  She watched him unravel, saw the pure emotion of his release as he emptied into her. His breath became harsh, his chest heaved, and after one more drive, he collapsed onto her. His face cradled into her neck, his hot breath washed over her throat.

  His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him. She didn’t move, didn’t push him away, enjoying the weight of him on her. He kissed her neck, shifting to his side and drawing her close. His cock slipped out of her, soiling the bedding beneath her.

  But he didn’t seem to care, and she lost herself in his embrace.

  Chapter 16

  Peter’s phone rang from his back pocket.

  “What the hell is going on over there?” Ash’s unmistakable voice shot through the phone.

  Peter glanced over at Azalea, who sat at a desk in his apartment over Tower working on her laptop. Enough renovations were complete that he could start occupying his own home.

  “Hello to you, too,” Peter remarked, getting up from his spot on the couch and walking out of the room.

  “Why the fuck do you have some woman hostage?” Ash asked.

  “She’s not a fucking hostage, you ass. Aren’t you on your fucking honeymoon?”

  “I am. Ellie’s taking a nap.” As though the mention of his wife was enough to soothe him, Ash’s voice lowered. “Tell me what’s happening. I call Daniel, and he tells me you have this girl all locked up at the house?”

  Peter would have to kill Daniel. “No one’s locked up anywhere. Daniel and I went on a collection call, and the guy didn’t have the money.”

  “So you took a girl?” Ash’s voice might have been level, but Peter could hear the anger starting to build.

  “Yes, but not like you’re making it out. She was locked up in her room, Ash.”

  “So?”

  “From the outside. She couldn’t walk out if she wanted to. In her own home.”

  Silence filled the time.

  “She’s free to leave, now, though?”

  Peter ran a hand across his neck. “No, not really. She’s staying with me until her mother gets back from business. Then I’ll reassess.”

  “Working foster care?” Ash’s tone didn’t suggest levity.

  “Do you remember a woman named Bellatrix Gothel?” Peter stuck to the facts.

  “Yeah. My father dealt with her occasionally. She’s a fucking trafficker. I cut her off when I took over. At least three of the girls my father had in the Annex were bought from her. After I released them, I helped return them to their families. Don’t you remember?”

  “There were a lot of girls we helped find their families, I didn’t pay attention to where they’d been purchased.” At least a dozen women needed to locate the families that they’d been snatched from by either Samuel Titon’s men or other vendors.

  “Well, she was one of the vendors. Works pretty low-key, from what I remember. Does a lot of dealings with Jansen, now, I think.”

  “Yeah. One of her men went to Jansen to get him to intervene on the girl’s behalf. Hunter was at the house a few days ago asking me to hand her over.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “Fuck, no. I trust Hunter, but no way I’m handing her over to Jansen. When her mother returns—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ll reassess. You think I don’t know you? You have no plans to hand that girl back over to her mother.”

  “You just said she fucking sells women. Why would I—”

  “You think she’d sell her own daughter?” Ash cut in.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  More silence stretched out.

  “Jansen’s not going to like being denied. And Bellatrix isn’t a small player, either. She works with families across the country.”

  “Yeah, all that power, and right now she has no idea her daughter isn’t locked up in the damn tower she shoved her into before she left.” Peter’s ire at the memory of finding that fucking door locked resurfaced.

  “What are you going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know.” Peter sighed. It was a question he avoided at every turn.

  “Why did you take her? She’s an adult. Why not leave her there with the damn door unlocked?” Ash needled.

  “Why did you accept Ellie’s offer when she showed up at the house?” Peter turned the tables.

  Another bout of silence.

  “Is this girl your Ellie?”

  Now, there was a question.

  “My place is almost finished. They are working on the last room this week, so I’ll be out of your place by the time you get back, or right after.” Exploring his feelings about Azalea, or what the future could bring would not do anyone any good.

  “Huh,” Ash grunted. “Figures you’d find a girl while I was gone. Just don’t marry the woman until I get back.”

  “You can really be an ass sometimes,” Peter hissed.


  “I know. My wife tells me all the time. I bet you’re being as much of an asshole to your girl—what the hell is her name?”

  “Azalea.” He tried to keep aloof when saying her name, but he couldn’t be sure he didn’t sound like some obsessed fan while speaking it.

  “Jansen’s not going to like being rejected, no matter his nephew is on your side in this. And he’s definitely not going to like looking weak when Gothel gets back and finds out he couldn’t intervene.”

  “I’m aware. I have it all handled. You just do whatever the hell you’re doing. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Peter walked back down the hall to the living room, finding Azalea exactly where he’d left her, at the desk, working.

  “You call me if you need me. I’ll be on the first flight home.” Ash would, too.

  “Goodbye, Ash.” Peter didn’t wait for a response before clicking off the call.

  Azalea swiveled around to face him. “Ash. Your cousin?”

  “Yeah.” Peter said, putting a hand on the back of the office chair and leaning over to kiss her. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her taste now that he had her.

  “You know, sending me home would solve whatever problems you’re having,” she said when he broke the kiss.

  And just like that, his mood soured.

  “How many times have I reminded you of our deal?” he asked, lowering himself to her level.

  She bit the corner of her lip.

  “How many?”

  “Today?” she asked with a saccharine sweetness. He’d warned her to leave the topic alone. Constantly having to remind her what she’d agreed to, what he wanted from her grated on him. Maybe because he couldn’t see how he would ever let her go, or maybe because he didn’t want to think about it yet. It didn’t matter; when he said a subject was off-limits—it was off-fucking-limits.

  “Lift the skirt of your dress and bend over the desk.” He pushed off the chair.

  “Peter.”

  “Now, or it doubles.” He moved into his own position and waited for her. He wouldn’t keep being reminded they had a fucking time limit.

  He’d rather spend their time together sinking his cock into that tight, hot pussy of hers. And he already had once that morning, but now, he couldn’t until they went to bed. Because he didn’t fuck punished girls.