Ravage

by Tillie Cole

  The female completely stilled. Rubbing my chest against her tits, I eventually moved back and held out my hand. She looked down at my hand and shook her head in resistance. Stepping closer still, my heavily muscled legs pushed between hers. She fought to refuse my entrance, but combating her strength was like swatting a fly—she was nothing to me.

  I moved forward. As my thigh pushed against her heat, her back lowered toward the bed. Planting my hands on either side of her body, I crawled over where she lay, my chest scraping against her own. Her flat stomach met mine. Her breathing became erratic. I pressed my body down, watching a deep flush coat her skin. A timid cry slipped from her lips, the sound of her discomfort stimulating my muscles to burn in victory. She may have been strong in the face of pain, but me, like this? Close and touching her body? She was helpless and unable to quell her fear.

  Pushing my hands higher until my top half completely covered hers. I placed my cheek against her cheek and dragged my mouth to her ear, her hands lifting to grab at my sides in response. She pushed hard against my chest. My cock filled with blood as she tried to fight me back. I laughed low and deep into her ear, pressing down harder until she couldn’t move beneath me. As my mouth hovered beside her ear, I flicked out my tongue and, with painstaking slowness, licked along the outside shell of her ear.

  Her skin burned against mine, and with one last lap of her earlobe I growled, “In this chamber, you’re mine. What I want you do, your body I own, until you tell me what I want to know.”

  She inhaled a shaky breath. Turning her head until her mouth was at my ear, she whimpered, “No. I beg you…”

  She’d barely made a sound, but excitement raced through my veins as that plea filled the quiet room.

  “You beg me what?” I probed.

  Turning my head, I watched as her eyes squeezed shut and she simply repeated, “I beg you … no.” Her face contorted.

  The ache built back in my chest and swelled to take root in my stomach when her hand suddenly ran down my chest. Slowly. Softly. My breathing paused as I searched her eyes wondering why. But I couldn’t read her. Couldn’t read her as tears filled her eyes and her finger ran just underneath my collar. The collar that now had her attention.

  I frowned as that unknown feeling almost had me jumping back off the table. She was touching me softly. Me, the Mistress’s ugly beast. Me, the Russian bringer of death. It was impossible; Mistress made this face to keep all females but her away, so she would own me completely. But that fucking ache wouldn’t go at the thought that the little Georgian wasn’t seeing the scars. She was somehow seeing the forgotten me living underneath the beast’s scars.

  No! I snapped at myself. You’re wrong. You’ve hurt her. She only sees you as you are—an evil killer. This isn’t real. This is only her fear taking hold. You’re her torturer.

  I gritted my teeth, pissed at my stupid thoughts, and pushed myself to keep going with the plan. Rearing my face back until it was hovering above hers, I asked, “Who is Zaal Kostava to you?”

  A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, but steeling her expression, she said, “I know no one by that name.”

  Her dark eyes pierced through me as I studied her pretty, delicate face. Nodding my head, I slid down her body, my lips dragging along her flesh. Stopping just before I met her pussy, I lifted off her body. I couldn’t help but lick my lips and plant my palms on her tiny waist, then run my hands along her silky skin.

  She was too fucking beautiful.

  Lifting my hands, I held one out to her and with a harsh glare silently commanded her to do as ordered. She lifted herself from the bed and, trembling, placed her tiny hand in mine. For a second I stared at the sight of her palm on my palm. Her thin fingers looked lost in my rough and calloused hand; the feel of a warm hand shot a slice of pain through my stomach.

  Her hand flinched, bringing me back to my plan. Wrapping my fingers around hers, I pulled her from the bed and guided her to the wall.

  Turning round, I placed my hands on her shoulders and guided her back against the wall. Her face wore a nervous expression as I ordered, “Do not move!” The female stood against the wall, her small frame looking lost against the matte black background. Moving to a chest in the corner of the room, I opened the top and pulled out the leather padded cuffs. Carrying them back to where she waited, I bent down. Taking the ankle cuffs, I gently wrapped one around each ankle. Standing up, I took the wrist cuffs and did exactly the same with her wrists.

  Gathering both of her wrists in one of my hands, I guided them above her head, and with my free hand I ran my finger slowly down her waist, leaning in to ask, “Do they hurt, kotyonok?”

  At that name—kitten—slipping from my lips, she winced, but when I tilted my head to the side, waiting for her answer, she shook her head.

  I caught her briefly staring intently at my identity number on my chest. When she realized I was watching her, she tore her gaze away. I frowned but kept going.

  152 needed me to keep going.

  Placing my finger and thumb on her chin, I bent my legs until my gaze poured into hers and instructed, “You answer me from now on, kotyonok.”

  The little Georgian nodded her head obediently. My eyes narrowed in confusion at her sudden compliance. When I let my confusion show in my expression, she nodded and answered, “Yes. I’ll answer you.”

  Shock rushed through me. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly agreeing to my commands when she had resisted my every move up until now. I also couldn’t work out the look on her face. The sadness etched in her features. Like she was suddenly seeing me differently. Like something had made her see me as someone new.

  She watched me, waiting for my response. I pushed away my inner thoughts and pressed my forehead against hers. “Good little Georgian kotyonok.”

  She inhaled a long breath and closed her eyes. Stepping back, I reached up and snapped the cuff’s hook into the chains hanging from above. Her arms hung in the air, her firm tits pushing out from her arched chest.

  I repeated the action with the ankle shackles, then moved to the pulley farther along the wall. I held the lever until her arms and legs were pulled tight. A small surprised cry left her lips as her body spread against the wall.

  Locking the pulley in place, I walked slowly back in front of her and, making sure her eyes were on me, hooked my hands in the sides of my sweatpants. I inched them down my hips, all the time scorching her with my glare. Her eyelids fluttered and her hands balled into fists above the tight cuffs.

  My cock twitched under that unknown attentive stare. Muscles tensing, I lowered the sweatpants to the floor and kicked them away.

  Straightening up, I met her stare again and rolled my neck. I could feel the tip of my cock hitting my lower torso. More important, I could see the red flush covering the female’s body. As I edged closer, her breathing became erratic. Running my hand through my hair, purposely flexing my broad chest, I landed right in front of her.

  Her mouth was parted as I stared. Her arms pulled on the chains, and her legs shook. Reaching up, I tugged on a chain and, with my face just inches from hers, whispered, “You’re trapped, kotyonok. You’re all mine.” A small breath of air fell from her lips.

  Pushing my torso against hers, the hard bullets of her nipples scraping across my chest. I brushed her long hair from her face and asked, “Have you ever been touched?” She shook under my hand, and I added, “Have you ever been touched by a male?”

  Nothing was forthcoming, so I dropped my hand until it landed in her nipple, where I rolled it between my finger and thumb. She cried out, her voice breaking with the shock. Releasing the nipple, I softly massaged her tit. As I slipped my thigh in between her legs, my cock pulsed when she gasped.

  “Kotyonok, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

  She wordlessly nodded. I pushed my thigh forward, brushing the hard muscle up against her clit. The Georgian cried out, her back arching off the wall. I momentarily gritted my t
eeth at the feel of her on my thigh. It felt so different from Mistress. It felt good.

  “I said, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

  I lifted my thigh, building pressure on her clit, when she cried out, “Yes! I remember.” She breathed hard and fought to look me in the eyes, “I remember,” she affirmed.

  Withdrawing my thigh, I palmed her tit in my hand, and said, “Then tell me, my kotyonok, who is Zaal Kostava to you?”

  Her body stilled and her face blanked. “Nothing. That name means nothing to me.”

  My hand froze as yet another lie came from her lips, yet my nostrils flared.

  Flared because I knew the little Georgian’s body was now mine.

  8

  ZOYA

  It’s to help him, I told myself. I was letting him. I was submitting to him to help him.

  It was clear to me now that something or someone was driving him to do this to me. Just like my brothers had had someone controlling them. As he fed me, as he brought me down from the ropes, I saw the regret in his eyes. I saw a brief flash of tenderness in his gaze.

  And all I could think of was my brothers. How I hadn’t been able to save them. How they may have been forced to do something like this man was being forced with me. And because of that, something inside of me called me to save him.

  Save him like I couldn’t save my brothers.

  The tattoo on his chest kept pulling my attention. It was numerical, like an ID. That, with the collar, made my veins fill with ice. I didn’t know what was happening, who he was, who he worked for, but I knew it couldn’t be good.

  And I couldn’t help but wonder why he was so scarred. The slices across his face and head were clearly made from knives, like he had been savagely attacked. But who could have done it? And why? Those scars took away any typical attractiveness, but his eyes … his blue eyes were so striking, so expressive. And I, unbeknownst to him, when I looked closely enough, could see every emotion he felt in those eyes.

  Including the nervous bewilderment he had obviously felt when I had placed my hand on his massive chest. The flare in his eyes of the unknown, and, sadder still, the flash of fear in their depths. This man, this torturer, had felt fear at my simple touch. I knew in an instant that he had never been touched softly, affectionately, before. It filled me with such sadness that my throat closed with emotion.

  Zaal and Anri had probably been the same, too.

  So, foolishly or not, I had resolved to let him do what he must. I planned to wait for a moment to ask him questions, find out who had sent him and why. But I hadn’t expected this new development. I had been prepared for more pain, more sadistic torture. But not this. I wasn’t skilled in seduction, completely unprepared for sexual acts.

  The man pushed forward again, and with one glimpse into his eyes I saw the vulnerability from before staring back at me. I realized quickly that although this was coming from a place of torture, a quest for answers, I could see in his eyes that he was seeking what I had given him before—a small amount of acceptance.

  Of affection.

  I realized the torturer had a weakness after all—a need for someone to see the him trapped underneath the monster on the outside. And yearning to be touched.

  I knew I had to be that person for him. I had to try. Something inside me made me need to try.

  His hand on my breast moved again, and I shifted under his touch.

  He repeated the action, the pad of his thumb slipping over my raised nipple. I closed my eyes, trying to break the hold of his intense crystal gaze. And I closed my eyes in confusion when a jolt of heat darted between my legs.

  I held back a cry at this unfamiliar sensation, held back a whimper as his hot breath washed over my face. As I fluttered my eyes back open, the man’s beautifully scarred face was the only thing I could see. He was so close that I couldn’t escape his attention—his light eyes, his fair skin, jet-black shaven hair, and angular face. But his lips? My eyes could not resist slipping back to stare at those lips. They were full and thick, despite the small upper scar, yet looked so soft to the touch. I idly wondered, Whoever sent this man to kill my brother chose him well. Not only because of his effectiveness in torture, but also for his terrifying looks, which were somehow, to me, both savage and divine.

  The man’s body displayed no trace of fat. As he pulled the sweatpants from his body, my face blazed at the sight of this naked man. I had no reference, no sexual experience with men, not even platonic.

  He had kidnapped me.

  He had hurt me

  He had tortured me.

  But now I was seeing another side of him. The one who called me kitten in his native Russian and now raked back my hair, whose eyes flared and mouth hissed when he stroked his rough hand—intimately—over my naked skin.

  My mind was a mixture of confusion. I was constantly on edge, wondering if the next touch would bring me pain or would whatever was in the man’s collar change him back into the bringer of torture and pain? Yet under his current ministrations, a strange sense of safety had washed through me. I was more convinced than not that he wouldn’t hurt me.

  I didn’t understand any of it.

  He moved in, lifting his hands to brush back hair from my face. I felt so small as his large frame towered over me. It seemed to consume me.

  One hand drifted down to hold on to my jaw. He twisted my head, until my neck and cheek were open to his attentions. He inched in, his lips ghosting along my cheek, but not kissing the skin, just brushing all along the side of my face. His breath tickled my ear. Hot shivers bolted down my spine.

  Wordlessly, the man’s lips moved down to my neck and followed the same path as his tongue had previously made. A low rumble sounded from his chest. In my hair his hand was still. He inhaled a long breath. “You smell so sweet, kotyonok.” My legs weakened as his hoarse voice rasped in my ear. His hand released my face, and as he turned his hand the backs of his fingers began running down the side of my neck, slowly and featherlight. Goose bumps emerged in their wake. When his hand landed just above my breast, my breathing paused. I waited for his next touch with bated breath.

  Suddenly, hearing him releasing a frustrated strained groan, I felt a press of warmth against my neck. I was shocked to stillness wondering what he was doing. Then his mouth moved down my throat just a fraction and the feeling of warmth hit me again. Realization hit hard—he was kissing my neck.

  In this moment I was glad my arms and legs were restrained. With his touch, this man’s whispered gentle touch, I feared I would have fallen to the floor.

  I had never been kissed.

  I had never felt a man press his lips against mine. I had never felt this before, soft strong lips caressing the skin on my neck. Part of me didn’t want it. I wanted to push him off my body, punish him for taking away a first that I’d dreamed of having with a man I loved. But at the same time I strangely didn’t want him to stop. This feeling, this strange feeling for the savage but mysterious man, was engulfing me.

  My back arched as his lips continued to caress my neck. The feeling intensified when the hand on my chest cupped my breast.

  Against my will, a moan slipped from my throat and my eyes rolled at the forbidden feel of his hot mouth on my skin. “Mmm,” he murmured as his teeth scraped slowly to the edge of my shoulder. “So sweet.”

  An ache hit me between my legs. I tried to push the feeling away. But as I glanced down and saw his glittering blue eyes looking back up at me, the tip of his tongue laving my skin, my heart pounded and the ache built higher still.

  He traveled farther down my body, until his knees hit the floor and his mouth was level with my breasts.

  Both of his hands fell to grip the sides of my waist. His chin flicked up so his face was angled toward mine. His thumbs stroked along my lips, slowly, teasing. I held my breath; then he parted his mouth and asked, “What is your name, kotyonok?”

  Exhaling deep, I whispered, “Elene.”

  He froze, his thumbs s
tilling on my ribs. His head tipped to the side, and without taking his eyes off mine he moved his mouth forward until he stopped just a fraction from the tip of my nipple. My body tensed when he licked his lips and, leaning the final inch forward, his tongue flicked against my hard flesh. I cried out at the sensation, my fingers wrapping around the chain suspending my arms.

  The monster hummed as he swallowed down my taste. His eyes closed, and when they opened again they were alight with hunger.

  Shuffling closer, I almost whimpered seeing his naked length hard and aroused. And he was huge. I had nothing to compare it to, but I instinctively knew he was larger than most. The intense ache between my legs vied with intense trepidation. Would he take me?

  My pulse raced with fear at the thought, but all those thoughts dissipated as his tongue once again licked at my nipple. Only this time it was not a flick; the flat of his wet tongue laved over me. He licked and licked until I feared my chains would snap under the strain of my fisting hands. My skin was on fire. It flushed. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine.

  His hand moved to palm my flesh, and with a soft growl his mouth swallowed the flesh of my breast, before sucking it back, his teeth rolling the nipple in its grip.

  My head snapped back, and I emitted a muffled cry. My legs strained and pulled at my ankle shackles. It felt too good, my body bending at the heat of pleasure coursing through my veins.

  Glancing down, my eyes widened as he watched me. But that was not what had me entranced; that honor belonged to his free hand, which palmed his length. His gaze held mine captive as his hand roughly, but slowly, stroked up and down the flesh of his hard shaft.

  Knowing he had my breathless attention, the monster moved in again. He repeated the action—sucking, licking, and palming my breast until I fought to gain my breath, fought to maintain composure.

  Pressure began building between my legs. I fought to close my thighs, to relieve the ache, the pleasurable pain throbbing in my core, but the shackles held tight.