Tower: A Dark Romance Rapunzel Retelling (Ever After)

by Measha Stone

  Azalea shimmied past him, keeping her ass pointed away from him, and made her way to the front of the desk. Her pleasing look did nothing to sway him, and she seemed to realize faster than usual that she should get in position.

  She lifted the hem of the dress to her waist and bent over the desk, raising her round, naked buttocks into the air and placing her palms flat on the desk.

  Peter had taken pleasure in teaching her the proper position when being spanked over a desk or table. And she’d enjoyed herself as immensely after having her bottom warmed with his hand and then her pussy fucked hard. But that was playtime.

  This was a different kind of lesson.

  He pushed her long hair over her shoulders, effectively blocking her view of him. Something she hated, and of course something he would continue to do.

  “Tell me again what you agreed to,” he said, petting her ass. A soft tremble greeted his touch.

  “That I would be yours until my mother came home,” she said, not bothering to look back at him. It would be useless anyway.

  “That’s right. And are you allowed to keep asking me to take you home?”

  “No, sir.”

  His balls tightened at the three-letter word she’d tacked onto her answer.

  “And yet you’ve mentioned it four times today.” The other three had been random comments about how to keep his website up to date after she went home. But they counted.

  “So, I think that means you owe me four.”

  He stepped closer to her, wrapping his arm around her slender waist and pulling her against his body.

  “Okay,” she said with a little more sarcasm than he should allow.

  The poor thing thought he meant four spanks.

  She jolted when his fingers slipped between her legs and through her folds, gathering the wetness that always seemed to be there when he wanted it. The woman was as aroused as he was at the prospect of punishments.

  “Peter?” she asked, trying to crane her neck to see him when he inserted two fingers into her pussy, instantly feeling the clenching flesh.

  “Be quiet.” He pinched her hip. “When you’re done, you can talk—though I doubt you’ll be able to.” He plunged into her and finger fucked her hard, bending at his knuckles enough to brush against that tender little spot inside of her that drove her crazy.

  “Oh. Oh…fuck.” She slapped her hand against the desk. “Peter.”

  Apparently, she wasn’t ready to be obedient.

  “If you keep talking, I’ll have to gag you,” he promised.

  Squeezing her hard against him, he fucked her fast with his fingers, making sure to brush her clit and drive her to the brink.

  “Aaagh.” Her body tightened, and she was about to burst.

  “Are you going to come?” he asked, not slowing his ministrations.

  “Yes! Oh, fuck yes!” She arched her back and gave him better access.

  “No, you’re not.” He plunged in deep, feeling the evidence of the first wave starting, and pulled his hand free, stepping away from her.

  He’d heard women cry out in frustration—this wasn’t his first punishment, but he’d never heard the raw anger he did with Azalea.

  “I probably should have explained. You aren’t coming. Bad girls who don’t obey don’t get to come. But you’ll come right up to the edge, right to where you’re about to fall into oblivion, and then I’m going to yank you back. Four times. That was number one.”

  “What? No! Peter!” She tried to get back up, but he planted a hand between her shoulder blades.

  Without a word, he wrapped his arm back around her waist and plunged three digits into her. Her head thrown back, she thrust her ass toward him.

  He listened to her moans, felt her body’s reaction as he curled his fingers, stroked the right spots. She settled into soft moans.

  Cute girl. She thought she could sneak an orgasm.

  “Are you going to come?” he asked, looking at the back of her head. She shook it, probably knowing if she opened her mouth, the truth would spill out.

  “Good.” He again backed away as her pussy clamped down on his fingers extra hard.

  Another guttural muttering and a smack to the desk.

  “That’s two,” he said, his breath somewhat labored from the ministrations.

  Deciding to give his fingers a break, he squatted behind her, pulling her ass cheeks far apart.

  “Peter, what—oh fuck.” She wiggled, but he held her ass cheeks firmly while he licked and teased her pussy. He squeezed the soft flesh of her bottom, giving her nowhere to go.

  Fuck, she tasted like heaven. This punishment was worse on him than her, he decided.

  The more he licked, the wetter she became. Using the tip of his middle finger, he rimmed her pussy entrance. A deep moan came from him.

  Did she realize she was moving her hips? She bucked back at him, taking his tongue inside her.

  “Oh fuck,” she whispered, thighs trembling on both sides of his head.

  Her muscles tightened, and he sat back on his heels, holding her ass cheeks open. Air touched her exposed clit. It was so swollen, so red, so much in need.

  “No!” she yelled and stomped her foot.

  He laughed. “Three.”

  “I can’t. Please. I can’t. I won’t mention going home ever again, just please let me come.”

  He heard the plea in her voice, the tightness and urgency, but it didn’t matter. He’d sentenced her, and he would complete the punishment.

  “One more, pretty girl. You can do it.” He leaned forward again, taking her clit between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it.

  She hissed, and he knew it wasn’t going to be long before she teetered on the line he would have to drag her away from.

  As he suckled her clit, he spread her ass cheeks again, this time, pressing his thumb, wet from her pussy, against the tight ring of her asshole.

  She tried to clench, but he shut that down by delivering a hard smack to her ass cheeks and went right back to his objective.

  “My finger’s going in, Azalea,” he said against her pussy lips and pushed harder until his thumb was inside, up to his knuckle.

  “Peter, no,” she whispered hoarsely. She said no, but when he thrust two fingers into her pussy, she clamped down and moaned like the needy girl she was.

  “Look at you, fingers in your ass and your pussy, moaning like a little slut. Needing an orgasm that won’t come because you were so fucking naughty.”

  She groaned.

  “So close, I feel every little tremble.” He timed his thrusts so that either her ass or her pussy was being pumped into.

  It took no time for her to reach the edge. He played dangerously and kept finger fucking her until he felt the very first tremble of an orgasm before pulling away. She’d feel some waves, the beginning of a weak orgasm would be unleashed, but by the slam of her hand on the desk and the scream of frustration she let loose, it was nowhere near satisfying.

  “And that was four. Now, get on your knees.” He pulled her dress over her ass and helped her to the floor. When she looked up at him, her hair was wild, her eyes dark and wide.

  “Open that pretty mouth,” he instructed and unzipped his slacks, pulling his hard-as-fuck cock out.

  She licked her lips, the hunger in her eyes changing from needing to be fucked, to needing to feel his cock in her throat.

  He would oblige.

  Her hot tongue ran under his cock as he slid into her mouth. His hands dove into her hair, clutching at the roots and holding her steady.

  “Naughty girls get face fucked, don’t they, pretty girl?” He was being rough, and he didn’t give a fuck.

  Tears built in her eyes as he shoved his thick cock past her lips and farther down until he felt the back of her throat. She coughed and sputtered, and he pulled back, letting her get a breath, but then he plowed back in, all the way, to the hilt. His balls slapped against her chin.

  Fuck. He hadn’t thought she’d be able t
o take all of him. Her throat constricted, she swallowed, and he nearly lost his load then.

  She pushed against his thighs. At first, he wanted her to put them behind her back, let him have full control, but he decided to leave them.

  Just a bit of a touch. A connection between them.

  She didn’t fight him, and when she couldn’t hold him anymore, he let her breathe.

  Once she had air, he plunged back in. Spit poured down her chin, tears ran down her face. She was fucking gorgeous. He held onto her hair, fucking her throat as roughly as he’d fucked her pussy that morning. And she made no complaint.

  His balls tightened, his body ready to explode.

  “Good girl, pretty slutty, girl,” he said between clenched teeth as his release took him over. He retreated enough to see the strings of cum spurt into her mouth. She kept her tongue out, her mouth open, accepting every drop of his seed.

  “Arggh” she cried out, her eyes rolling back and closing, but her mouth remained open.

  Peter held his cock, stroking it gently, and looked down at her.

  She’d come.

  She’d fucking had an orgasm while being face fucked.

  Her hands had been on his thighs the whole time.

  The woman had come without being touched.

  He caressed her cheek. “Swallow it all, pretty girl,” he instructed when she still had his load resting on her tongue.

  She closed her mouth and opened her eyes.

  “I know what you did,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “And it was fucking amazing.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said sheepishly.

  “I know.” He reached out and helped her stand. “Finish your work and then we’ll have lunch.” He walked her back around to the chair she’d been sitting in.

  “That’s it? No nap?” she asked with a raised brow. Typically, he put her to bed after any sort of sexual play.

  “Nope. We have to get back to the house this afternoon, and I don’t want you working when we do, so finish what you’re doing.” He tapped the laptop. “Besides, that was supposed to be a punishment.” Though he doubted she felt punished at all. Orgasm denial would work with her—he would have to completely deny himself at the same time.

  She gathered her hair to one side and quickly braided the long mane, refocusing on her work.

  “I just want to make this last image. Maybe you can advertise on social media?”

  Peter shrugged. “Whatever you say. It’s your thing.” He kissed the top of her head and went back to the couch to study the latest financial reports from his accountant.

  Or, at least, he could have the papers in front of him while he peeked over and watched her work. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  Chapter 17

  Azalea walked through the gardens of Ash’s estate. Peter had been taking her to his apartment in the city more and more often, but he always returned to the estate.

  Apparently, his cousin would be returning from his honeymoon soon, and business would pick up. She hadn’t seen many men show up at the Annex. She’d assumed the women would have playtimes scheduled most evenings, but Peter said a lot of the girls had taken time off while Ash was gone.

  Peter had given her a quick tour of the Annex, but still didn’t want her wandering around there unless she had an escort. Which she always did. One of his men was always stationed outside his rooms upstairs so if she wanted to explore, she had someone with her.

  They never stopped her from roaming, but they were always there. Lurking.

  Getting chilled from the crisp air, she headed inside. She could get a little more work done in the office. Peter had given her complete authority in making all the marketing materials for Tower. She’d finished the web design and graphics for social media ads, so all she had to finish were the paper ads. Putting them in kink-friendly magazines would bring in a lot more customers.

  The man assigned to watch her wasn’t standing inside the doorway anymore. No one was.

  Remembering she’d left her laptop—the new one Peter had bought her with all the programs she needed already installed—in the Annex office, she made her way there.

  Raised voices greeted her the moment she opened the door to the Annex. Was one of the girls in trouble? Was Peter spanking someone? The sudden surge of jealousy surprised her. She hadn’t been so possessive when he punished Aubree, but maybe that was because she’d been there. She and Aubree had gone through it together.

  “You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.” A loud voice carried into the hall.

  Santos.

  She recognized his accent.

  Azalea pushed the door to the office open and found the source of all the yelling. Santos was being held back by Tommy, while Peter sat at his desk looking bored.

  “What’s going on?” Azalea asked, stepping into the room.

  “Go back upstairs,” Peter said in a firm voice, but he didn’t look at her.

  “Azalea!” Santos cried out. “Please, tell them you must come home. Your mother will be back in two days. You have to go back.” She recognized the panicked expression. Her mother would blame him.

  “You’ve talked with her?” Azalea asked. “Did she ask about me?”

  Santos looked at Peter before answering. “She asked if you were home.”

  “And you lied?” Azalea’s heart sank. Her mother rarely spoke to her while she was away. Busy, busy, busy, she would tell her when she got back. She had no time for little chitchats, but she’d called Santos.

  “If she knew you weren’t home—” Santos pulled free from Tommy. “Do you know what she’d do to me?”

  “If her mother is so scary, why would I let her go back there? You had her locked in her room.” Peter stood from his desk, buttoning his jacket.

  “Bellatrix is very protective of her daughter.” Santos kept his gaze on Azalea, pleading in his eyes. She’d heard her mother yelling at her men before, and she’d heard the whispers of punishments her mother doled out to them.

  When she was a young girl, she’d walked in on her mother slapping one of her men across the face. Her complexion had been red and angry, her eyes wild with rage. When she’d noticed Azalea in the room, she took a slow breath and plastered a soft smile on her lips. It wasn’t real. Even as a girl, Azalea knew what a fake smile looked like. Bellatrix had sent her to her room, telling her Mommy had important work to do. And as soon as Azalea stepped inside her suite, she’d heard the resounded lock of the bolt.

  “My mother isn’t kind to those who work for her,” Azalea agreed. Santos would be punished for letting Peter take her from home. “He has good reason to be afraid of her.”

  Peter raised both eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. “The same mother you insist loves you so much, she’s been keeping you locked away out of fear of losing you?”

  Azalea nodded. “She’s never raised a hand to me, Peter.” Or wrapped her arms around her in a loving embrace, but Azalea had grown used to her mother’s unique ways of showing her affection. An extra bit of dessert on her dinner tray or an extra hour at the playground in the evening—with one of her men standing guard.

  Peter focused on Santos again. “Were you working for Bellatrix when Azalea was born?”

  Santos flicked his gaze to Azalea then back to Peter. “I was a boy. My father worked for her when Azalea came—was born.”

  Peter folded his arms over his chest. “How old were you?”

  “I was ten, I think.” Santos’s shoulders rolled back and forth again, like his skin felt too tight all of a sudden.

  “Do you remember her father?”

  “Azalea’s?” Santos looked to her, again with a silent plea for her to intervene. But she wanted to know the answer, too. She’d never bothered asking him. Her mother had made it clear her father wasn’t around and never would be—and not to keep asking about him.

  “Do you?” Peter pressed.

  “N-no. I was a kid.” Santos’s voice wavered, a smidgen, rig
ht at the beginning.

  “Didn’t Jansen tell you what my decision was?” Peter asked, moving closer to Santos. The two men who’d been holding him flanked him but kept their hands off. Ready to jump in if needed.

  “She won’t accept that.” Santos shook his head.

  Peter gave a low laugh. He wasn’t happy, no, this laugh made her spine chill. This man, stalking toward Santos, wasn’t the same who’d climbed into bed with her the night before.

  Peter reached behind him and pulled out a gun, Azalea had never seen him carry one before. Or was it always there in hiding beneath his suit jacket.

  He pressed the barrel up against Santos’s forehead. Azalea froze. Would he shoot him? Right there in front of her in the office?

  “I don’t give a fuck what Bellatrix Gothel will accept or not accept. If she wants to ask Azalea to go home, she’ll come here when she gets back in town. And we’ll talk about it. But Azalea is not leaving with you.”

  Santos winced as Peter pushed the gun harder against his head. Small beads of sweat lined his forehead and temple; his hands shook at his sides.

  Shouldn’t she speak up? Say something?

  “Get the fuck out of here, and if you go crying to anyone else, or show your ugly face here again, you won’t be given the courtesy of leaving in one piece.” Peter pulled back, holding the gun at his side and keeping his glare fixed on Santos.

  “When Mother gets home, tell her I’m safe. Tell her that I want to see her here, okay? Tell her I left on my own—”

  “No.” Peter’s voice acted as a foot stomping onto the ground. “No, you tell her the damn truth. That your fucking debt got her in this mess. That when it came time to pay up, I took Azalea. You tell her you didn’t stop it, you stood there while I walked out of that house with Azalea.”

  Santos swallowed, his jaw working but nothing being said. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded. “I’ll bring her here.”

  “We’ll be waiting,” Peter announced walking over to Azalea and pulling her to his side with his gun back in his pants. “Take Mr. Santos to his car, and be sure he gets home safe,” Peter said to his men, who both nodded mutely and gave Santos a shove.