by Pam Godwin
A prick of light flickered in the dark void, beckoning. She floated toward it, couldn't stop it from taking her. The moment she gave in, the second she stopped fighting, her body felt lighter, her mind quieter. The pain of his thrusts and the clench of his fist receded as wave after wave of serenity sifted in. It nibbled away at her fear and splintered her thoughts until nothing was left but a hundred vibrating tongues licking along her inner walls, swelling wet heat through her pussy, and soaking his entry.
“Aw, God.” He loosened his grip, grunting a sound full of lust and satisfaction, and sped up his pace. “There's my girl, dripping all over me.”
Her bruised throat sealed up as his words spilled fiery shame through her veins. She'd fantasized about being punished, to be fucked raw and savagely, and maybe she was depraved. But now? Oh God, she didn't want it. Something was missing, something crucial. He took without permission. Every nerve in her body thrummed for more, but he'd stolen her power to stop it.
His balls slapped against her ass, his cock growing thicker inside her. “You love to be dominated.” He ground his pelvis against her clit and bit her earlobe. “Even as your conscience tells you to hate it. I dare you to fight it.”
Somewhere in the recesses of her fucked-up head, a rational voice screamed in horror, lamenting his truths, hating him. But her pussy swelled with desire, throbbing and gripping him harder. The gluttonous flesh grew slicker with every thrust, welcoming him, urging him on.
After two years of fucking in the dark, she was spread open under the lights. It would've been a huge step for her, but she hadn't chosen it. As she lay there, absorbing the brute force of his cock pounding inside her, she discarded whatever self-worth she had left and replaced it with something she could endure. She let the pleasure in.
His fingers scraped through her hair, ripping the strands and tingling her scalp as he yanked her head back and licked her mouth. “I want your release.” His mouth imprisoned hers, sucking the air from her lungs as he drove his tongue in maddening swirls. “Give it to me. Now.”
The orgasm exploded from an unbound place inside her, thundering through her body, every muscle rippling with electric tingles. His hips jerked against hers, and he kissed her with a ferocity that buckled her spine. She didn't have the faculties to bite off his tongue, her release so powerful all she could do was ride it as he dragged a piercing cry from her throat. She dug her feet into the mattress, and the ecstasy carried her into oblivion where she drifted in utter peace.
Without warning, he yanked off the blindfold. The quietude evaporated, replaced with the horrifying intrusion of natural light. An A-frame ceiling soared above the bed, its exposed rafters reaching beyond the railing that lined the long, narrow loft where she was held.
She didn't want to look at him, but he was as much a threat as the windows towering above him. She lifted her eyes, and his terribly beautiful face filled her vision. Still deep and hard inside her, he leaned back, his gaze smoldering with blatant lust. Sweat beaded over his forehead, gathering in the furrows and threatening to drip. Oh God, why couldn't he just wipe that away? She couldn't bear for it to fall on her and averted her eyes.
In the corner, a staircase spiraled into a two-story room. The only way to escape was down. Was the room below walled with glass, exposed to the outdoors? She didn't know. All she could see was the source of the light, the glow of twilight bleeding through the triangular windows that crested the two-story wall beyond the railing. The pinkish clouds against the purple sky might've been picturesque if the view of outside wasn't shuddering through her, chattering her teeth and shortening her breaths.
Jesus, stop. The windows were too high to see in. It was just the sky looking back. None of this could hurt her. Breathing deeply, she could feel the heat of his eyes watching her from his kneeling position between her legs, his cock still buried inside her. She refused to look at him again, and her gaze stumbled over her body. The shame of her nudity, all laid out in the light, was sharp and swift as it clenched her insides in a blinding chokehold.
Her arms trembled wildly, her hair sticking to the sweat on her face. The evidence of her arousal smeared her inner thighs. But the worst of the view was her oversized breasts bouncing lewdly as he began to thrust anew with hard-hitting strokes.
“Please cover the windows.” She knew he couldn't. They were two-stories up, with no attached curtains or blinds.
He put his face in hers, the pink scar on his cheek bunching with his smile. “You realize, what exists in the light doesn't go away in the dark.”
Fuck his condescending smirk. Shadows hung like drapes on the three windowless walls surrounding them, hovering just out of reach, but soon they would close in with the setting sun. The approaching darkness in this unknown place both comforted and scared the shit out of her.
His eyes wandered down her body to lock on where they were connected. All that distended flesh was likely wrapped around his cock, folding up and down his length, so fucking grotesque it made her eyes burn.
“Stop looking.” It was a tear-choked plea, one he acknowledged with a furrowed brow then rejected as he sat up, gripped her ass, and angled his head, watching himself slide in and out.
She thrashed and jerked, but her efforts didn't distract him from staring at her pussy.
A twitch tugged the lower lid of her eye, jumping manically, angry and relentless. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed slow and deep. Numbness settled over her arms, and a throb awoke in her chest, like an over-pressurized artery pulsing above the muscle. If only it was a heart attack.
Instead, it was the smothering pain of panic crashing over her. She tried to calm it by focusing on something other than the sight of her body. She studied his heavy-lidded eyes, strong nose, and full mouth, all arranged in perfect symmetry. The angles of his face followed lines of natural geometry. Uniformed cuts of muscle sculpted his pecs and abs.
He was a kidnapper, a rapist, and she ached to be repulsed by him, just to prove she was sane, but she couldn't. And she wasn't. His scarred beauty radiated seduction and danger, a deadly combination.
She'd told him he would see why she'd given up modeling, yet he continued to fuck her as if he hadn't seen every inch of her terrible nudity. His arms braced beside her waist, his biceps flexing as his cock pistoned in and out of her, scrambling her thoughts, overwhelming her.
The dime-sized scar in his shoulder was the last thing she saw as tremors attacked her nervous system, seizing her body and arching her back. Blackness invaded, the clouds faded from the windows, and she fell into nothingness.
A hand slammed into her jaw, shooting a stinging fire through her nose. She blinked, gasping for air, and his scowl bleared into focus.
“Stay with me, goddammit.” Silver flames lit his eyes, sparking above her in blurry, iridescent flashes.
He pulled out, ripped off the condom, and pumped his hand along his length, hard and fast. Bending over her, he propped himself up, his arm straight, biceps straining as his fist stroked. His eyes locked with hers, and his mouth opened with a guttural shout as come squirted over her mound, belly, and chest.
She stared at the globs streaking her body, dazed. Why had he come on her and not in her?
He answered her unspoken question when he swirled his fingers through the ejaculate, spreading it over her skin as if rubbing it into her pores, marking his territory.
“Beautiful.” His voice was thick with lust. He leaned down and lapped at it, collecting a white puddle on his tongue.
Before she could analyze the come licking, he crawled up her body and captured her mouth. His salty kiss swirled past her lips, aggressive and consuming. She tried to fight it, but she was too weak, too lost to the drugging glide of his lips, the salacious pressure of his teeth, and the undivided focus of his desire.
He'd seen every shameful flaw, and still he kissed her as if he believed she was beautiful? She closed her eyes and could almost taste a man beneath the cruel lash of his tongue. The flavor bore
a hint of cleanliness. Earthy. Carnal. Human. It gave her hope that a modicum of kindness might've been buried in there, too. No doubt it was a hope fabricated from desperation.
He broke the kiss, and his tongue darted out, trailing the seam of her mouth. “If turning off the lights is the only way you can get off, you need to replace it with something else.” His lips whispered over her cheek. “With trust.”
“Are you shitting me?” She twisted in the restraints, kicking and heaving against his heavy body. “You fucking raped me!”
A dark cloud rolled over his face, and his eyes grew unfocused, his voice eerily quiet. “To call that rape insults the brutality inflicted by the worst kind of man.” He blinked, and his eyes cleared. He rubbed his forehead, dropped his hand, and his mouth tilted in a crooked grin. “You liked it too much.”
Fire spread over her body, lighting up her nerves and burning her throat. “I'm tied down, dammit. I didn't have a choice.” She didn't have a choice to like it? Okay, not a whip-smart response. “Untie me.” She glared at him through blurry eyes. “Or do you plan on raping me again?”
“Maybe.” He winked. “If you beg.”
The fuck she would. “Is your name really Van?”
His fingers caressed a path around the outer swell of her breast, over her ribs and hip, and slipped between the raw skin of her lower lips. “My mother named me Van Quiso.” He shoved two fingers in her opening and curled them, coaxing her muscles to clench. “You'll refer to me as Master.” His timbre was a velvet sheath swaddling an obnoxious order.
He shifted down her body, hovering like a dark mountain of dread, and wedged his massive shoulders between her thighs.
Her heart rammed against her ribs in a violent protest. Oh God, she never wanted anyone down there. Not after Brent. It was her biggest shame, her eternal regret. “Please, don't. You don't understand.”
He bared his teeth, grinning, and bit down on her clit. White-hot pain pierced through her pussy in concentrated heat. She cried out as his teeth continued to pierce and yank the sensitive nub, his tongue flicking back and forth as swiftly as his thrusting fingers.
She screamed thick, sobbing shrills of agony. Hot tears rolled down her face, her cries garbled and raw. He released her, kissing the sore flesh. The tenderness only made her cry harder.
She was on display, naked and hurting, weak and defenseless. And her future would only get worse. What would happen to her without her routine, trapped in some unknown location, at the center of a madman's attention?
For two years, she'd hidden herself in the darkness of her self-pity. She wasn't living. She was barely surviving. The idea of returning to her house was as grim as staying here, with him. Was this the beginning of a new misery, where her days were consumed by a rapist who made her come? The thought trembled through her. That was a whole different kind of sick.
As the edge of pain dimmed, the pinch of something else took hold, a realization as spiteful and psychotic as the monster before her. It hardened her spine and sharpened her focus.
He might've had the upper hand, but he couldn't control the mess in her mind. If he planned to keep her around, he'd damned well better be prepared. She was going to make his life a living hell.
He reached for the buckles around her ankles. “You ready?”
She was ready, for what she had no idea. She'd been beaten, drugged, taken from her house, and raped. She was already fucked in the head, her dignity long gone, and now she was backed into a corner she couldn't escape. She had nothing to lose.
She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Yes.”
The shackles around Amber's ankles fell away. She yanked her legs together, knocking her knees, and the sudden movement sent stabbing pain through her hips. But it was anger—the sudden violence of helpless fury—that sharpened every nerve-ending in her body.
Van watched her from beneath hooded eyes and reached for her wrists. “You're an unforgettable fuck, Amber.”
She ground her molars, her voice low and harsh. “And you're a fucking rapist.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “You're pissed, but you went over the edge and exploded around my dick.” He freed one arm and murmured, “You needed that.”
The conversation was surreal, as if they weren't discussing an event she would relive and mourn every day for the rest of her life, however short that might be.
The final shackle dropped, and blood tingled through her hands. She scrambled toward the edge of the bed, but he grabbed her ankles, and dragged her back, wrestling her to sit sideways in his lap.
She fought him, slapping and snarling, teeth bared, her muscles screaming with venom. But amidst her struggles slithered the chill of helplessness. If she managed to overpower him, to outsmart him, to escape, where would she run? Outside?
Was she seriously trying to convince herself that a naked cuddle with a rapist was less scary than whatever waited beyond the front door?
He took advantage of her hesitation, his nudity slipping around her and his hands controlling her legs until she straddled his lap, sitting chest to chest, his arms locked around her back. Hot skin pressed against hers, slick and hard and entirely too close. She shoved against the twitching muscles on his chest, but his embrace was implacable, a steel cage of limbs.
His lips brushed the sensitive spot beneath her ear, and he breathed deeply, smelling her.
She shivered. She needed clothes, a shower, her routine, and...courage. Her fingernails dug into his back as she scanned the clutter strewn throughout the room. There, her robe, tossed over her duffel bags on the floor in the corner. The rest of the room... Oh my God.
A beer bottle sat on the dresser. Dirty socks piled beside the bed as if he'd just kicked them off and left them there. Two hangers hung on the closet doorknob. The nightstand... Wait. What?
Her aquarium sat against the far wall, filled with the broken fragments of her life. What did he intend to do with it? Would he torture her by destroying them beyond recognition? Would he be so cruel? She sat taller on his lap, her breasts dragging unnervingly against his chest, her voice cracking. “Why is that here?”
The gentle tiptoe of his fingertips along her arms aroused unnerving sensations over her skin. He nuzzled her neck. “It means something to you.”
A lump swelled in her throat. It was just a career, but it signified the beginning and end of a normal life. She stared through blurry eyes at the one possession she would've lamented leaving behind.
As heartless and forceful as he was, nothing cruel lingered in his expression now. He studied her with daunting tenderness and an innocent sort of curiosity, and she felt knocked off balance. And naked, which had nothing to do with her lack of clothing. What if he threw the keepsakes away? Or used them against her? “It's just some broken memorabilia.”
He held her in place as he massaged the soreness from her wrist. “It was the only sentimental belonging in your house, and you had it displayed.” His touch moved over her wrists, gentle and attentive. “You liked to look at it, which tells me someone else destroyed it. Who?”
An angry pulse throbbed behind her eyes. Brent had taken a sledgehammer to everything that mattered to her. Except her career. That was on her. But she wasn't about to tell Van any of that. He didn't know about her ex-husband, and she couldn't afford to expose any more of herself beneath his perceptive eyes. So she decided on stubborn silence.
His hands moved to her calves and ankles, kneading the muscles, coaxing circulation, and easing her stiffness. She didn't trust his tenderness for a second, and her vulnerability escalated with each soothing caress.
He seemed to be distracted with his hands busy on her legs. She could slip off his lap and run.
And run where? The closet? Or she could endure his touch and try to figure him out. “What are you doing?”
“I got carried away. I never checked the cuffs, and they were too tight.” His eyes were fixed on his fingers, but she sensed his attention was singularly focused on her. On her sha
llow breaths, the prickles bumping up her flesh. On what she might say next.
His profile was so painfully striking as he bowed his head, lips parted, face soft with affection. Any woman would've fallen into his bed at the crook of his finger. Hell, she'd offered the night she'd met him, and didn't that just dig under her skin? “You turned me down; then you returned and took me by force. Are you a serial rapist? A stalker? A murderer?” She trembled to put the space of the room between them but forced her eyes to his and whispered, “What are you?”
Something slipped over his expression, a menacing shield that turned his jaw to stone. He gripped her waist and set her on her feet, pushing her away. His elbows dropped to his knees as he watched her from beneath sharp brows, eyes creased in searing slits, voice quiet. “I'm the heir of torment, Amber.”
She stepped back, hands shielding her groin and breasts.
He rose and held out his arms, unabashedly nude. “I'm the slippery footprints in your carpet. The creaking floor that steals air from your lungs. The hand that holds the gun.” He paced through the room, snagging a pair of jeans from the floor, and met her eyes. “I'm the inescapable curse that caught you when you opened your door.”
A shiver rippled through her and settled into her bones. Not a hint of arrogance in his words. Just the steady monotone of unresisting acceptance. As if he'd rehearsed that creepy speech or had at least given it a lot of thought.
She darted for her robe, shrugged it on, and turned to face him with a semblance of courage now that she was covered. “You don't have to be those things.” She pushed back her shoulders and gave him a practiced response of her own. “You could be the nemesis of torment.”
He pulled on the jeans, regarding her with an unreadable expression. “Is that what Dr. Michaels told you? Some cockamamie horseshit about confronting fear with its adversary, courage?”
