I feel a shift behind me, feel his touch leave me, then without warning a harsh slap strikes my bottom, forcing a cry from my mouth.
“What’s my name?” he demands harshly.
It takes a moment for me to regain my bearings. “Daniel,” I gasp.
Another slap impacts my bottom, this one on the other side, and again I shriek.
“What’s my name?” he demands again.
“Daniel!”
Again he slaps me, his blows increasing with strength.
“Say it!” he barks.
“Daniel!”
More strikes come, harder, sharper, each one ending with me shouting his name, over and over, until my flesh is on fire, prickling with white hot heat. Tears burn my cheeks, but desire soaks my sex. The pain becomes so great I want to beg for him to stop. But I don’t. I let him keep going, let him keep flaying my flesh with his hard, unforgiving hand, until finally, after I’m uttering a sobbing, whimpering, “Daniel,” over and over, does he stop.
All that can be heard are my quiet sobs muffled by the seat cushions. His hands now soothe instead of spank, caressing the pain with pleasure. My sobs turn to moans as his fingers dip down into my folds once more.
I hear him gasp behind me. “So wet, baby.”
A whimper seeps from my lips as he slides a finger in.
“And so tight.”
“Oh,” I groan when he pulls out and slides more fingers into my pussy then drags my dripping arousal up and down my crease, back and forth, all the way to my other timid opening, where he lingers, circling, and then back down, where he dives into my womb.
I arch, feeling the stretch of his invasion, feeling the tug against my barrier.
“What’s my name,” he says, this time soft, this time gentle.
“Daniel,” I whisper.
His fingers begin to thrust while one manages to play with my clit, circling it, teasing it. My nerves dance and sway, gathering while he penetrates me, prods me. I begin to writhe, the pleasure so great I can’t contain myself. A warm, strong hand presses down onto my lower back, sealing me in place.
I feel the wave coming, feel the nerves gathering. He shifts the angle of his fingers, pressing against my front and I shudder, my hips straining under the attack.
“Oh God, Oh God,” I pant.
A hard slap lands on my bottom. “My name!”
The sudden pain sparks, mingling with the pleasure, and the flame ignites, sending me spiraling into that sweet release. “Daniel! Oh…God…Daniel! I—I—”
His hands hold me, guide me, while I shatter, over and over, then collapse like a limp rag-doll, panting. I’m vaguely aware of his fingers leaving me, of his hands gently placing my panties back in place, and pulling my dress back down. The skin along my bottom aches, but in a pleasant, decadent sort of way.
“Come here,” he says gently, as he guides me around. I lunge into him, my arms wrapping around his waist as I fall to my knees and bury my head against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I gush, tears seeping once more. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” he soothes, stroking my hair with his hand. It’s odd. I feel almost the same way I feel after reading one of Thomas’s books. Sort of devastated and reborn all at once.
He holds me, and holds me, letting me cry, letting me melt into him, letting me lose myself in his embrace. It’s only then that I realize there’s a hard, insistent bulge pressing against my belly. My insides reel and instinctively I press my hips forward, my breath leaving me in a crackling gasp.
He groans, but his hands clamp down, holding my body still. “No,” he says firmly against my hair.
“You don’t…?” My words fall away.
Of course he doesn’t want me. I just called him by another man’s name.
As though reading my mind, his quiet words drift. “I won’t take you before you’re ready, Princess. Not until I know you’re mine. All mine.”
I slack into him. How sad is it when a twenty-six-year-old virgin isn’t ready?
The thought weighs me down, but the cocoon of his warm chest and strong arms, holds me up. I breathe him in, his scent, his aftershave, the sultry spice of his cologne. He’s like a shelter…a shelter from a storm that has plagued my life. Finally, I pull back and gaze up at him through weepy eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking my cheek.
I nod, feeling more than okay, but not really sure how to define it.
He blinks slowly, then takes in a deep breath and leans forward. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s lifting me, cradling me in his arms. “What are you doing?” I mumble.
“Putting you to bed.”
As soon as he says it, I realize I’m exhausted. Revealing all these secrets, bearing all these emotions—it’s wiped me out. Not to mention the two blissful, mind-numbing orgasms. My head falls against his shoulder as he carries me into the bedroom that holds little more than a twin-size bed and a small dresser.
It’s quiet in here, dark, like the world outside.
I feel so small in his arms, so safe. He reaches the edge of the bed and pulls back the light blue sheets and lays me down. I see him glance to my dress, and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to remove it, but instead, he clenches his jaw and pulls the covers up.
I’m disappointed, but perhaps it’s for the best…for now. It’s already been such a revealing night; the events, all the secrets I’ve spilled.
He sits on the edge of bed, gazing down at me through the darkness. “Take some time, Amelia. Work through this. Let me know when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere. I still want you to be mine, more than anything. That hasn’t changed. But I won’t share you, not even with a fantasy. Understand?”
I nod, more tears forming. “You must think I’m…crazy .”
Carefully, he takes my hand in his and runs his fingers along my scar, his eyes following the movement of his touch. His gaze returns to mine, so heavy, so deep.
“No, baby. I don’t think you’re crazy, but even so, crazy isn’t bad. Crazy means a detour from what’s considered normal. And there’s nothing wrong with not being normal. Nothing at all.” He brings my wrist to his lips and kisses my scar, then presses my hand against his cheek, gazing down at me. “The truth is, I think you’re beautiful, and innocent, and sensitive…and so damn devastating. You’re a gift, Amelia. You’re a gift to this world, and you’re a gift to me.” He lays another kiss along my scar then gently sets my hand down. “A gift that a man like me doesn’t deserve. But I’m going to keep you anyway.” A shadow passes over his face and something in me wonders if he’s just revealed another secret. But I’m too tired to figure him out.
My eyes are already beginning to droop when he leans forward, causing the bed to shift beneath his weight as he grants a kiss along my lips. It’s soft and gentle, a breath of his soul along mine, brimming with tenderness and power all at once. “Sleep, Princess,” he murmurs before pulling away.
Only he doesn’t leave…yet. My dark prince stays, stroking my hair, watching me as my eyes get heavy. I almost feel like Sleeping Beauty, but instead of a waking kiss, he’s given me a calming kiss. A kiss that sends me drifting, floating, almost like I’m drugged, as though he’s cast some spell over me. For a moment, I imagine that I’m free. I imagine that I’m no longer held by an obsession that keeps me captive, no longer plagued by loneliness and a longing for a life I’ll never have.
“Daniel,” I whisper, saying his name like he’s some vision of a future that seems too perfect to be real. I’m faintly aware of watchful hazel eyes gazing over me, protecting me, until eventually, everything fades…into sleep.
***
A little over a week has passed since Daniel left and I wrote my last letter to Thomas, saying goodbye. I won’t lie and say it was easy. For eight long years, I’ve obsessed over this man. And not just him, but her, too. The one he writes for. So much envy, so much longing. No matter how many times I moved, searching for that life that would
somehow live up to theirs, I always knew deep in my heart that I would never find it. I suppose it was like coming to the end of a long and arduous journey, only feeling as though I never reached my destination, never fulfilled my quest. In many ways, this realization alone was devastating.
I cried for three days, barely able to contain my tears even at work, but then I woke up one morning and it was as though the sun was brighter, the air sweeter, the sky bluer. Until I let Thomas go, I hadn’t realized just how much of a hold he had over me and the world around me. Thomas was a fantasy that could never be realized, so I had been living in a world that had no future.
But now, it does.
The cell phone trembles in my hand as I dial his number and place it to my ear. I wonder for a moment if he’ll still want me, or if perhaps my call will be sent to voicemail. But then…
“Amelia,” he answers with a rush of breath, as though he’s been waiting to be able to say my name aloud. Any doubts that he might not want me evaporate.
“Hi,” I say with a soft smile I can’t hold back.
There’s a moment of silence.
“How are you?” he asks, concern lacing his deep, gentle voice.
It’s odd. It feels like it was so long ago that he was putting me to bed. Before then, we hadn’t gone one day without at least speaking to each other on the phone. He had given me space. Space I hadn’t realized I needed.
“I’m good,” I say, and for the first time in a long time, I mean it. “Really good.”
There’s a pause. “I’m glad to hear it, Princess.” There’s genuine relief in his voice. It warms me. Soothes me.
“How have you been?” I ask.
“Lonely.”
My throat tightens, the raw timbre of his voice so revealing.
“Tonight,” he says simply, his voice turning a shade deeper, a shade darker. “I’ll pick you up at seven. I’m bringing you to my place.”
“Your place?”
The line is silent. I suddenly wonder if he hung up already, but then…
“Wear that white dress,” he says quietly. “With nothing underneath. Hair down. No make-up.” He hesitates. “And no bracelets. I want you as you are. No hiding anything. Understand?”
His words send a surge of fire blazing through me. I hear a gasp on the line that I realize is me uttering a breathless, “Yes, sir.”
It’s quiet once more, those two words seeming to echo through the distance. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped even lower. “Good girl. I’ll see you soon, Princess.”
A moment later, I’m staring at the phone, certain with the knowledge that after tonight, I’ll no longer be a virgin.
CHAPTER THREE
At seven o’clock there’s a knock at the door. As usual, he’s right on time. When I open it, Daniel is standing there, his hazel eyes molten and perhaps hinting of something…something I can't quite make out.
His gaze drops to my dress, drifting to the hardening nipples that push at the fabric because I wear no bra, as he instructed. I’m petite, but my breasts are so full it almost appears vulgar. I could never go out like this in public. My fingers twist nervously into the white, silky cotton, but still I stand there, letting him drink in his fill, while I do the same to him. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black dress shirt and black slacks, perfectly tailored over his tall, solid frame. I can see whispers of dark hair peeking through the collar of his shirt. He swallows, his Adam’s apple shifting in such a sexy way that my mouth waters. Then my eyes drift back to his, where he meets my gaze with hungry, lustful eyes.
With a quick tug, he brings me flush against him, his intoxicating scent filling my lungs. His hand threads behind my neck and holds me firmly. Staring me down, he breathes a ragged, “I’ve missed you.”
The intensity in his voice inflates my already swollen heart. “I’ve missed you too.”
He leans down and places a gentle kiss along my lips that ignites my core. “You ready, beautiful girl?”
“Yes,” I answer, then hesitate. There’s something in his gaze, in the way he’s looking at me. I reach up, placing my hand along his clean, shaven jaw that appears to clench beneath my touch. “Are you alright?”
He stares at me for a long, intense moment. “I will be. Soon. Now come, let’s go.”
Moments later we’re heading out my apartment building and into his sleek, black Tesla.
The drive is quiet. Daniel seems distracted by something, but I guess I am too. I’m nervous about tonight—borderline scared, but also excited. My one free hand fidgets with the hem of my dress while he holds the other one, firmly, his large hand resting along my thigh. Out the window, the city lights begin to fade away as we head along the highway and into the darkness of the nearby mountains. Twenty minutes later we’re turning off onto a side road that has no markings, no signs, and that snakes deeper and deeper into the forest.
“You live all the way out here?” I ask, a bit wide-eyed.
“I like room to breathe,” he says simply.
After a few more miles, I see an impressive, slate grey house, made of wood and slanted angles, nestled between the towering pines and the twilight sky, set deep into the mountain.
The car parked in the garage, we enter the house, but not before I notice the stack of empty boxes in the corner.
“Did you just move in?” I ask, wondering if he had told me, but perhaps it slipped my mind.
“Yeah. Not too long ago.”
He pauses in the hallway, then turns to face me, his eyes thoughtful. My body feels loose, warm, my adrenaline on a slow release pump that has my senses tingling. Then I see it, in his eyes. Is it…tension? Is he perhaps as nervous about tonight as I am?
“There’s something I’d like to show you first,” he says, breaking my thoughts and taking me by the hand.
He moves down the corridor and I follow along, painfully curious, the wake of his scent washing over me. We go up two flights of stairs, all the while my eyes searching around for glimpses of his life. I catch some stunning black and white landscapes on the walls that must be his, some simple, contemporary furnishings, but all in all, it’s pretty sparse. I guess he’s still moving in.
Finally, at the end of a hallway, we come to a door. He stops and turns to me. Now there’s no mistaking the stiffness along his jaw, the tense line of his lips, the dark shadows in his eyes.
“Daniel, what—”
“Stay here for a moment,” he says tightly, then disappears, only to return seconds later. I see something black in his hands.
“Give me your wrists.”
I do as he says, watching with a building fever as he first places a gentle kiss along each scar, then fastens thick black leather bindings on each wrist. “What are these for?” I ask, a little breathless.
He finishes attaching them, then takes my arms and links them together behind my back.
“So you can’t run away.”
“Why do you think I would—”
His lips crush against mine before I can finish the sentence. He presses into me, groaning, then he pulls back just as quickly and grabs my face. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.”
The words come out in a rush.
Before I can blink, before I can respond, he turns to the door, and with a subtle exhale of breath, opens it. He reaches in, switches on a soft light, and steps back, allowing me to enter first.
The grim, almost somber look on his face has my heart skipping beats as I step past him, his wary eyes following me. Once inside the room, my steps slowly fade until I’m frozen in place. I’m only vaguely aware of him closing the door behind me, only vaguely aware of a lock being clicked into place. That might otherwise concern me, but instead, I’m too distracted by what I see in front of me.
The room is long and narrow with a symmetrical vaulted ceiling and two wooden support pillars in the middle, about eight feet apart that go from the hardwood floors to the angled ceiling. Towards the back of the room, perfectly centered, is a sma
ll wooden desk with a lamp and an open laptop, a large print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night hanging behind it. That should devour my attention, but it doesn’t. It’s the walls…it’s the walls that have me staring spellbound. Every inch of space is covered…covered with…
I blink, over and over, my heart a fierce gallop along my chest as I move slowly towards the patchwork of photographs and linen stationary. I go to run my fingers over the arcs and curves of my handwriting, so familiar and yet so foreign, but I meet resistance, only then remembering that my hands are bound behind me. In a daze, I let my eyes drift to the photos; my face in black and white, in color, moments of time where I’m at work, at home, in other cities. My chest feels hollow and full all at once, my lungs feel empty, my mind can’t seem to reason, can’t seem to understand how to connect the dots.
My thoughts are scrambled when I feel Daniel behind me.
“I—I don’t understand,” I breathe.
He turns me around to face him. “Thomas is my middle name. Holden was my father’s name.”
I don’t think I’ve heard right. I can’t have heard right. But by the heavy look on his face, I know I did.
A whimper leaves my lips as tears prick my eyes. “Y—you—all—this time?” I stammer.
He nods, gauging me carefully.
My balance feels off and I take a couple steps backwards, away from him, using the wall for support. I begin shaking my head over and over. “No. No. It can’t be. This is—this is…”
“Amelia,” he says, taking a step towards me. I flinch and pale, pressing myself further against the wall, acutely aware that my arms are trapped behind me. I feel myself beginning to panic. He must sense this as he stops and lifts his hands, trying to calm me. “I know this is a lot to take in. I know—”
“A lot to take in?” I shriek, anger replacing shock. “A lot to take in?” My breath begins to run away from me, faster and faster until it feels like I’m hyperventilating. I stare around the room, the walls beginning to spin, tearing me apart by sheer centrifugal force.
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