Two weeks in his hold and I already feel a drastic change within myself. When I first met Saint, I was afraid of him, and when I found myself here, stuck in his clutches because of my father, I was even more afraid.
Afraid of his depravity.
Afraid of his violence.
Afraid that I wouldn’t be strong enough to survive.
I was wrong. I am strong enough, because now, when I look at Saint, I don’t feel that same cold rush of fear. It almost feels as though we’re vibrating on the same frequency. My feelings for Saint have moved past conflicted and into the realm of an eye-opening dark need. If he wanted to hurt me, he could, and if he wanted me dead, he’d have done that already, too.
His ruthlessness intrigues me now, instead of frightening me. I find myself wanting to know more about him, what makes up the monster in the dark suit before me—who I’m beginning to realize isn’t really a monster at all. He once mentioned that monsters thrived in the dark, and I’m sure that’s true, but he’s not my monster anymore. He doesn’t frighten me like I know he should. I find myself wanting to do bad things when I’m with him. Any morals I had prior go out of the window. The line between right and wrong blurs and I don’t stop for a second to question if there’s something wrong with me, too.
He’s a dark prince—a king. And as I watch him circle his prey, I realize I’m ready to be his queen.
Saint drops to his haunches, yanking the tape off the man’s lips.
“Here’s what is going to happen, you’re going to tell me who sent you. If I don’t like your answers, I’m going to saw your fingers off, one by one, until you tell me what I want to hear.”
Saint stalks off, heading to one of his walls that’s adorned with weapons used for torture. He plucks two instruments off, turning around with a quirked brow, waiting for a response. The man lets out a whine that’s a mix between fear and pain. I take in the blood slowly pooling around his legs from his wounds and realize this is only going to worse before it gets any better.
“Who sent you?” Saint demands again, but this time, it’s clear he expects answers.
“I don’t know who. I was paid to break in with a team of other mercenaries and retrieve the girl, that’s it!”
Saint glances at me over his shoulder and a zing shoots through my chest. It’s as though he’s silently telling me to keep watching. He turns back around, a sinister calm, terrifying air surrounding him, and when we both least expect it, he slams the blade in his hand down, over the man’s finger.
He screams. The sound ricochets off the walls and leaves all the hairs at my nape standing at attention. Blood pours from his finger, dripping steadily onto the concrete beneath him.
“I don’t like that answer. Try again, or I start sawing through bone,” Saint grits.
The man sputters, his face pale, sharp cries ripping from his chest as his body works to accommodate the pain.
“I told you!” he sobs out. “I don’t know who sent me. All they mentioned was the key. Save her and she’s the key!”
My heart kickstarts in my chest as my pulse pounds vigorously, so much so, it’s hard to think over the sound of it. Over the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears. His words strike a chord in me.
“That’s not enough for me. Maybe you need a little incentive?” Saint goads before he works the blade back and forth, sawing off the man’s finger, before he moves onto the next, doing the same. The bound man’s wails fill the room. They wrap cold and savage around my heart as I try to make sense of his words.
The key…what does he mean the key?
I slam my eyes shut, wracking my brain.
The key.
She’s the key.
“You sure about this, Sir?” Banks, our driver, questions my father. Their voices are low and nearly impossible to hear. I keep my back plastered to the wall, straining to listen in on their private conversation.
My father has been yelling on and off the phone all day. The name Monroe and Vitale being volleyed back and forth. I couldn’t piece together what was being discussed, but I gathered it was important, important enough that my father would forget that it’s my fifteenth birthday.
“Of course, I’m sure. This is the only way.”
“She’s still a child.” Banks’s tone is filled with disapproval.
“She won’t be one forever. She’s the key to everything, don’t you get it? The girl is my very own skeleton key. If I play my cards right with her, with all of them, they’ll never see it coming. I’ll plant the idea in his head. Make him think it’s his own. As though I can’t allow him to do such a thing.”
A long stretch of tense silence passes between them before Banks speaks again. “And the girl, what will you tell her?”
“Nothing. It’s better that she doesn’t know how much power she wields.”
“Is that wise?”
“Families are built on secrets. The less she knows, the better for us all.”
My heart screeches to an abrupt halt as the memory fades. My stomach churns uneasily, and my mind whirs, latching onto every detail of the memory.
They were talking about me.
This whole time they were talking about me, and I never even realized it.
I’m the key.
For whatever reason, my father thinks I’m the key. To what? I’m not all that sure, but I intend to find out.
I snap out of my internal musings when I feel eyes on me. His eyes.
Saint watches me with a deep curiosity. I force a thick swallow, keeping this news close to my chest until I have more answers. With slow methodical movements, he drops the bloodied tools to the floor, closing the distance between us.
My gaze darts over his shoulder to the man who is now passed out in the chair. The floor beneath him is pooled with blood, dismembered fingers scattered along the floor. The stench of it reaches my nostrils. I was so caught up in my own mind that I didn’t even realize he must’ve passed out from the pain.
Saint stops mere inches from me, and I can’t help the way my eyes widen as I take in the blood. He’s covered in it. Though, I’m sure I look no better.
He cups my face with his warm, bloodied hands, and my stomach dips for reasons that are still unknown.
“You look pale.”
My heart skips.
My throat works a swallow. “It’s a lot of blood,” I lie. That’s not why I’m pale. I suddenly feel sick because my father is a lot more devious than I thought. There’s a bigger picture here that I still need to unfold.
Saint cocks his head to the side slightly as he regards me. I see it there, in the depths of his eyes, his distrust. It’s as though he can see right through me, like he knows I’m lying about something. Tense seconds pass between us as we search each other’s gaze. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I reach onto my tiptoes and press my mouth against his, kissing him.
As smooth as ever, he bands an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body, and his tongue delves into my mouth, dueling with mine. His lips are firm in their intent, rough and unrelenting, just like the man himself.
Saint’s hand glides from my cheek, down to my neck and when I least expect it, his hand snatches my throat in a vise, cutting off my air supply. I choke on a breath, my eyes flying open. Slowly, he drags his lips away from mine, staring down at me with fire burning up his gaze.
“Why did you do that?” His grip around my neck tightens, painfully so, and a crease forms between his brows. Confusion seeping into his tone.
“I don’t know,” I choke out.
His gaze searches mine.
Swiping his thumb across my lower lip, he smears the blood across my face. “So many secrets, little one.”
My stomach turns. “I’m not afraid of you, you know,” I grate out, beneath the unrelenting weight of his palm.
A smile pulls taut across his face. “You should be. Now, let’s go. I’m not quite done with you just yet.”
I expect h
im to take me back to my room upstairs, but I’m surprised when he leads the way into his bedroom instead. Thankfully, the dead body is gone, and the mess has been cleaned away. As soon as we step over the threshold and I hear the door click shut behind me, my stomach churns, my heart banging like a steel drum in my chest.
Doing my best to ignore the heat of his body at my back, my eyes home in on the large mirror hanging on the opposite side of the wall. My core clenches, something dark and warm swirls through my gut as I catch sight of our reflections.
We’re filthy. Both of us covered in blood, our clothes stained with it.
Saint presses his front against my back, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror.
“Are you afraid yet, Tesoro?” he asks gently, while his hand snakes a cruel path around my throat. His grip around my neck tightens, and the pain from the knife wound burns beneath the pressure of his palm.
My eyes flare as I take in the erotic image, desire painted across my face. Red paints my pale flesh that’s not hidden by my dress. Saint drags his lips down the side of my neck, and when he gets to my shoulder, he meets my gaze and bites down so hard through the material, a ragged scream rips from my chest, pain snaking through my veins.
The pain he inflicts is a euphoric sensation I can’t quite comprehend yet. All I know is, I feel high, like my body is floating, the pleasure and pain, the anticipation blending together deviously.
“No,” I whisper, telling the truth.
Yes, he’s an evil man, and I should be afraid of him, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not. At some point, Saint stopped being frightening to me and instead, he became intriguing. My own likes and dislikes became intriguing to myself.
Why am I so drawn to his darkness?
Why do I crave the pain as much as he is willing to inflict it?
With his gaze burning into me through the mirror, his command rakes across my flesh like a warm caress. “Strip.”
Doing as I’m told, I strip out of my dress, enjoying the way his eyes flare as he takes in the reflection of my naked body.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, as he unzips his slacks, pulling his cock through the zipper hole and stroking.
I watch with rapt attention as his hand abandons his cock to reach around and dip low, gliding over my stomach, leaving a bloody trail in its wake as it disappears between my legs and the other paws at my breasts. With those lithe fingers, he tugs at my nipples causing ripples of pain and desire to shoot straight to my now throbbing core. His cock is hot like warm steel pressed to my lower back.
When he swirls his fingers through my swollen, drenched folds, a moan tumbles past my lips. He poises his mouth near my ear, chuckling warmly. “So fucking greedy.”
“Saint,” I beg, thrusting my hips into his hand, seeking out more friction.
He dips his fingers inside of me, so damn deep inside me, a scream rips from my throat. My head falls back, smashing against his shoulder, dazing me with the force. My heart explodes into a mess of passion and lust.
My walls grip his finger in a vise, stinging with each pump, swollen from the way he ripped through my virginity, not even an hour prior. I suck in air, but it doesn’t stop the swirling, blinding need stealing my remaining sanity, giving me utterly and completely over to Saint.
This isn’t making love. We’re not even fucking. This is a war, a battle of wills, and fuck, it feels good.
When he adds a second finger, curling them both inside of me, pumping so fast and hard, I let out a cry of pain. It hurts so good. The sounds of slapping flesh, my moans, his grunts, and wetness echo around us like a blaring alarm. I should be embarrassed by the sounds my body is making, but I’m not. I’m so turned on, so lost in how easily Saint can manipulate my body, that I can’t seem to process anything.
I feel something building inside of me, burning with an inexplicable pressure I’m finding difficult to keep under wraps. With each crook of his fingers, each rough pump inside of me, I feel myself teetering on the edge of something huge, too scared to jump off.
“Are you going to come all over my hand, Tesoro?”
My pussy clenches at the erotic question.
“Feel that?” he taunts, tilting the angle of his wrist, hitting a spot inside of me that feels incredibly sensitive. “That, right there, tells me you’re more than ready to come.”
I gasp when he maneuvers his other hand between us to flick my clit, and I spiral. Like someone shoved me off that ledge, the explosion detonates. I come without warning. The orgasm barrels through me, taking my breath with it. My eyes roll to the back of my head, stealing my vision, and my hearing ceases, stealing everything from me for seconds at a time. My body trembles violently in his arms as each wave of my orgasm rolls through me.
The smacking of my juices grows louder, mixed with the sound of something else.
When I’m coherent enough to open my eyes, I find Saint watching me closely in the mirror as I spiral down. His eyes heat as though watching me come undone is his favorite pastime.
“Look at you,” he praises. “Making you squirt wasn’t on the agenda for today, but my, my, do you aim to please, Tesoro.” My body continues to jerk uncontrollably as the waves of pleasure roll through me. “Such a messy little girl.”
The proof of my orgasm slides down my legs into a puddle beneath us.
As if the sight between my legs is too much and he’s unable to hold back any longer, Saint growls. Thrusting a fist in my hair, he tugs so hard, I feel the hairs rip from my scalp. He replaces his fingers with his cock, slamming inside of my swollen channel. An overstimulated sob rips from my chest and he grins, pounding into me roughly from behind. He forces my body to bend at an odd angle, pain blooming in my spine. With his hand, that’s still coated with my juices, he squeezes my throat, cutting off my air supply. I can’t suppress the animalistic noises climbing up my throat, trying to escape. My pussy feels raw and used, but a part of me doesn’t want him to stop. He can’t stop.
He thrusts so hard inside of me, it sends a burst of color exploding behind my eyelids. The pain blooming from his rough hold, the smears of blood covering my flesh. The blood that is mine and his and someone else’s all mixed together does something to me. It tugs at this dark need inside of me. This dark need for pain and pleasure. This dark need for destruction. My pussy clamps around his cock, pleasure rolling down my spine in violent waves.
“I’m going to break you, Tesoro. Fill you up with my seed and watch you fall apart. All because I can,” he growls possessively in my ear. His grip tightens, causing black dots to dance across my vision and when I least expect it, he lets go of my neck, and I scream out in pain as his palm sails across my butt cheek with a thwack. The pain is blinding and euphoric. He does it again and again and again until my ass is raw and on fire, tears leaking down my cheeks.
It hurts.
Like an explosion of fire on my backside.
The pain is almost unbearable that’s how heavy his hand is, and that’s how sore I am. But the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s pounding into me, hitting that spot deep inside of me, it’s all too much. My sex is dipping with arousal, and when his thumb toys with the other hole, I let out an embarrassingly loud moan. It’s all too much.
When he dips his finger inside my asshole, heat spirals through my body, and I choke on it. On the potency. Of its own accord, my body tries to push out the intrusion, but he slides his finger inside deeper, all the while he fucks my pussy. He pumps into both of my holes, his gaze burning into me, watching my reflection with rapt attention.
“Please, Saint,” I beg around a moan.
“Please what?” he teases, twisting that finger in my asshole. It burns, the pressure, but doubled with the way he’s ruthlessly fucking my pussy, I can’t ignore the way my body is craving more. Everything feels hot and so full, like I’m at capacity. He’s everywhere all at once. With each thrust of his hips, I can feel the pressure of his finger simultaneously rubbing against my wall.
“Stop,” I groan. “It’s too much.”
He chuckles, pumping both his hips and finger harder and faster now. My eyes roll into the back of my head, consumed by the sting of pleasure and pain.
“You’re mine. This pussy is mine. This is ass is mine. I will fuck it whenever and however I please,” he grits in my ear.
His words are my undoing. I come around his cock and his finger with a scream. My throat feels raw, and I can’t stop the tears from falling. He follows, soon after, chasing his release until he’s coming inside of me, coating my womb with his seed. Warmth fills me up.
He pulls out of my pussy, dipping the tip of his cock into my ass, depositing some of his seed there too. Both of my holes seep with his cum, warming me.
I collapse into a heap of exhaustion, and Saint catches me. He carries me over to his bed and sets me down. My chest wracks with a barely contained sob, working overtime to accommodate my heavy breathing, and when I feel cool sheets at my back, I lose the battle with my fatigue, and succumb to darkness.
I wake up sometime later feeling disoriented. Blinking the haze of sleep away, I startle when I spot Saint sitting in an ottoman across from the bed. He’s showered, dressed in another pristine suit. He looks so handsome and well put together it takes my breath away.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask, voice raspy.
“The whole night.”
I glance toward the window, my eyes widening when I realize the sun rays are now pouring into the bedroom. Shifting back to look at him, my breath catches when I realize he’s been watching me, a blank expression on his face.
“How long have you been sitting here, watching me?”
His mouth quirks ever so slightly. “Long enough.”
Fear and anticipation grip my chest. I think back to the night before, memories of keys and secret conversations that weren’t meant for my ears. As if sensing my thoughts, Saint pushes up from the ottoman, perching on the edge of the bed next to me, staring down at me. He searches my gaze for a few seconds before he reaches out, his thumb gliding along my bandaged neck. When I swallow, I wince at how sore my neck feels. I have no doubt it’s probably bruised from his ministrations last night.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 20