Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  If Pim had never been given such a tool, how had she survived this long? How had she not wasted away and willed herself into a coffin whenever Alrik summoned her?

  Goddammit, tonight just became far more complicated than I’d planned.

  At least, she hadn’t moved her hand this time.

  I shifted my body closer, wedging my dragon-tattooed chest against her nakedness and placing a trouser-clad leg over her thigh, holding her down. With our eyes tangled, I once again looped my fingers with hers directly over her pussy. “You have to do what I do. But for now, we’ll do it together.”

  Putting pressure on her middle finger, I forced her to stroke her clit. The warmth from her skin seeped into me, regardless that I wasn’t the one touching her.

  My cock hardened to the point of pain. Seeking salvation, I rocked against her hip.

  Her eyes flared.

  I rocked again, hating that her sharp hipbone dug so bloody right against my erection. “I’ll show you how. But to do so, I’m going to have to use you in other ways. Otherwise, I’ll go out of my fucking mind.”

  She shied away even as I forced her hand south, finding her entrance.

  “No, you’re not running. Not this time.”

  Breathing hard, I ordered my rapidly fading control to stay strong. This would test my limits. She would test my limits.

  “Get ready to touch yourself, silent mouse. I’m going to enjoy this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pimlico

  Holy shit, what is he doing?

  I stiffened as his hand forced mine, pressing my middle finger, giving me no option but to obey. My knuckles grew hot as his large palm smothered me.

  I couldn’t look away as his teeth clamped his bottom lip. He made it impossible to prevent every cell burning with the erotic way he thrust against my hip. He hadn’t removed his trousers, but that didn’t stop the steel heat of his erection branding me.

  Too much was happening.

  Too many stimuli.

  I didn’t know what to focus on: his body sandwiched along mine, his hand ordering me to feel myself, or his cock taking pleasure from me in the strangest of ways.

  He made me claustrophobic and prickly.

  I want to run!

  But then, everything else faded as the tip of my finger entered me.

  Stop!

  I deplored it.

  I loathed it.

  I…hated, hated, hated it.

  My finger was so slim and small compared to what normally brutalised me. My nail was sharp as it slid inside me with the aid of Mr. Prest’s domination. My body stretched to accommodate the skinny digit and the strangest sensation of feeling myself made me shiver with wrongness.

  I’d never touched anything so weird in all my life.

  I wanted it over.

  Now!

  “Does it feel strange?” Mr. Prest angled my hand, pushing deeper.

  My face contorted as the pad of my finger found an odd ridge inside me—something not quite as flexible or as warm as the rest.

  Was it a scar from the mistreatment I’d endured? An injury that would never fully heal? Whatever it was vanished in importance as he forced me to sink further.

  His deep voice rumbled from his chest to mine. “Do you like it?”

  Like it?

  No, I don’t like it.

  I suffered guilt and shame and confusion.

  He chuckled softly. “You’ll grow to like it…just wait and see.”

  I doubt it.

  He laughed again, his wrist shifting to capture my first finger and dip inside me, too. This time, the pressure and stretching was greater. However, two of my fingers were still far narrower than Master A’s cock.

  I turned rigid as Mr. Prest’s hot breath fluttered my hair, his erection jamming against my hip. “You need to come, Pim. I need to give you that so I’ve paid in some small measure for the things I’ll take from you.”

  No way.

  No chance.

  Mentally, physically, spiritually, there was no way I could do it.

  Come?

  Ha!

  I didn’t buy into such elusive make-believe. No way could I switch off my self-preservation, give into someone so completely, and trust that they wouldn’t hurt me at the pinnacle of my surrender.

  He was a damn comedian if he believed I could do such a thing.

  Let me go!

  I squirmed, glaring into his black gaze.

  Leave me the hell alone!

  “Close your eyes.”

  Fuck you.

  He cocked an eyebrow when I disobeyed him, keeping my gaze wide.

  “You want to watch?” He added more pressure, pulling my arm downward so my fingers disappeared entirely inside me. “I can get a mirror if you’d like? Talk you through it. Show you what your naughty hand is doing.”

  I desperately wanted to shake my head—in case he thought my silence was a request for such revolting things. But he just chuckled at my discomfort and pulled my fingers free. “Let’s see if you hate this as much.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he glided my touch upward until it brushed the one part of me that’d shed its protecting numbness and flared with foreign feeling.

  My clit.

  The moment my fingers slipped over the hard bud, I jolted.

  His smile was hell itself. “Ah, there you are, little mouse. Slowly coming alive.”

  Once again, the name ‘mouse’ tightened my muscles, revoking everything that I’d lived through. Any other name I could tolerate. Any other rodent noun or whore’s address—even a dreaded verb would be better.

  But mouse?

  How could he use that?

  How dare he use something that meant so much to me?

  Gritting my teeth, I shoved aside the memories doing their best to rise. I hadn’t let myself think about him in years. It was too damn hard. My mother wasn’t often in my thoughts, but at least she was still alive and blissfully unaware what had become of her daughter.

  My father, on the other hand, was dead.

  He was in heaven watching me from above, mourning my circumstances and seeing every foul activity I was made to do.

  Horror and self-pity sat so heavy, I couldn’t breathe. I fought to sit up, to remove my hand from Mr. Prest’s hold and unlock my leg from beneath his.

  I needed space.

  I needed to block certain memories before they drove me mad.

  But he didn’t let me go. His thigh merely tightened, his fingers forcing mine to swirl around my clit. “You hate that even more than when I call you girl.” His mouth moved, but his voice was soundless as a breath, almost apologetic while coaxing my secrets. “Tell me why.”

  How when I refuse to speak?

  Why when I don’t know you?

  Never because you don’t deserve to know.

  I hated how handsome he was reclining beside me, stealing my freedom with the artistry of his exposed torso and tattoo. His raven hair matched the opaque lines of the cavernous cavity where his organs ought to be, his lips so damn intoxicating.

  But beauty did not hide a beast, and I wouldn’t be fooled.

  I was done with this.

  “Close your eyes, Pim. It’s much easier to let go when you’re—”

  I bucked, breaking his sentence, determined to remove his control.

  I refused to do what he ordered—not when I didn’t trust him.

  Wait, you don’t trust Master A, but you obey.

  That was true, but I knew what would happen if I didn’t. I was smart enough to choose the least painful journey. With Mr. Prest, I didn’t know what he would do in retaliation.

  And it was worth risking agony in order to find out.

  He might not have the balls to hit me. He might let me get away with it, and I could avoid sleeping with him, which in turn would please Master A because he didn’t want to share me.

  It was a convoluted plan…but still a plan.

  My shoulders rose from the bed as I
struggled harder than I’d struggled in years.

  His face darkened while surprise highlighted his eyes. “Keep fighting and your night will be ten times worse, silent mouse.”

  I jerked, but in my unwound state, I didn’t focus on the nickname. However, I gasped as his teeth clamped over my collarbone with no finesse. I flinched as his tongue lapped over the bite of his incisors.

  I couldn’t control my shiver.

  “You dare disobey me?”

  Yes, I dare!

  I’m so over all of this!

  The snout of his dragon hissed where his ribcage cracked open as he held my wriggling form. But it didn’t stop me. It didn’t scare me. The only thing that could was knowing no matter what Mr. Prest did it would never be as bad as what Master A would do.

  I had to use this man to help free me or prove to Master A I was loyal and submissive. If he saw me fighting…he might be kinder to me. If Mr. Prest saw my strength, he might break me out.

  Two scenarios from one brave, reckless move.

  He froze, following my gaze to his tattoo and where our bodies kissed. His face etched with temper, unable to hide his frustration. For his confidence at figuring my silent replies, he would never understand why ‘mouse’ was the one name he could never call me without me hating him for eternity.

  The impenetrable mask he wore (hiding everything that made him real), slipped for a second. He lost the uncouth businessman he projected and became someone riveting and unknown instead.

  He studied me just as hard as I studied him.

  I saw a man with control issues.

  A man so used to the world bowing at his expensive feet.

  But I also saw a man who knew what it was like to be me. To be the one without a choice, without a life…without hope.

  Then, as if remembering that I was nothing more than a whore who existed for his discretion, his mask refastened into place.

  His touch turned harsh.

  “You don’t get to direct this evening’s fun, Pimlico. That’s my job.”

  My breath caught as he forced my fingers to swirl harder on my clit, gathering yet more tingling electricity.

  “I’ll find out sooner rather than later. You will answer me. But for now, I refuse to waste any more time.”

  His cock wedged on my hip, throbbing beneath his trousers. “I want to be inside you, but for your sake, I’m going to wait until you’re dripping wet.” His nose skimmed mine. “Isn’t that fair of me? Nice of me?”

  Grabbing my broken hand with his free one, he slammed it above my head, restraining me. Pinned to the mattress by his fist, body, and hips, I was completely helpless, hopeless, and utterly at his mercy.

  I gulped as his throat worked hard, his hair falling over one eye as he pressed his forehead against my temple. “You’re going to feel something good, Pim. It’s all in your head.” His fingers manhandled mine to drift from clit to entrance and back again. The stroking felt different this time, less strange but just as appalling.

  I clamped my lips together as a betraying moan built in my chest. Not in pleasure but in a plea.

  He could hurt me, force me, demand me, but I wouldn’t come.

  I can’t.

  How could I do something that I’d never done before? How could I fix something that’d been broken from the start?

  I would never enjoy this.

  Ever.

  I would never want this.

  Ever.

  And if he’d become just like Alrik and only wanted to fuck me…so be it.

  I had a way to protect myself.

  I would leave while he ravaged my body.

  And I would never think of him again because he’d destroy any feelings I might’ve developed.

  Run…

  Taking a deep gulp, I tightened and relaxed all at once. I vibrated and tingled all at the same time as my sex clenched on its own accord and my sovereignty over my limbs vanished.

  I became floppy—exactly like a doll these bastards favoured.

  My muscles puddled into the bed, my legs fell open, and my mind…that was the best part.

  I escaped.

  I disappeared inside me, swirling faster and faster until I was too deep to be reached, too far to be beaten, too protected to be ruined any more than I already was.

  I didn’t care his dragon blew smoke in anger.

  I didn’t hear his tormented groan.

  I didn’t feel my fingers inside me.

  I

  was

  gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elder

  She was still here.

  Her hot body still lived beneath our joint fingers. Her breathing still tickled my chest. Her presence still made me hard.

  But everything that made her Pimlico disappeared.

  Her fight, her righteous anger, her confusion and strength and courage.

  All vanished.

  So that’s how she’s protected herself.

  She might not know pleasure. She might only understand pain. But she’d figured out how to garrison her mind. Fuck, if that didn’t intrigue me more. If I were any more interested in this woman, I wouldn’t be able to walk away when the moment came.

  Even now, we’d run out of time. I was shocked Alrik hadn’t barged in while I’d touched her. (Not that I’d touched her, merely guided her in self-exploration).

  The fact he hadn’t arrived yet set my teeth on edge and wariness living in my blood.

  But now, I’d fucked up and lost the girl and her secrets. The only thing I could do was coax her back to me before it was too late.

  Unlocking our joined fingers, I rearranged my cock so it didn’t fucking give me blue balls and sat up. The bed rocked, but Pimlico remained staring blank-gazed at the ceiling.

  She didn’t flinch when my shadow fell over her or curl into a ball when I reached out and cupped her cheek.

  She merely lay there, waiting.

  If I wanted to steal from this slave, I’d have to use her conditioning against her.

  I couldn’t ask questions anymore.

  I’d have to demand answers.

  It was the way she’d been taught.

  The only way she’d respond.

  Running both hands through my hair, I shed my need to give her some margin of enjoyment and sat taller.

  My lips parted to give her a command to return. To order her to snap out of it.

  But something stopped me.

  She looked so innocent and so damn tired. Shadows lived permanently beneath her eyes while exhaustion sat on her limbs.

  I’d pushed her too far.

  The least I could do was grant a moment’s rest. My impatience siphoned away as gentler memories of caring for another gave me the ability to be kind.

  “Roll onto your side,” I whispered, pushing her shoulder.

  She shifted obediently, but gave no recognition of listening.

  Once she faced away, I slid up the bed to recline against the headboard once again.

  My gaze locked on the door as I placed my hand on her naked back. She didn’t flinch—not because of trust and acceptance but because she’d left her body behind. She didn’t care what I did to it because she’d blocked me from affecting her mind.

  How long had it been since she’d slept safely? How long since she dreamed of happier times?

  My palm moved on its own accord, stroking her softly, granting comfort after I’d given nothing but hardship. “Rest, Pim. I’ll watch over you.”

  I couldn’t see her face, but her body remained tense and vacant.

  Placing one arm above my head, I looped it through the headboard and prepared to pet her until she gave into me. I frowned as my fingers touched something soft sticking from the slats of the frame.

  I tried to figure out what it was, but Pim suddenly jolted, heaving the heaviest sigh I’d ever heard. Her spine unwound, her muscles relaxed, and she sank into my caressing as if finally accepting my gift.

  Her willingness to give me
that tore away any other thoughts and I settled into my task of protecting her all while touching her with kindness.

  The first few minutes, I was acutely aware of her every inhale and exhale. But as time ticked onward and our presence grew used to one another, I found her comforting.

  I hadn’t been with another person in this way for so long; I’d forgotten how rewarding it was to look after someone.

  It’s also hard and draining and demoralising.

  That was true.

  Caring for my mother and doing my best to fix what I’d fucked was the reason I carried so much shame.

  Family had expectations.

  Pimlico had none.

  She would accept what I gave her without dismissing my attempts at generosity. And in return, it made me want to give more.

  So much more.

  My mind wandered, and my free hand found its way to my pocket and the dollar bill tucked inside the money clip. I didn’t mind silence in people, but silence in my surroundings wasn’t a good thing.

  Memories had a way of finding me when things were too still. Memories that had too strong a hold as I smoothed the dollar bill with my left hand while never ceasing caresses with my right.

  She twitched now and again, falling deeper into sleep.

  As she slumbered beside me—not knowing the type of man I was, yet trusting I’d do what I’d promised and keep her safe—I folded the money in an age-old shape and let painful recollections and suicidal slaves sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pimlico

  My Minnie Mouse watch announced it was 12.33 a.m.

  My mother hated me wearing this thing—said I was too old for such childish baubles. But I loved its tatty face and time-worn strap. It was all I had left of him. The man who called me Mouse ever since I could remember.

  The memory of his nickname for me resonated with every tick of the hands over Minnie’s big ears. The pet name came from my true address and somehow morphed into a Disney character. Tasmin became Min, which became Minnie, which became Mouse. I had so many names, but only my dad called me Mouse while everyone else called me Tas.

  He died when I was seven.