Tower: A Dark Romance Rapunzel Retelling (Ever After)

by Measha Stone

  Well, anyone other than Peter.

  And now that she saw his jealous side—and how much his possessiveness turned her on—she had a new card to play. It probably wasn’t very honest to keep goading him until he lost a thread of his control and pulled her up to the bedroom for an afternoon of passion. But, he was a smart man. He knew what she was doing. Thankfully, he never called her out on it. He was too caught up in the moment, which was exactly how she wanted it.

  He’d behaved—mostly—while they changed her class from online to on campus, but once back at home, he returned to barking orders.

  She dressed in another dress for the evening, since he was taking her to Tower. She’d taken extra time to wash, dry, and curl her hair. Peter hadn’t brought her any makeup, but Aubree had been sweet enough to pick her up the bare essentials. Even her mother had let her wear mascara.

  Checking one last time that her earring had the backing in place, she stepped out of the bathroom. Peter had gone to his office to deal with a situation, telling her to go back to his private box once she was finished in the washroom.

  One of the security guards followed a few steps behind. Never completely encroaching on her, but near enough for her to be aware of his presence. She sensed this man, unlike Santos, was there solely to protect her, not keep her from running off.

  As she neared the box, she noticed two men in staff shirts loitering near the door, holding brooms but not quite using them. She didn’t know anyone at Tower, but they didn’t look like they belonged. Their shirts were wrinkled, not starchily pressed like the other men she’d seen. And they kept casting glances at her while she walked, and checking behind them.

  The guard would intervene if something was wrong, she assured herself when her heart beat faster. The closer she stepped to the entrance, the more the men stared.

  She reached for the clasp on the velvet rope separating the area with a shaky hand. Maybe her mother had returned early. Maybe she’d sent men to snatch her back before Peter could interfere.

  Looking behind her, she noted the guard was gone. With a panicked breath, she turned to the other two men. They were slowly putting down their brooms. She could run back to Peter’s private washroom and could lock herself in. But she didn’t have a phone. Would Peter find her?

  “Azalea, don’t worry,” the taller of the two said. She couldn’t place his accent. “We aren’t here to hurt you.”

  She took a step back, the heel of her dress catching the hem of the damn dress Peter had picked out. Stumbling back, she grabbed the back of a chair and righted her footing.

  The men moved in on her.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

  “We just want to see you. That’s all,” the tall one spoke again. The shorter one stayed behind him.

  “How do you know who I am?” she asked, still retreating backward.

  “Many men know who you are.” His sneer sent a cold shiver through her.

  “Azalea?” Peter called from down the hall. She turned to face him, relief flooded her at the sight of him hurrying toward her.

  He walked past her, and she faced the box to see the men racing down the hall through the VIP boxes and disappear into the stairwell. Peter yanked out his phone and made a call.

  “Yes, two of them. Don’t let them—what? Fuck.” Peter hung up. “Who were they?” he demanded. “Men of your mother’s?”

  “No. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’ve never seen them before.” She closed her eyes momentarily, letting her head settle down.

  “Okay. It’s okay. They’re gone, but I have men looking for them. They couldn’t have gotten far.” Peter pulled her into his chest and kissed her forehead.

  “They said they just wanted to see me, that a lot of men knew who I was. What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He hugged her tighter, to the point air wasn’t coming so freely. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  “Where’d the guard go? He was there and then he was gone.”

  “I don’t know, but I know he’s fucking fired.” Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the elevator that would bring them to the penthouse. Now that it was finished, Peter would be moving into it.

  She wasn’t sure what that would mean for the Annex. He seemed to have a pretty important job taking care of the women there.

  “I don’t want you walking around alone anymore. In fact, you’ll be with me from now on.” Once inside the penthouse, Peter locked the door while he gave his instructions.

  “What’s going on, Peter? You found something out, didn’t you?” She followed him into the kitchen where he pulled out two glasses and opened a bottle of wine.

  “Let’s not get into it right now.” He gave her a firm stare. He knew something, all right, but he wasn’t divulging it.

  “You said I’d be making my own choices. How can I do that when you hold things back?”

  He put the wine bottle down and captured her face between his palms.

  “I don’t know anything for certain. I have people looking into it, and once I know for sure, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “You swear it?”

  “On my mother and father’s grave,” he vowed.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “As soon as you know.”

  He nodded, dropping a kiss to her lips before going back to pouring the wine. “Did they say anything else?”

  “No, you came up before they could.” She took the glass of red wine he offered her.

  Peter leaned forward on the counter, pressing his hands flat onto the countertop. His mind seemed to be working in overdrive. The silence unsettled her.

  “You think my mother’s involved,” she said gently. Not accusing him. How could she? At this point, she was fairly certain the things she didn’t know about her mother greatly outweighed those she did. And how could she trust someone she knew so little about?

  “I think she’s involved. I don’t know how deeply. She’s worked with my uncle in the past, and other heads of family who dealt with—” He brought his gaze to hers. “Things a daughter shouldn’t know, until it’s confirmed.”

  “Because once I know —or suspect—it will change my view of my mother?” She put the glass of wine down. She didn’t need the subtlety of the wine, she needed something much harder.

  “My mother worked in the Annex.” Peter turned around and leaned back. His hands fisted on the edge of the countertop, his eyes focused intently on her.

  “I didn’t know that.” She didn’t know anything about his family. Too caught up in her own drama, she’d never bothered to find out.

  “My uncle, Samuel Titon, bought her at an auction in Naples. Her own father had sold her to the American asshole for a tidy profit.”

  Azalea hid her horrified reaction and remained silent. He seemed to need to get this out, and she wouldn’t stop him. Not when he opened up to her.

  “She worked in the Annex. My uncle whored her out to his friends, and anyone with deep-enough pockets to fork over his price. She had no choice, nowhere to go. Hell, she barely understood English for the first few years. My father was away at school, getting his degree.”

  Peter shifted his feet. “See, since he was the second son, he stood to inherit nothing. That’s how the Titon family works. So, he went and got a degree—figuring he’d help the family business with his financial expertise. He met my mother when he came home.”

  Azalea eased closer to him, her hand inches away from his fist.

  “My uncle sold my mother to my father. He made a nice profit, and it took my father nearly five years of working for Samuel before he paid him off.”

  “Your father bought your mother?” She couldn’t understand these workings. Why would anyone think they could buy or sell another person?

  “He did. And he gave her the option to leave, the moment she was released from the Annex. My father had been seeing her—well, as much as he could, given their roles in the house. Instead of taking her
freedom and leaving, she married him, and although she despised my uncle, she remained. She stopped working in the Annex, though.”

  “If your father was half as possessive as you are, I don’t think she could have even if she wanted to.” Azalea slid her hand on top of his, feeling and needing the connection their touch gave her.

  The corner of his lip kicked up in something that resembled a smile.

  “When I was a kid, I thought my uncle was perfect. He had so much power. Grown men bent to his will. He was so fucking god-like. I didn’t understand my mother’s feelings toward him. She never outright disrespected him, but she always seemed so unhappy when he was around. Ash didn’t know much about his father, either. He spent most of his time with his mother. But when I learned what actually went on in the Annex, and how my parents met…” His jaw clenched.

  “It wasn’t something I could un-know. The great man I thought my uncle was crumbled like a five-day-old cookie, and I couldn’t put the pieces back together again. I didn’t understand why my father would keep working for him, or why my mother didn’t want me to quit, either. By then I was already running collections with my dad.”

  “You didn’t have many choices growing up, either.” Azalea stepped in front of him, resting her hands on his hips. “I get it. You don’t want me to know anything I can’t un-know unless it’s completely necessary. You’re still trying to protect me, even though in a few days, I could be gone. I could be back with my mother, in my own bed.”

  She noticed the tic in his jaw. “No, you can’t tell me I still can’t talk about it. The time is coming.”

  “I don’t feel right about her. From what I’ve been finding out—there’s something wrong here.” He framed her face, his thumbs running along her jaw.

  “And like my mother, you want to protect me from everything. But you can’t.” She moved up to her toes, pressing her lips against his. “I always seem to wiggle out anyway.” She grinned against his mouth.

  His hands moved from her face and cupped her ass, clutching her flesh hard. “That’s not exactly an endearing quality, Azalea. Staying put is being obedient, and your obedience makes my cock hard.”

  Peter pulled her against him, letting her feel the hard length of his cock pressing against his slacks.

  Everything in the world was topsy-turvy at the moment. She didn’t truly know her mother, and she barely knew Peter. But she’d never once felt as safe in her own home as she did when Peter looked at her.

  He’d never let anything happen to her. And whatever that meant, in whatever form his protection came—love or responsibility—she craved it.

  Sliding her hands down his chest, she reached for his belt buckle, quickly undoing it while she stared into his eyes. The cocky smile she’d seen too many times to count appeared.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Whatever I want. Feel free to punish me later.” She winked and yanked down his zipper. She felt his cock, hot and unyielding, against her fingers. Wrapping them around his length, she drew it out of his pants and kept her eyes on his while she sank to the floor.

  “Azalea,” he protested, but she pushed his protest away.

  “Add that to my list of bad deeds.” Once she was on her knees, his cock level with her mouth, she flicked her tongue over the head. Testing the taste and texture—immediately wanting more of both.

  “No.” His hand wound into her hair, pulling her back painfully until she was looking back up at him. “You don’t just take, pretty girl. You beg.” The control, the raw power of him shone down at her. She’d tried to snatch the power for a fleeting second, to give him what she thought he needed. But what he needed, what made him whole, was being the one holding her hair. Being the strength that kept the power ebbing and flowing between them. She’d get to suck his cock, but it would be on his terms.

  And it struck her, staring up at him with a shocked smile paused on her lips, her body melted in his hands when he took the reins.

  “Peter.” She swallowed.

  He chuckled, that low tsk tsk sort of laugh he had. “That’s not how a pretty girl begs.” He tapped her cheek. Replacing her hand with his own, he fisted his shaft and brought the head of his cock right to her lips. “Beg me to fuck your face.”

  Oh fuck. Yes, that sounded much better than what she had planned.

  “Peter, please, use me—fuck my mouth.” What she thought would humiliate—empowered. She parted her lips and slid her tongue out, willing him to do what he wanted. Because she was his to do as he wished.

  “Oh, pretty girl.” He pushed forward, the silky-smooth head ran over her tongue, and, when it hit the back of her throat, she did her best to swallow. When she sputtered, he retreated a bit, but only for a split second before driving right back into her.

  She hummed as he gripped her head and thrust into her mouth. He growled, and she made a silent note to thank Aubree for the tip.

  The harder he fucked her throat, the easier it became to give over to his power.

  “Fuck.” He yanked free, jerking her head back again to look down at her. A string of saliva kept her lips and his cock connected. “I need to be inside you.” He gave a curt nod and reached down. Hooking her under her arms, he hauled her to her feet.

  “Peter. Oh.”

  He yanked her head to the side, sinking his teeth into her neck and making her all the more pliable.

  He cupped her ass, picked her up, and put her on the counter. “You’d better not be wearing any fucking panties.” He was back to using that angry rumble, the one that made her pussy slick for him.

  “You never gave me any,” she answered. Asking Aubree for pants or to grab some mascara from the store was one thing, asking for panties was something entirely different.

  “And I never will.” His vow held the weight of promised time, time she wasn’t sure they would have.

  He pulled down on her neckline and groaned when it wouldn’t budge. “This fucking thing.” With two hands he shredded it from her chest. Finally bare to him, he captured one nipple in his mouth. Sucking hard and licking the already-peaked nub, he was a man starved.

  “Peter!” She grabbed his shoulders when he yanked the skirt and pulled her to the edge of the counter.

  “Hold on, pretty girl.” He slid her off the counter and impaled her with one quick thrust. In the space of a breath, she was filled with his thick length. Every inch of it. Filling and stretching. Her mind reeled.

  He thrust upward, into her while holding her. “Fuck. Fuck,” he chanted.

  “Oh god,” she cried out, kissing his neck, biting down on his ear.

  “Not yet. Don’t you fucking unravel yet,” he demanded, walking them to the wall and pressing her against it.

  He let her lower one foot to the floor but held the other thigh up, hooked around his now-naked hip. Cupping her chin with a free hand, he drew her gaze to his.

  “Now, come. Fucking explode on my cock,” he demanded, thrusting into her, grinding against her clit. Just the tone of his voice had her at the edge.

  “Oh—fuck, yes, fuck—”

  His dark eyes locked with hers. Her back rubbed against the wall with each push of his cock into her, filling her so sweetly. He fucked her harder, giving her a bite with his thrust, spiraling her mind.

  “Now, Azalea, now, pretty girl.” He moved his hand from her jaw to her throat. Pinning her there, just enough pressure for her to feel him, to know the power he held. Too much of a squeeze and it would be bad, but the right amount—like he applied—stole her breath—focused her mind on the hard fucking he was giving her.

  She couldn’t get enough air to speak.

  “There’s my girl—you like this—oh fuck.” He slipped in his own control, but quickly brought his attention back to her. “Be my good girl, my pretty girl. Come for me, Azalea, come hard.

  His fingers pressed into her throat a hair more, and it was all her body needed. He eased up as she screamed out with the waves coursing through her body. A he
ated tingling ran over her skin and her mind blanked. The only cognitive thought being focused on the hard pounding of her orgasm shattering her.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He released the pressure, but kept his hand on her throat while he thrust up at her—finding his own release.

  Another hard push and then he stilled, his hot breath running over her face, his forehead pressed against her, and his fingers lightly petting her throat.

  “Pretty girl,” he whispered. “Such a good girl.”

  Slowly, he put her back on both feet, his cock sliding out and soiling her dress in the process. She couldn’t care less. His cum seeping out of her, dripping on her thigh, only cemented his ownership.

  “Let me see.” He cupped her chin and pushed it up, examining her throat.

  “I’m fine, Peter. You wouldn’t hurt me.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist.

  His gaze fluttered to hers. “No, I wouldn’t. But I want to make sure you aren’t bruised. Your skin is too fucking fair.” Seeming satisfied he hadn’t marked her, he pulled up his pants, zipping and buttoning, but leaving the belt hanging open at his waist. His untucked shirt gave him a disheveled look she wasn’t used to seeing on him.

  “You did ruin the dress, though.” She toyed with the frayed edges of the bodice.

  He cast her a quick glance. “We’ll stay here tonight.” He snagged the glass of wine from the counter and downed it in two gulps. After pressing a quick kiss to her lips, he headed out of the kitchen.

  She held the dress together in her fist, staring at the empty room.

  Had she done something wrong?

  Chapter 20

  Peter pulled his car through the gates toward the garage. He wouldn’t be leaving the estate until Azalea’s mother had been dealt with.

  Azalea sat beside him, hands locked between her knees. Thankfully, he’d had some clothing sent over to his penthouse, otherwise she’d be wearing that torn dress.

  After telling her about his mother, how his parents became a couple, he’d felt splayed open. On display. And she’d been perfect.

  She’d touched him, softly drew him back to the present. When she’d sunk to her knees before him and pulled out his cock, something clicked into place. She was exactly where she wanted to be, and right where he needed her.