Cupping his scarred cheek in my hand, I leaned up into him and lightly pressed my lips to his. For a moment, his mouth was tense beneath mine; a hard, anguished slash. Then he groaned, a long sound of pained release, and he opened for me. His fingers threaded in my hair, pulling me closer as his tongue swept into my mouth, devouring me like a starving man.
Hunger rose within me, more than physical need. I craved his closeness, skin-to-skin. He’d just dropped so many barriers between us, letting me see into his tormented soul. I wanted to offer him something in return, something I’d never offered to anyone.
But I didn’t want to beg. I didn’t want to prostrate myself before him and cheapen our connection to nothing more than his victory and my subjugation. I wanted him. All of him, good and bad, ugly and beautiful. And I’d give myself to him, willingly, eagerly.
My hands went to his shirt, tearing at the buttons in my haste to feel his hard chest, the thick ridges of the scars that were physical marks of his inner pain. I wanted to touch them, to explore every lash that had been inflicted on his soul and heal them.
He growled against my mouth, kissing me harder as he shrugged out of his shirt and helped me remove the rest of his clothes. When we were both naked, he gripped my waist and guided me down onto the bed, his weight settling over me. His hard cock pressed against my inner thigh, straining toward my virgin channel.
“I want you, Andrés,” I gasped when he broke our kiss so we could both draw in much-needed air. “Don’t make me beg. I want to give this to you. I want to give myself to you.”
He pressed his forehead to mine, so we exchanged each ragged breath. “You don’t have to beg, sirenita. You just have to say yes. I need to know that you want me. Let me in.”
The tears that spilled from my eyes welled up from a place deep inside as emotion flooded free. “Yes,” I whispered. “Please, Andrés.”
I begged because I chose to. Because he didn’t demand my surrender. I gave it willingly.
“Samantha,” he groaned my name and lined up with my slick opening. I was wet and ready for him, my core throbbing with need. “Do you feel what you do to me? You are so perfect.”
His swollen cockhead pressed at my entrance, parting my pussy lips as he eased inside. I whimpered at the burning stretch of him pushing in, but he didn’t stop at the sound of my discomfort. He stroked my cheek with one hand and reached between us with the other, playing with my nipples, giving me the little bites of pain that always drove me wild. My whimper turned to a high whine, and my inner muscles relaxed as my arousal grew, easing his progress as he penetrated me slowly.
Once he was fully seated inside me, he paused. My core contracted, struggling between pushing him out and welcoming him in. His jaw was clenched, his scar drawn deep and fierce. But the sight didn’t scare me. I touched the mark again, tracing the furrow across his handsome face. He closed his eyes, a shiver running through his entire body as his cock jerked inside me.
He withdrew slowly, using aching care with my untried body. His cockhead dragged across my g-spot, and pleasure lit up my system, burning away the discomfort. My core heated and relaxed, opening for him. I wrapped my legs around his hips and dug my heels into his sculpted ass, pulling him back inside me.
A rumbling shout left his lips at my bold movement, and he grasped my wrists, pinning them over my head with one hand while his other played with my breasts more harshly. He pinched and pulled at my nipples. Each little hit of pain went straight to my pussy, making it flutter around him.
He began to move, pumping his hips faster and harder as he clung to his control by a thread. I knew he was holding back so he wouldn’t hurt me, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t care if it hurt. I welcomed the burn of his huge cock filling and stretching me. It made me hyperaware of our intense connection, bound together by pleasure and pain. This was how it was meant to be between us: our bond so tight that it was nearly too much to bear.
“More,” I begged, rocking my hips up to meet his thrusts. “Please, Andrés…”
My pleading triggered him. With a snarl, his control snapped, and he started fucking me in harsh, possessive strokes. His hand tightened around my wrists, and his weight pressed me deeper into the mattress, pinning me down so there was no escape from his onslaught.
I cried out, welcoming more. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to stay right here, in Andrés’ brutal hold.
He hit my g-spot over and over again, making pleasure build deep inside. My entire body tensed, my toes curling and my legs shaking around him.
“Come for me, sirenita,” he ground out, the order barely intelligible.
My body conditioned to come on his command, I let go. My orgasm claimed me with shocking force, ripping through my system in a vicious rush of ecstasy. My scream mingled with his wild roar, and his scorching seed pumped into my pussy, branding me with heat.
He drove deep one last time, holding himself inside me as he emptied his cum into me. Primal chemicals mingled in my body, easing my harsh rush of pleasure to something softer, cocooning me in tingly bliss.
Our shaking and spent bodies remained locked together as his lips crashed down on mine in a soul-searing kiss, marking me as his.
Chapter 19
Andrés was gone when I awoke the next morning. The warm glow that filled my chest dimmed as soon as I opened my eyes to find myself alone in his bed. My fingers searched the cool sheets, as though I could summon up his warmth somehow.
He’d held me all night after our mind-blowing first time together. He’d petted me and told me how beautiful and perfect I was. It had felt real. I’d felt… whole.
I didn’t like waking up without him beside me. I needed his touch, needed to be cuddled close after the intensity of what had passed between us.
I sat up and crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the sudden chill that clung to my skin.
Something was different. When I moved, the familiar sound of metallic clanking didn’t reach my ears. I lifted my fingers to my throat. The collar wasn’t there. I wasn’t chained to the bed.
Tears pooled in my eyes as an irrational sense of loss knifed through my chest.
Why hadn’t he put it back on this morning? Didn’t he want me to bear the mark of his ownership? The symbol of my devotion to him?
I took several deep breaths, telling myself that I was being unreasonable. My emotions were raw and exposed, and I didn’t like not having Andrés’ strong arms to cling to when I was feeling so vulnerable.
The bedroom door opened. My heart leapt, then sank to my stomach.
It was only Lauren, bringing my breakfast.
“Where’s Andrés?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Master Andrés doesn’t tell me about his business.”
Something ugly stirred in my gut when she called him Master Andrés. I’d never liked it, but this time it stung. I tried my best to ignore it and act rational.
“He instructed me to give you this.” She held out a large white pill and offered me a glass of water.
“What is it?”
“The morning after pill.”
A block of ice formed in my stomach. “Oh.” The sound left my chest along with all the air from my lungs, as though someone had punched me.
“He wants me to give you a birth control shot, too.” She gestured at the waiting syringe on the cart.
My fingers went numb, and the glass of water dropped from my hands, soaking the carpet.
Lauren was saying something in a harsh tone, but I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t focus on her. All I could do was feel the pain my heart ripping open. I gasped for breath, pressing a hand against my aching chest.
I had unprotected sex with my captor. I could have gotten pregnant. And I begged for it.
A maddened laugh bubbled from my throat. Of course I couldn’t have gotten pregnant. Andrés had made provisions to ensure his fucktoy didn’t inconvenience him with a pregnancy. He’d sent his mindless slave to give me the morning after pill and a b
irth control shot.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
I’d Stockholm-Syndromed the shit out of myself. I’d been scared of him in the beginning of my captivity. How could I have forgotten that was exactly what I was: his captive?
He’d told me so many times that I was his fucktoy, his pet. But my brain had reasoned its way around that horrible reality and presented me with a pretty fantasy that he actually had secret feelings for me.
He’d never lied about the fact that he was a master manipulator. And I’d fallen for it. I’d let him shape me into his willing, eager plaything.
I had to get out, before I lost my mind completely.
My training kicked in, and Lauren wasn’t at all prepared for the half-crazy FBI field agent who launched herself at her. I tackled her to the floor, pinning her on her front. I wrapped my arm around her throat and squeezed, putting pressure on her artery.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears almost blinding me as she went limp beneath me, slipping into unconsciousness. I released her immediately, not wanting to cause her any lasting damage. Lauren might be loyal to Andrés, but she was still a victim.
I pushed up off her still form and raced to Andrés’ wardrobe. I slipped on one of his huge dress shirts, only taking the time to secure three buttons with shaking fingers, just enough to cover myself.
Lauren groaned, and I hurried back to her. I braced my arm around her waist and dragged her upright. She stumbled along beside me, somewhere partway to consciousness. I pulled her through the bedroom, into the sitting room, and straight to the elevator. I pressed her thumb against the call button.
The door slid open without a sound. No angry buzz. Nothing to alert anyone that I was escaping.
I shoved Lauren back into the sitting room and jammed the button for the door to close before she could come back to her senses. She was still blinking up at me from where she was sprawled on the floor when the silver doors slid closed. I pressed the button for the ground floor, praying no one else had access to this elevator except for those Andrés trusted. I couldn’t afford to be stopped on my way down.
Adrenaline coursed through my system, my body preparing for a fight. If I did meet anyone, I’d remember my training for once.
I have to get out. I have to.
The elevator glided all the way down to the ground floor without stopping. When the doors opened, I found myself at the end of a long corridor. I could see light at the end of it, streaming through a glass door.
I started moving before I fully thought it through, my feet racing toward freedom. If I could just get outside—
A hulking body blocked the light in front of me, blotting it out as he ran straight for me.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Stop right there.”
I didn’t stop. I launched myself at the man, my fist connecting with his jaw. He reeled back, and I darted past him. His fingers tangled in my hair, and a defiant shriek left my lips as he dragged me back, away from the light. Using his leverage on my hair, he jerked me toward him so he could grab my upper arms. Before I could get my hands up, he slammed me back against the wall. My head cracked against it, pain lancing through my skull. The world flickered around me, and I lost control of my limbs.
“How did you get out?” he asked, his voice rough with anger. “I saw you running down here on the security feed. You whores are supposed to be locked up on the third floor.”
Blinking hard, I willed the world to stop spinning. As soon as his furious, red face came into focus, I slammed my forehead into his nose.
He dropped me with a curse, and I stumbled forward. My head ached, and my vision swam.
I struggled to right myself, to run. I made it two fumbling steps before his weight barreled into me, taking me down to the hard marble floor.
“Bitch,” he snarled. “You almost broke my fucking nose. You’ll pay for that, dirty little whore.”
I felt something hard pressing against my ass where Andrés’ shirt had ridden up, leaving me exposed. I screamed and scrambled against the marble, my hands slipping uselessly against the smooth surface.
Dirty little whore.
Dirty little girl.
You want me to touch your secret place again, don’t you, dirty little girl?
Dirty. Wrong.
Pure, icy terror seized my lungs as I heard his zipper lowering, heard the dreaded sound of his fist pumping his shaft.
I didn’t want this. I didn’t. It was dirty and wrong. It felt good for a little while when he touched my secret place, but then it hurt.
I beat my fists against the marble as I thrashed and screamed. All my training left my head as my mind receded to a long-forgotten, long-buried place.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want this, Uncle Robert. Please…
I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air, but nothing filled my lungs. He was on top of me, his breath hot on my neck as he pinned my tiny body down…
His weight was lifted off me, and a furious roar reverberated through my skull. I curled my knees up to my chest and hugged them tight, trying to protect myself in the only way I knew how. I heard a horrible, wet sound; a man screaming; bone crunching; silence.
“Samantha.” Red-painted hands reached for me, and I flinched away, curling more tightly into myself.
“Cosita, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
“Andrés?” My voice was soft and strangely high, like a child. Past and present mingled, toxic fear clouding my brain. “I don’t want him to touch my… I don’t want this. I don’t… I don’t…” I started hyperventilating, my chest convulsing as hysteria overwhelmed me.
Strong arms closed around me, but they didn’t frighten me. They were warm, powerful enough to protect me.
I turned my face into his chest and sobbed, my fingers fisting in his shirt as I struggled to get closer. A soothing stream of Spanish rumbled over me. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I focused on the lilting cadence, allowing it to fill my mind and blot out all the awful things.
But now that the memories had finally been unearthed, I couldn’t bury them again. They played out in my head in horrible, vivid detail. Every muffled cry, every shameful gasp. The wrenching pain between my legs as Uncle Robert violated my small body.
Big hands stroked my back, my hair, my cheeks. They were warm. Familiar. I leaned into them, seeking more heat. I was so cold, frigid down to my bones. My entire body shook, except for my fingers, which were fisted so tightly in his shirt that my knuckles were white.
I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want…
“Where is your uncle now?” he asked in English. His soothing voice roughened, and his arms were tight around me.
“What?” I asked, struggling to move from memory to reality.
“You said…” He trailed off on a growl. “You mentioned Uncle Robert. Where can I find him?”
I shuddered at his name. “Why?”
“I’m going to kill him for you, Samantha,” he swore, his hand firming on my head where he’d been stroking my hair. I realized I wasn’t the only one shaking. Andrés’ strong body practically vibrated with barely-restrained violence.
“He’s dead,” I said hollowly, remembering the day I’d watched his casket being lowered into the ground. I’d been fifteen then, when his alcoholism had sent him to an early grave. Six years after my parents had left me alone with him so they could go on a week-long vacation. They hadn’t known about his drinking at the time. They hadn’t known about him. About what he wanted to do to me.
“I cried at his funeral,” I whispered, anguished. “I didn’t know why I was so upset. I fucking cried over him.”
“How old were you?” Andrés asked. “How old were you when he—?” His teeth snapped closed, as though he couldn’t let the words leave his tongue.
“Nine,” I said softly. “But I forgot. How could I forget?”
Everything made so much sense now: my nervous tics, why I was so uncomfortable around men. I’d always
been awkward and shy, even as a child. Before. But I’d had friends at school. People I wanted to play with.
After, I stopped going to my classmates’ birthday parties. The idea of a slumber party, especially, gave me crippling anxiety. I didn’t want to leave my parents.
So I’d stayed at home. I’d found solace in my computer games. I hid behind a screen, isolated from everyone. No one could touch me.
Until Andrés. He hadn’t let me hide from him. He’d pushed past my barriers and demanded that I let him in. It might have been fucked up, but he’d been right: I never would have found intimacy with another man like what I shared with him. Not even Dex. My gentle giant of a friend might be a Dominant, but he was far too sweet to have given me what I truly needed.
I needed ruthlessness. I needed darkness. I needed Andrés.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry I tried to leave. I thought you didn’t care about me. I thought—”
“You thought I didn’t care?” he demanded, his muscles tensing and rippling around me. “Do you know what it did to me, seeing another man hurting you, touching you? Seeing you broken and crying when you remembered what—?” He cut himself off again before he fully verbalized what Uncle Robert did to me.
His black eyes bored into me. They sparked with fury, but lines of anxiety tightened around them. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice strangely thick. “Last night. Did I hurt you?”
He thought he’d hurt me during sex?
“No,” I reassured him, touching my fingertips to his cheek, tracing the line of his scar just as I’d done when he’d been buried deep inside me.
“Then why? Why would you leave me?”
Shame heated my cheeks at the hurt in his voice. “I woke up, and you were gone,” I said, my voice small. “I didn’t have my collar. Then Lauren brought me the pill and the shot, and I thought I must have imagined… I thought you didn’t care.”
His face shifted to a carefully blank mask, but something stirred in his dark eyes. “Do you want to get pregnant?”
“I… No. Not… Not right now.”
Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels Page 147