Captive Bride: A Dark Obsession Romance

by Dark Angel

  I’m gone, beyond this realm and the next.

  I am his forever.

  He thrusts into me hard, and he pulls me up so that our lips meet in the most intimate of kisses.

  He drags his teeth along my bottom lip while ensuring that his cock is finding new reaches within.

  “Isobel, look at me.”

  I do as he says. I gaze into his eyes even though every part of me is saying to look away. He’s too deep, too intense, too everything.

  He looks at me, peering into the depths of my soul, into the recesses of everything I’ve been hiding from the world.

  He sees me. All of me.

  He wants me. All of me.

  I am free in the knowledge that there’s nothing he doesn’t see. There’s no part of me he doesn’t want.

  He kisses me one last time, and I clench my arms around his neck. He moves my hips up in a rhythmic motion, guiding me to help him achieve maximum pleasure. And my pussy throbs and tightens around him as he hits my G-spot.

  His nails dig into the side of my slim hips that rest freely in his hands.

  He kisses me hard and then he throws me back down on the bed and flips me over.

  It all happens so fast.

  He cinches my wrists together with one strong hand. And then I feel the tip of his cock at the edge of my ass, and it sends a shudder of fear through my body.

  I can’t take him like that.

  “It’s too much, Tristan. I can’t.”

  He spits on his hand and strokes his cock while still holding me in place. Then he inserts the tip at my most private hole—just the tip to acclimatize me to his size.

  Nothing could prepare me for this.

  “I can’t, Tristan. It’s too much.”

  “Do you trust me, Isobel? Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” I whimper, not sure if I even believe myself.

  “It’s okay,” he says, and his voice is rough.

  I feel his ragged, heated breath along my back, and he bends over me, keeping me in place.

  I try to move away from his grasp. But he keeps me held down.

  His cock slides in a little deeper, and I feel my ass spreading and tearing. He pumps into me quickly and releases his hold on my wrists, knowing that now, I’m not going anywhere.

  “Finger yourself, baby. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  Fuck no, I will not.

  I can’t do this.

  But then I follow his command. I finger myself and squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears from falling.

  He quickens his thrusting, and to my surprise, it starts to feel good in that torturous kind of way.

  I finger my clit, and it helps, and soon I find myself accepting him with more ease. I even start to crave the feel of his giant cock filling me up so much.

  “Tristan, oh my fuck,” I say in between breaths.

  “Tell me I’m your master. Tell me I own you,” he damn near growls. “And then beg me for more.”

  I can’t do it.

  I don’t know what to say or how to say it. But for as long as I waver, he forces himself into me harder.

  “Say it, Isobel.”

  The words escape my lips before I even know what I’m saying. “Fuck yes, master. Oh God, I fucking want it. It feels so good, and I want more.”

  I’m sincerely begging now because if he doesn’t give it to me now, harder than ever, I think I’ll explode from want and need.

  I claw at the sheets and attempt to steady myself against the bed and then he gives me exactly what I want.

  “Good fucking slut. You know you want this cock in all the ways that you can get it. I told you to trust me, Isobel. And now you know why.”

  He says the words, and I suddenly understand their meaning as he pumps into my ass so quickly that it hurts—but the pain escalates into pleasure, and I can’t tell the difference anymore.

  I don’t know what I want.

  But he makes me understand.

  He grips my ass and slides his cock so expertly into me.

  “You’re so fucking good, Isobel. And now I’m going to come into your tight little hole.”

  I barely hear him, because I’m spiraling out of control. I rub my clit, and soon, the climax is hitting me hard from all directions.

  I’m coming hard from my clit and from deep inside, and it’s all too much.

  But Tristan’s got me covered. He holds me solidly and breathes hard, making sure I feel every fucking inch of him and I do.

  I feel him in my soul and my body.

  He pumps his load into me and then he pulls out, and I feel his cum spray all over my ass and back.

  I fall to the bed in a heap of exhaustion, head spinning.

  He falls next to me, and he holds me and kisses my shoulder.

  We’re sweaty and tired.

  “Don’t ever run from me, Isobel. Trust me, and don’t turn your back on me. I can’t lose you.”

  “Yes, Tristan,” I say because I don’t know how else to phrase it.

  Internally, I’m worried about him and the oncoming battle. My father knows our location, and that can’t be a good sign.

  I’ve never been so close to a Montague before, and it might be dangerous territory, but I’m in love, and there’s no going back.

  “I’m yours,” I whisper. “Forever.”

  He tightens his hold on my breasts and around my waist and then we fall into a deep sleep.

  I dream of marrying Tristan one day and of our happiness being everlasting.

  22

  Tristan

  My heart pounds in my chest the moment I open my eyes.

  Frustration pools in my core. The Capulets know where we are.

  We’re in trouble.

  Isobel sleeps calmly next to me, her blonde hair fanned around her like a halo. I can’t bear the idea of waking her.

  Wherever her dreams have taken her, it’s almost certainly better than reality today. I let her sleep.

  Quietly, I stand, throwing clothes on in a rush.

  There’s no way of knowing for sure when they’ll come, but a voice in my mind feels certain it’ll be today.

  There’s work to be done. If not today, they could come tomorrow or the next.

  The only certainty being that they’ll find us eventually.

  The door clicks softly shut behind me as I make my way into the hall. I’m anxious to make sure the place is secure.

  I pull the phone from my pocket the moment I’m out of Isobel’s earshot.

  There are many calls to make. Things have to be put in order.

  Maybe I should’ve torn myself away from her last night to see to the details myself, but I just couldn’t. Besides, Merc and Benny have it under control.

  I begin checking in with the security teams. We need as many guards as can be spared on short notice. I move around the mansion making sure my guys are there.

  My heart aches in my chest. My worry’s so strong it’s damn near painful.

  I’ve only just found Isobel. The thought of her being taken away makes my blood run cold. Before I met her, neither life nor death really mattered very much to me.

  I’m a cold-blooded killer, born and raised.

  An untimely and painful death was all but guaranteed.

  Since first laying eyes on her though, that has all changed. I never knew what it was to have someone to live for. I intend to follow through.

  I’m going to live, if only for her.

  And Isobel, well—she has to live. The world couldn’t survive a loss like that.

  Neither could I.

  I’m on the phone with my head of security, demanding more men come out to Estbow Manor. I want the place more secure then ever before. I raise my hand, running my fingers through my hair, breathing deeply.

  It has to be enough.

  I scan the room with my eyes, taking in the dark furniture and dim lighting.

  It relaxes me. This place is the closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual home. The penthouse is one thin
g, but a mansion out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by dense forest—well, that’s something else entirely.

  I head back towards the stairs, needing to feel Isobel now more than ever.

  I climb the stairs wearily, knowing I won’t feel quite human again until she’s back in my sight. I reach the room and open the door, again quietly.

  She’s just as I left her, sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of my problems.

  She stirs as I sit on the bed beside her.

  “Tristan?” she asks. “What are you doing?”

  “Just making some calls,” I say in a whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

  A contented moan escapes her lips, working its way into my cloudy mind. Her presence is a relief, a balm for my aching heart. I lay beside her, scooping her close to me in a fierce embrace.

  “What are we doing today?” she asks, clearly wide-awake.

  “Anything you want.” I say seriously.

  “I just want to be with you.”

  “Done.”

  I know my worries are founded because I know her father. He’s my bitterest enemy, and I know he’ll stop at nothing to get her back.

  I spend the day with her, showing her around, and making sure she’s happy. Her father’s predominantly on my mind. I wonder about his plan and what angle he’ll take against us.

  Dusk finds us back in my room. We lay on the bed, my fingers running the length of her spine as music washes over us in a gentle caress.

  I hear the cars before she does—there’s too many of them.

  It’s time. The crunch of tires on gravel warns me of their approach, the roar of their engines confirming my every worry.

  We sit up as one, fear etched deeply into her face.

  “Tristan...” she says.

  “Go,” I tell her. “Go lock yourself in your room.”

  She opens her mouth to argue.

  “Now!” I scream, jumping to my feet and pulling her along with me.

  Emotions war across her face, her refusal to leave me chief among them. I take her hand, pulling her quickly down the hall and to her bedroom. Her thin white nightgown flows behind as she runs.

  She’s a picture of perfect purity in the darkened hall.

  I yank her roughly through the door.

  “You have to stay here, Isobel,” I tell her. “Please listen to me and stay here.”

  I can’t remember the last time I used the word. Pleading has been absent from my vocabulary for longer than I can remember. Now though, staring into her frightened eyes, fear bubbling in my own chest, I feel ready to beg.

  I can’t lose her.

  “Okay,” she agrees, voice trembling on the word.

  I pull her to me, my mouth crashing against hers in a kiss. I put my every dream into it, my every hope.

  “What if I never see you again?” she asks the moment I pull back.

  “You will,” I say, sounding much more certain than I feel.

  She nods, clearly unconvinced. Tears trail down her cheeks, falling gently onto her chest.

  I see her in the rain the first night we met. I see her on the balcony, trembling in fear.

  My will hardens. This can’t be the last time we see each other.

  Isobel turns from me, running to the dresser. I see her reach inside, hand coming back wrapped to the handle of her dagger. She meets my eyes, holding the weapon close to her chest, tears still flowing freely from her eyes.

  I want nothing more than to kiss her again, to hold her, and promise everything will be okay. I want to promise her the world and countless tomorrows. Instead, I nod my head firmly, once, before turning to leave.

  I close the door in a rush and hear the lock engage from the inside.

  Good. That’s taken care of—now the hard part begins. From downstairs, the roar of gunfire already meets my ears. Screams echo up the stairwell, anger, pain, terror.

  I move towards the sound at a jog, panic ebbing, now that I know Isobel is safely locked in the room. My feet fly over the stairs, adrenaline pouring into my system, just as it always does when the bullets begin to fly.

  I hit the landing with a boom, not stopping for a moment as I tear through the wide front doors.

  I see Benny up ahead, crouched behind a car, bullets plowing into the metal of his barrier.

  His head turns at the sound of my approach.

  “Tristan!” he shouts, waving me frantically towards him.

  I pick up my pace, struggling to reach the cover before I’m noticed.

  Gravel flies as I slide into safety.

  “Where’s Merc?” I scream over the blasts.

  Benny shrugs, shaking his head in uncertainty.

  “I lost sight of him,” he says.

  My eyes tear across the grounds, looking for any sign of my cousin. I see him, off to the side, crouched behind a car of his own. I indicate his location with my head, and Benny follows my gaze.

  Reassured of Merc’s safety, we direct our energy back into the fight. We stand as one, targeting the Capulets closest to us. Benny’s shot takes one in the chest before mine reaches the head of a second attacker.

  Benny’s hits take one in the leg, mine hits a man in the stomach…

  We empty our guns repeatedly, most shots drawing blood if not ending in immediate death. By the time my bullet supply begins to grow short, the tide seems to be turning in our favor.

  “Almost out,” I shout to Benny.

  “Me, too, man.”

  Fuck.

  Together, we search wildly for an alternate plan. My eyes lock onto the body of a nearby Capulet, one I managed to hit in the head. His gun lays only feet from him, his pocket clearly stuffed with extra clips.

  I nod in the direction, not needing words to explain my plan Benny.

  “Let me,” he says, shooting his final bullet into a Capulet guard.

  I ignore him entirely.

  Let him my ass.

  Without waiting for him to argue further, I launch into action. My long legs eating up the distance between me and the bloody Capulet. I reach him in moments that feel like hours, bullets whizzing too near as I do.

  “Tristan!” I hear Benny shout as I reach him.

  I ignore him still, grabbing for the gun and unused clips.

  I turn, tossing half of the clips toward Benny before trying to reload my own gun. I’ve just managed the task when the breath is knocked from my body. I collapse to my knees, air refusing to enter my lungs.

  It feels like taking a sledgehammer to the ribs, and I groan in pain. I touch the affliction, inspecting the source of the pain. I’m not remotely surprised when it comes away bloody.

  “Tristan!” I hear Benny shout, sounding from underwater.

  Night creeps into my vision, darkening around the edges before beginning to consume my sight entirely. I don’t feel myself fall over. I only feel the rough bite of the gravel as the ground meets me.

  I don’t dwell on the fact that I’ve been shot. I don’t even think of the pain burning through me. As my consciousness fades, I see only blonde hair, I feel only her lips pressing to mine.

  Isobel.

  Then, everything goes dark.

  23

  Isobel

  The window fogs as my breath washes across it. The chilled glass presses against my forehead. The sight below has my head spinning.

  It’s a virtual war zone down there. I clench the dagger tighter in my hand.

  The grounds outside are beginning to run red. Tristan and the other Montagues are defending their land and me with single-minded intensity. A well-aimed bullet hits a Capulet guard directly between the eyes, and he goes down.

  I think I might vomit. I close my eyes against the image, breathing hard.

  If only there were some way to drown out the noise as well. I feel powerlessness wash over me. Just outside, men are dying, and I can’t do anything but watch.

  Though with the way my eyes are squeezed shut, I guess I can’t truly do that either. For what must be the millio
nth time in my life, I wish I had been raised differently. Unlike before though, I don’t wish for a normal life and parents who really love me.

  We’re beyond that now.

  In this moment, I find myself wishing that I had been raised like Tristan instead.

  I find myself wishing for the skill and blood lust necessary to fly down the stairs and stand beside him, instead of cowering like some princess in a tower.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I try to force them back, struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

  “Tristan!” someone shouts below.

  My head whips up, eyes searching desperately for him. I see him in the next moment, running from the relative safety of the car, heading for the dead Capulet several yards away.

  My hands come up, pressing feebly against the glass.

  What is he doing?

  He reaches the body, grabbing quickly for the dead man’s gun. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a few clips free as well.

  The window ceases to fog, my breath stalling in my chest.

  “Run,” I say aloud, knowing he can’t hear me.

  He turns, tossing clips back towards Benny. My heart beats wildly in my chest. From my vantage point, I see everything as if in slow motion.

  He turns, clearly intending to go back the way he’s come, when suddenly a bullet meets with his side. His shirt stains instantly with blood, his legs giving way a moment later.

  “Tristan!” the scream tears its way from my throat, full of pain and fear.

  He stays a moment on his knees, swaying slightly at the waist, before he collapses entirely. I swear, my heart stops beating.

  “Tristan...” this time a whisper.

  He can’t be dead.

  He can’t be.

  I see men rushing through the now under-protected space. Some Benny shoots down, while others slip through, making their way towards the door.

  They’re coming.

  Merc rushes to Benny, a hail of bullets following in his wake. He reaches Tristan’s former place, seemingly unharmed. Together, they try to stem the tide.

  Air races back into my lungs, and I turn, gasping.