A Kiss Stolen

by Georgia Le Carre

  Her eyes dart to mine in shock.

  “Touch yourself,” I command. “Put me in your mind,” (and heart) the whisper comes from nowhere into my head. For a split second it stuns me, then it makes me mad. She is already trying to wrap me around her little finger. It won’t work. I hate her. “And touch yourself,” I order harshly. “Put on a show for me, Liliana. Behave like a whore for me.”

  Her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Is there a problem?” I enquire pleasantly, while thoroughly enjoying her humiliation the way she had once enjoyed mine. I need to escape from the torment and guilt that hangs over my head endlessly like a curse.

  The silence seems to drag on forever as the angry tears once again fill her eyes, but the fury in them is also not overshadowed. She shuts her eyes as her hand begins to move towards her cunt and a burst of anger shoots through me.

  “Open your fucking eyes,” I roar.

  She recoils from the sudden outburst, her eyes snapping open.

  “Don’t make me tell you again,” I remind her, leaning back against the chair.

  Her gaze stays on me as her fingers inch towards her beautiful cunt. My mouth starts watering, my breathing is quietly ragged, and my cock threatens to burst out of my underpants. Outwardly, though, I remain calm, almost casual, as I watch her.

  What is it about her?

  Why does she alone have this tremendous effect on me? I am twenty-four years old, but I feel as if I have lived for a hundred years. During that time I have lost count of the number of women I have fucked to exhaustion. Not one compares to the excitement of seeing Liliana Eden, naked, and opened wide right in front of me.

  “Palm yourself,” I instruct.

  Her hand covers her wet flesh.

  “Press harder.” I have to fight to contain the growl of the monster inside me. When she obeys, I see her juices well up between her fingers and run down. A chuckle of satisfaction passes my lips at the pretty sight. She wants this as much as I do. “Take your hand to your mouth and taste yourself.”

  Her defiant eyes condemn me. They tell me she will never forgive me for what I am doing to her. She doesn’t know it turns me on even more … to force her.

  Bringing her hand to her lips, she sticks her tongue out and tastes herself. Although, she deliberately affects a bored expression, it is unconsciously sensual. Enough for my lips to part with thirst. I’ve been holding my breath without realizing it. “Lick your fingers clean, slowly ... one after the other. Don’t make me remind you to keep your eyes on me.”

  She follows my instruction, licking away the creamy moisture on her hand.

  “You must be very aroused, your clit is so fucking swollen.” I lift my gaze to hers, a satisfied smile on my face. Bright color fills her cheeks. “Stroke it,” I command. “Hard and fast.”

  She begins to flick the pink bud. It is as clear as day in the tightening of her jaw, and her quick shallow breaths that she is fighting the pleasure.

  I lean forward. “Faster.”

  She increases her movements, and in spite of herself, her hips begin to writhe. Her chest starts rising and falling rapidly, revealing the heightened pace of her heart. Her eyes become half-slits, with blue irises glittering between thick lashes. Soon her lust takes over. She gives up pretending to be unaffected and openly chases her climax to its conclusion. Her left hand grips the base of the chair to contain the violent bursts of desire coursing through her body. I watch her jerk and convulse, her breasts jiggling, with deep fascination. She is beautiful when she comes apart. It is a shame when she finally remembers where she is and the situation she is in. She forces her eyes open to look at me. There is utter contempt.

  Showing such naked contempt is a mistake on her part. I hold all the cards.

  “I’m afraid that was too brief,” I drawl. “I want a full show. Please do it all again. This time imagine I am not here and don’t be shy. Touch yourself better than any man ever can. Squeeze your breasts, play with yourself, and fuck your own hole hard.”

  Her eyes widen and she swallows hard.

  “You have fucked your own hole before, have you not, little Liliana?” I taunt.

  “I have not,” she denies breathlessly.

  Yet another lie. “Should I come over then to teach you what you need to—”

  “No!” she barks out immediately.

  Her terror makes me laugh softly. I say nothing, just continue to gaze at her in her position of utter vulnerability and subjugation. “Well then impress me with what you can do to yourself.”

  She breathes easier when she sees that I’m not bent in my proposition to teach her. “I need to shut my eyes,” she says, resentfully.

  “You may,” I concede with an amused smile.

  Taking a deep breath, Liliana Eden shuts her eyes and begins. She takes her left breast in her hand and squeezes it gently. Her tongue slips out of her mouth and wets her bottom lip as her right hand pinches her reddish nipple, before slithering downwards. She rubs the swollen bud of her sex, and her clit is still so tender her ass almost lifts off the chair.

  Her free hand tangles in her hair. The soft moans that fall from her lips make me want to shoot out of my chair and stick my tongue inside her. The tip of her finger eventually slips into her pink pussy and everything in me goes still. With my frame pushed forward, I watch as she gently digs in and out of herself.

  “Faster,” I grunt, leaning forward.

  She obeys, but her movements are uncoordinated almost as though she doesn’t care. That infuriates me. I know she’s no innocent. A beauty like her would have been with dozens of men so why is she deliberately behaving in this clumsy way?

  I don’t even realize I’ve shot out of my chair until it crashes backwards. Her eyes pop open and a small startled scream escapes her lips as she tries to scramble away. My chest feels like it is on fire. I catch her by the waist and bodily lift her slender frame off the chair, her limbs flail in the air.

  “Let me go,” she cries, but her struggles barely register on me. When she realizes she is no match and her movements are causing more friction between our bodies, she stops struggling.

  I sit her back on the chair. With my hands on either side of it I lower my frame to stare directly into her eyes. “Are you testing me?” I ask, my voice dangerously quiet.

  She is breathing heavily, her chest heaving hard, but she shakes her head. As I continue to stare into her eyes I feel her slowly begin to submit. Without taking my eyes off hers I spread her legs roughly apart and hook them back over the arms of the chair.

  I grab her mound, the slick wet folds spreading out at my touch. Her juices soak my fingers. At that moment I would have given up my entire fortune to taste her. I want nothing more so I drop down to my knees, my hand against her to hold her in place, and cover her pussy with my mouth.

  It is like coming home!

  As I suck her cream into my mouth, my teeth nibble eagerly at the white bud protruding from its pink hood. It has been tormenting me from across the room and it is a relief to take it into my mouth. In between dirty curses and furious cries of shame and humiliation she writhes and groans with pleasure.

  At one point she tries to push me away, but I am impossible to budge. Without releasing her clit, I plunge my fingers into her. Her head falls back when I start finger fucking her, pumping in and out so fast my fingers are a blur.

  I hear her struggling to breathe as she thrashes fiercely against me, but I lost the ability to empathize a very long time ago. Sadistically, I keep thrusting into her until she quivers uncontrollably. Her hands claw in my hair, as her teeth sink deep into my shoulder in an effort to make me stop, but her body speaks a different language, writhing ferociously in tandem to the onslaught of my fingers.

  She only releases my shoulder when she explodes in a powerful rush of passion, her body bowing, her mouth opening in a scream, as the first burst of her cum splashes into my mouth and face. It runs down my throat, and soaks my shirt.

  Her clima
x is so strong she becomes unaware of herself. Strands of hair are glued to her forehead, her breasts are up in the air, and her mouth locked in a wide open O. Unthinkingly, she grabs my hand and holds on to it, pressing herself hard against me to relieve the torrent of ecstasy still shaking her to her very core. Mesmerized by the intensity of her climax I can only stare.

  Then, overcome by emotion, helpless tears seep out of her half-closed eyes.

  I rise to my feet and look down at her as she fights to catch her breath. She is a beautiful mess. Her eyes fly open and she stares at me with hatred. Her eyes slide away from mine contemptuously and drop to my fingers. What she sees makes her blink and I quickly follow her.

  There is pink blood on my fingers!

  I freeze with shock as my brain refuses to accept the evidence of my eyes. It is impossible. The spoilt rich bitch cannot possibly be a virgin at 20 years of age? In an instant, she shoots to her feet and strikes such a hard slap across my face it makes my head jerk violently to the side.

  “Happy now, you sick bastard?” she spits.

  She is trembling, her eyes filled with a hurt that, strangely, my frozen heart can feel. I turn away from her as tears start running down her face. I can’t look at what I have done. My chest hurts. Shocked and confused, I start to walk away, but with a howl of fury she comes at me, and starts striking my back with all of her might.

  I let her rain her clenched fists on my body. It actually feels good. I deserve to be punished. When I feel her blows lose their momentum, I turn around, seize her wrists, and throw her on the bed. She is as light as a feather. Standing over her, I watch her bounce slightly on the bed, her breasts bouncing. I haven’t sucked them yet.

  I stare down at her. She is like a wild animal. Her face swollen and blotched with crying, her chest is heaving, and her eyes glare murderously at me, but her young body is silently calling out to me. I bend down and, grabbing her ankles, open her legs wide. She doesn’t struggle. She lets me. I look down at her abused pussy.

  I will be the first man inside her.

  I want her so bad it fucking kills me to turn away, fling her legs away, and walk out of the room. I slam the door shut and lock it. I feel like a mad man locking his treasure away. Because she is mine now. Even the thought of another man looking at her fills me with fire and rage. I will not rest until I have possessed her completely. Then I will fix it so no other man may touch her while I am alive. I stop at the unexpected thought. Where the hell did that come from?

  Nothing is working out the way I planned.

  Chapter Eleven

  Liliana

  For a long time after I hear the lock turn I remain naked on the bed, unmoving, my legs still open, staring at the ceiling. Not hearing or seeing anything. It feels like I am in a beautiful dream that suddenly turned into a nightmare.

  The gardener’s son. He has always brought both painful regret and a crazy warmth into my heart. Today, he brings indecipherable bafflement, disappointment, and hatred. I cannot believe that this is the man that I have pined over for years.

  I thought of him incessantly, but never once have I ever contemplated I would be in a position like this. Or imagined it would be possible to be stripped to such a level of vulnerability and abuse. I feel like an animal. All these years in my head he was a Prince, in reality he is an unfeeling, feral beast. Not only am I a hostage, but I’ve just been sexually assaulted.

  Then, a voice in my head speaks up. Have you forgotten the shameless way you climaxed in front of him? When he opened your legs and looked down at your throbbing flesh, you wanted him to take you. You wanted to know what it would be like to have him inside you.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I know that is the truth. I had no control over the way my body responded to him. And if it had been any other man it would have been unthinkable, demeaning and horrible, but because it was him, I don’t even feel dirty. I don’t even want to wash the smell of him away. Even though the sane, normal part of me wants to kill him for what he is doing to me and my family, the part of me that spent all these years yearning for that kiss wants him to come back and finish what he has started.

  I think of the hatred in his eyes. He holds me responsible for the death of his father, but what exactly did I do that was so wrong? I thought back to that day almost a decade earlier. Over the years I thought about the incident incessantly, but not for the reasons he is now accusing me of.

  I was angry at myself for running into the house and telling Dad about the kiss. It had been special until I opened my big mouth and told the world about it. I kicked myself for not being more like Mum. She would never have told a soul. Mum can keep a secret like nobody can. If only I had been just that little bit discreet everything would have been different. The gardener would not have been fired, both of them wouldn’t have disappeared from our lives and whatever horrible thing had happened to his father might never have come to pass. In that one unthinking moment I changed the course of all our lives. And I never stopped regretting that careless move.

  But that doesn’t excuse his cruelty.

  I was just a child and I could never have known the consequences of my childish actions. Even my dad firing his dad did not warrant kidnapping me and keeping me prisoner in the middle of nowhere and punishing me in this way. I think of my mother and how worried she would be to think of me alone in Spain. Thinking of her makes me tremble with fury. I close my legs. If my mother is in any way harmed, I am going to kill him, I swear it. I will hunt him down and kill the fucking bastard.

  I rise to my feet then and head into the shower.

  The water is scalding hot, but I don’t feel a thing. I let the water wash him away. I am no longer a virgin. He doesn’t know it but all these years I’ve been secretly saving myself for him. He is the only man in this world I’ve ever wanted. What a strange turn of events that my greatest dream was his ultimate revenge. I try to remember the kiss, but it has strangely become vague and colorless. As if it happened another lifetime ago.

  It used to be so vivid and colorful. A kiss stolen on an innocent afternoon. The most exciting thing that had ever happened to me until then. I could remember everything, even recall the exact scent of him. A mixture of fresh sweat, earth, and something else.

  If only … if only the stars had aligned the way they should have and things had worked out different.

  But all I have now is the memory of his black eyes, how hungrily they roamed my body, and suddenly my hand slips down past my belly, to my core. I feel my breath quicken. The simple act of inhaling and exhaling becomes hard. I remember his hard finger inside me, rough, uncaring, intense. So intense nothing else existed but his fingers inside me.

  No!

  I pull away my hand violently, turn off the water, and stand with my head bowed. Water drips off my hair and runs down my body. Time passes. I don’t know how long I stand there, but the steam in the air cools and goose pimples begin to scatter over my arms and legs. I start to shiver slightly.

  And still the urge will not go away.

  Tears of frustration fill my eyes. Fuck him! I slam my palms on the cold, wet tiles. My palm slides on the surface displacing water droplets. It moves lower. Suddenly it is off the tiles and between my legs. At the first contact with my clit a cry flies out of my mouth. I think of him. I cannot believe what I am doing. I cannot believe how animalistic is my lust and how little I knew myself. He doesn’t need to lock me in. I hate him for what he is doing to me and my family, but I cannot run away from him any more than I can cut my heart out of my body.

  My fingers begin to move faster and faster, but in my mind, they are not my own. They belong to him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brand

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDpnjE1LUvE

  -from the first day I saw her I knew she was the one-

  I await her in the dining room south of the Manor. I knock back my glass of whiskey and slam it down on the eighteen-seater Italian rosewood table. My stomach is in knots. My house
keeper, Lindy Parks comes in and silently places a fresh drink in front of me, but the brief look she gives me is brimming with questions. The main one, no doubt. Why have I imprisoned a woman?

  I ignore the look and she takes her leave.

  I’m on my fifth whiskey when Liliana eventually strolls in, much, much later than I stipulated, but I cannot help the smile that spreads across my lips at her entrance. I requested she wear one of the dresses provided for her, however she has chosen to dress in the same soiled silk blouse and skirt she arrived in. Her face is free of any makeup, her hair severely secured at the back of her head, and her gaze is a glare of hatred.

  “Take a seat,” I invite, without standing up.

  She goes and sits on the chair at the opposite end of the table.

  I lean back into mine. “I requested that you be appropriately dressed.” I glance down at my own ensemble of dark trousers and a crisp white dress shirt. “Even I made an effort.”

  “I like my own clothes,” she says tightly.

  I frown. “What is wrong with the clothes I have provided?”

  “They are clothes fit for a whore. I’m not one.”

  I laugh softly. “Ah, but you are my whore. Do you want me to show just how much of a whore you are?”

  Her eyes flash with panic. “No.”

  “Please ensure you dress in something different tomorrow.”

  She nods. “What is your name?”

  “Brand.”

  “Brand Vaughan,” she says softly.

  “Yes, you remembered.”

  “I liked your father.” Then she pulls out her weapon. “I too have a story to tell you. I was trying to help the gardener’s son, but he had such a big chip on his shoulder he grabbed me roughly without permission and kissed me. What did he expect me to do?”