Arson’s Captive

by Mason , V. F.

  A beat passes with him roaming his gaze over me, his fists clenching and unclenching before he tugs on the back of his sweater, removing it and throwing it aside, and I gasp internally at his muscled chest with his six-pack muscles carved like a statue. He must work out a lot.

  His tanned skin is graced with various tattoos, mostly over the endless scars on his front starting from his neck, trailing to his collarbone and stomach. He must have them on his back too, because some slide around his waist.

  Shaking my head, I place my hand on one of them, the heat of his skin warming me while my fingers trail the puckered flesh, hating how it must have hurt him, and a single tear slides down my cheek. “I’m so sorry,” I say, longing to wash away all the pain it must evoke in him every time he looks at it.

  Despite what some might think, scars are a constant reminder of what we experienced, and they can ache even after many years.

  He wipes away my tears, palming my head and connecting our mouths together, his lips brushing against mine before he bites on my lower lip. His tugging on it sends prickles of anticipation through me.

  I gasp when his hand slips inside my dress, his touch burning my exposed skin, and he delves his tongue inside, deep, seeking mine as he gives me a passionate kiss, consuming me with its possessiveness.

  He doesn’t just kiss me. No. Each stab of his tongue reminds me whose captive I am, of what there is to come, and how he won’t have mercy on my body.

  He will use it however he sees fit, burning us in a need so strong I’ll probably die thousands of times over in it.

  Losing myself in his heated kiss, I forget about the dress as I shift closer to him, and it slips from me, falling past my knees, leaving me only in the lacy red panties.

  His fingers dig into my back, and he breaks off the kiss, spinning me around and pressing my back to his front. A surprised gasp erupts from my throbbing mouth.

  He throws my locks over my shoulder, exposing my neck to him, and his lips instantly suck on the skin there, earning himself a moan from me while his fingers slide down my collarbone to the mounds of my breasts, making me jerk in his arms and rest my head on his shoulder. My hand rises to tangle in his hair as his finger circles my nipple, pinching it a little, making me gasp. His lips move to my nape, biting it as he whispers in my ear, “If I take you tonight, Chloe, you will be mine.” His hand travels to my other breast, squeezing it harshly, and the weird heat inside me intensifies. I shift to the side a little, wanting to give myself some kind of relief, but he doesn’t let me, his other hand wrapping around my waist so tightly he can probably deprive me of oxygen if he wants to. “Your mind, your body, and your soul will be possessed by the devil who craves nothing but your surrender and passion.” He sucks on my earlobe, nipping it a little but quickly soothing the sting with his tongue. “You promised to never surrender, and I promised to enjoy every second of it when you did.” He glides his hand down my stomach, grazing my skin with the pads of his fingers before he reaches my core, and I still in his arms, too afraid to breathe, either because I don’t want him to stop or I’m afraid of what might happen next.

  Or maybe a combination of both.

  He slips his fingers in my panties, the heel of his hand pressing on my clit, shooting an arrow of pleasure through me as his middle finger slides inside me, and I cry out, feeling him stretching my flesh.

  He leans closer, whispering, “And I intend to enjoy every second of it, Chloe.” His fingers slide over my sensitive, slippery skin back and forth, sending sensations all over my body, weaving me in a cocoon of desire that swallows me whole. While his finger continues to slip in and out of me, pressing deeper and deeper until he reaches a spot that makes me fist his hair and pull at it, his growl echoes in my ear and I feel his hard-on dig into my ass.

  His free hand travels up my waist to my arm and shoulder before he tips my chin, moving it to the side so our mouths connect with a heated kiss that drives me insane—combined with all the other things he does to my body.

  It’s like he is a musician and plays my body like it’s his most favorite instrument, like he’s a master of his craft about to introduce his students to the wonders of this world.

  Sweat breaks on my skin accompanied by tremors rushing through me. My blood boils from the pressure increasing between my legs that sends signals all over me, demanding something in return, but I’m powerless to give it. I can only arch in his embrace.

  I want to press my legs together, trapping his palm to my wet core so he can give me what I crave so much, but instead, he takes his finger out, leaving me empty and aching.

  A groan of protest sneaks between our lips, and I snatch my mouth away, whispering hoarsely, “Arson, please.” I don’t know what I’m begging him for, but he for sure does.

  “Please what, my captive?” he asks, his hand sliding back up, slick with my wetness as he coats my nipples with it before bringing his fingers to my mouth and ordering, “Taste yourself.” I’m so lost in desire I don’t give it a second thought and suck on his fingers, enjoying my taste mixing with his. “Must be delicious to taste your desire for me. Is it?”

  I nod and give one more lick before he removes them, and I feel his lips trail down my back, leaving bites and kisses on his way. Then he pushes me forward, making me fall on the bed on my stomach, exposed to him in all my naked glory.

  “Beautiful,” he praises me before placing a wet kiss on my ass, biting on each of the cheeks harshly before gliding his lips to my thighs and kissing on the underside of my knees, tickling me slightly, and a giggle slips past me. “And soft.” Then I squeal in surprise when he rolls me onto my back, continuing his journey from the bottom of my calves to my thighs as he shoulders my legs apart, his fingers sinking into the skin of my ass cheeks as he opens me up.

  A blush spreads through me as I try to close them, embarrassed that he is so close to me and sees everything and how wet I am. He doesn’t let me, growling against the inside of my thigh as he sucks on the skin there, making me press my feet on the mattress, my toes curling in pleasure as my fingers tangle in his hair, wanting to pull him toward me, but I’m too shy to do anything about it. Instead, I just whisper, “Arson.”

  He repeats the action with my other thigh, and then I feel his hot breath on my core, and he says, “Now I want a taste.” And he places his mouth on me, giving it a deep, open kiss as I arch my back, crying out and scraping his scalp with my nails.

  The feel of his velvet tongue brushing between my walls, roaming inside me before licking my lower lips one by one, is almost unbearable. Fire spreads all over me, sending me into a spiral of pleasure I’ve never known before. Everything inside me screams for it to continue, while another part seeks some relief, desperately needing to reach the invisible high that will send me flying.

  My thighs close on him, but it doesn’t stop him. Instead, his lips trap my clit, flicking it before sucking at the same time as his fingers fill me again, pressing deeper and deeper, to the point of pain, and I moan, tugging on his hair and lifting my hips to meet his every push.

  His tongue licks all over my folds, before he replaces his fingers with his tongue again, stabbing it inside repeatedly while I shift the heels of my feet to his shoulders, opening up wider for him, no longer caring about modesty.

  Just the desire to quench the lust slowly eating me alive and leaving only ashes behind.

  He growls against my flesh, the vibration making me gasp and clench around his tongue, almost finding the needed friction to come undone for him, but he doesn’t let me, taking it out and biting my skin, before soothing it with endless licks.

  The sounds of my moans combined with my heavy breathing fill the room, enveloping us in the swirling energy where all the world disappears, leaving us alone in this moment where my body learns the wonders of intimacy between the two of us.

  He continues to feast on my flesh, his hands traveling up to my breasts and pinching on the tips of my pointed nipples, which only increases my need, a
nd I cry out, “Arson!” waiting for him to sheath his finger again, because I know it will be enough.

  Enough to finally end the madness consuming me where nothing but my aching body remains.

  But then his heat is gone, and I see him shifting up, up, up, his mouth leaving wet traces in its wake to my navel, stomach, and my breasts as he rubs his face against me, wiping my wetness from his mouth. “You are the best thing I ever tasted, darling. You know why?” he asks, and I shake my head, my gaze hooded from the desire still burning in me—with no relief in sight—and I pull at his hair, ready to fuse our mouths together. But he has other plans. “Because you are mine.”

  And then he bites lightly on my nipple before sucking it deep, his tongue playing with it, twirling around it, and then moving to the other breast, all while I’m just melting in his arms, too lost in anything to even form words.

  Then his mouth slides back to my neck. He places a soft kiss there before he looms above me, the moonlight shining brightly on him and showcasing all his masculine beauty. “You. Are. Mine.” I feel the tip of his cock brushing against my entrance, up and down, before it enters me slightly, making me jerk in his arms and circle my arms around his neck, not wanting even an inch to separate us.

  He pauses though, and I understand he wants a reply. “Yes.” Even if it’s just for tonight, I don’t want to ruin this moment.

  “No one will have you again, Chloe. Only me.” And with that, he slides into me with one forceful thrust, and my shout ricochets off the walls, the sting traveling all over me, and my breath hitches in my lungs. On instinct, I try to push him away, but he stays unmovable, his thick cock stretching the walls of my core, pulsing inside me.

  “Hurts,” I say, slapping his chest. “Get off me.”

  “It was better this way,” he informs me arrogantly, and irrational jealousy hits me at this.

  So I snap, “Had a lot of virgins?” I can’t believe this is the conversation I’m having right now with him, but I’m too afraid to do anything for fear of more pain.

  “No one but you.” He shifts a little, sending sensations through me that do have a little bit of pain, but it’s no longer harsh, more like an annoying sting. “So I can do this.” He pulls his hips back, agonizingly slowly so I feel his entire length brush inside me, and then enters me again, this time bringing pleasure, and I gasp into his mouth when he keeps his lips above mine. “Claim you as mine and enjoy every fucking second of it.”

  With this, he starts to move in and out, his entire body pressed against mine while his mouth kisses me passionately, the stab of his tongue matching each of his deep strokes that fill me with pleasure and lust. My legs wrap around him as his hand grips my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin, which only adds depth to his thrusts.

  He swallows all my moans while continuing to make love to me, the sensual energy enveloping us in a way that makes me crave each new stroke, not caring about the soreness that will come after.

  As my fingers once again lace in his hair, I angle my head a little so we can deepen the kiss, our tongues dueling for dominance, and he gradually speeds up the pace, little by little.

  My lungs burn for oxygen as he slams into me, in and out, sliding us on the bed—with sheets that are probably soaked from our sweat, but we don’t care.

  The only thing that matters is the passion that holds us prisoner to one another.

  Removing my mouth from his, I gulp for breath when he starts to jerk inside me over that spot he discovered with his finger. He keeps pushing deeper and deeper until something inside me breaks, taking me over the edge. I cry out, my shout filling the night while pleasure hits me so strongly it’s hard to breathe.

  My hands fall to my sides, fisting the sheets, while our gazes clash, his silver pools almost liquid from the desire reflecting in them as he slams into me over and over again before he stills, spilling inside me, groaning above me as he throws his head back.

  His muscles are rigid as I lift my hand to slide it over his skin, enjoying the sweat coating it, because it indicates to me he wanted this as much as I did.

  He might have been in control of the situation, but he can’t control his emotions.

  He falls on me, his breath filling my ear, and I wrap my arms around him, hugging him to my heart and, for the time being, never wanting to let go of him.

  Even if it’s so stupid I need to have my head examined.

  The devil introduced me to the dark side, and the most terrifying part about it?

  I love it here and might get addicted to it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “All the poets preach that love is the one thing people crave the most.

  I always laugh at that, because it’s such a lie.

  The thing people crave the most is absolute power.”

  Arson

  Arson, 7 years old

  The click of the lock is loud in the quite space and my eyelids flutter open. I wince a little from my arm that fell asleep, because one of the girls rested her head on it.

  Gently sliding it from her, I stretch my arms a little and look at the sun shining brightly in the distance, but despite it, cold settles over us and my every puff of air can be seen by anyone.

  Blowing into my freezing hands, I get up, nudging everyone a little, since we can go back in the hallway now and another night has passed without anyone dying.

  Not that we are afraid of it, but one other kid, Jenkins, died a year ago in his sleep when it was snowing all over us. He didn’t have a warm coat and refused to sleep bundled up all together, finding it gross.

  Madam huffed and puffed, ordering one of her guards to get rid of his body so that the police wouldn’t come searching her place because of a whore’s bastard.

  That’s the only name she called us all, even though my mom was never a whore, and always told us we should be grateful for staying here.

  Sometimes I think everyone at the whorehouse wants nothing but gratitude, along with a big check attached to it.

  Jenkins’ mom cried so much she started drinking heavily until Madam kicked her out of the house, throwing all her clothes at her, but the woman just continued crying on the sidewalk, not even bothering to get up.

  Shaking my head from all the memories, I try again, nudging everyone’s shoulder as they slowly awaken. “The door is open. We can go back.” Most of us will probably still have to sit by the rooms, because like Parker said, they needed their rest, but it is way more comfortable and warmer there.

  Who knows—maybe we will even find some leftovers in the kitchen. One of the clients is a chef and he always brings Caspian’s mom different food, and if they don’t eat it all, we find it in the trash.

  I pull sleepy Caspian by the shoulder, and he grunts, “Artem, stop.” But he follows me, still clutching the piece of paper he got obsessed with last night.

  He wouldn’t let go of it, even in his sleep.

  Finally, we slip inside the hallway—all exhaling in relief when the first warm brush of air from the vent working above us hits us with warmth—and go to the kitchen, almost knocking each other down on the way, since everyone wants to get to the good parts.

  You snooze, you lose, and no one will ever share with you.

  We are all constantly hungry, but being kind might mean you’ll never eat here again.

  I fly through the kitchen door and notice a familiar black container on the table, my mouth watering just from the smells floating in the air, and I jump toward it, wrapping my hands around it. “Mine!” I say, hugging it close, and everyone shrugs, digging into the trash or searching for something else.

  Nothing is found though, and I open the container, seeing a half-eaten burger and six french fries left. My stomach growls so loudly I think people in the other buildings can hear, but so do the stomachs of the other kids.

  I raise my eyes to see them staring at me, but no one makes a move in my direction; they just rub their middles, and with an exhale, one of the girls walks toward the sink, picking
up a glass on the way.

  If you drink enough water, sometimes you might fool your stomach into believing you gave it food, not that it’ll last for long.

  Better than never-ending hunger though.

  “Betty,” I call her name, and she glances at me. “Get the knife and a plate instead.” Her face brightens and she quickly does as I say, coming to me. I put the burger in the middle, doing my best to cut it in six even pieces, which is almost impossible.

  Then I tell everyone, “Pick one piece each and one fry. It’s enough for all of us.” I know I’m probably stupid for doing this—the twins didn’t share their meal last time they managed to find some chicken—but having them stare at me with hunger, knowing they’re experiencing the same pain I do… I can’t stand it.

  No one should ever be this starved, and shouldn’t we help each other in such situations? They can call me a fool for that; I don’t care.

  Everyone jumps in quickly, almost swallowing it with one bite, and I do too, although I suck on the fry first, enjoying the taste, happy my stomach got something to eat at last.

  Once we are done, I throw it in the trashcan before anyone notices us, and we all go back to our rooms, or rather drop down opposite them and wait.

  Sometimes I think that’s all we do here.

  Wait for the clients to come.

  Wait for the clients to go away.

  Wait for the mothers and aunts to wake up.

  Wait for food.

  And wait for punishment that always comes, because one way or another, something always makes them so angry they need to beat us.

  They even claim they do it for our own good, because if Madam catches us doing whatever pissed them off, we’ll be in more trouble and their punishment will seem like a reward compared to hers.

  None of us ever wants to test that theory, preferring to believe them.

  The only exception is Caspian, who only gets beaten by the guards when he tries to defend his mom who defends him. He is lucky, if anyone can be lucky in the life we are leading.