CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SERAPHINA
I must have been asleep when the door to my room opened, and I must have been lost to the world around me when someone walked across the room towards my bed.
Caught unaware, I woke to a hood being pulled over my head. It wasn't so tight that it stuck to my skin, but still, it cut off my senses, blinding me and preventing me from knowing whose weight was pressed down on the mattress beside me. Flipped so that my stomach was pressed to the bed, he gripped my arms and placed them above my head, used his knee to force my legs apart, not giving me a second to breath before his hand explored between my legs, his finger slipping in and out of my body, priming me until I felt myself becoming wet with need.
Instinct told me to fight against this intrusion, to bellow and rage because I only wanted one man inside me, only wanted one Master wielding my chains.
But, Anthony's order that I submit to Aiden - that I give in to whatever demands were made of me - superseded that instinct, and my body relaxed against the acts being committed against me now. My will was stolen by the promise of light, and I found myself moaning in response to the rhythm of the finger pushing inside.
One hand closed over my wrists, the grip painfully tight as my arms were pinned to the bed above my head. Forcing myself to remain still as this man explored my body, as he pumped his hand until nature took over and I was writhing beneath his touch, I imagined it was Anthony above me. As soon as his face floated through my thoughts, as soon as I imagined it would be his voice commanding me what to do, I pushed down with my hips, begging for something stronger, something harder and thicker inside me.
His hand squeezed my wrists until I thought the bones would snap, but he didn't speak, didn't vocalize his discontent with the way I begged for more with my body. Instantly reprimanded by the shock of pain shooting down my arms, I stilled my hips, my teeth scraping over my lip as I bit down to keep myself from crying out.
Sliding a second finger inside me, he stretched my skin until the pain washed in to mix with the pleasure. His hand pounding, he didn't care if he was hurting me, he was just taking me how he wanted me.
And I let him.
A fingernail scraped the inner muscle and I couldn't help the cry that tore from my lips. Releasing my wrists, he dragged his hand down my arm, over my shoulder and up the line of my neck until he'd reached beneath the hood and fisted his fingers in my hair. One, hard yank and my torso was pulled up, my spine bending backwards until I feared it would snap...and still his other hand pounded between my legs, the sensation causing me to cry out again.
Pulling his hand free, he slapped the cheek of my ass, fire spreading over my skin from the force of that slap, and then he was inside me again, taking what was his.
Tears burst from my eyes, but I clenched them tight, imagined Anthony's voice soothing me with dirty whispers, his hands exploring my curves with possessive intent.
Yanked harder, I felt individual hairs snap from my scalp, my body being forced back impossibly more. I couldn't help the painful sound that escaped my lips.
He slapped my ass again. Harder. Before shoving it between my legs and using four fingers to invade me.
It was obvious he wanted me quiet, wanted me to hold whatever pain, pleasure, fear or desire I had inside me. It confused me, though. Most men wanted to hear the terror they caused. They fed on a woman's screams like they were the most satisfying morsel, the most delectable bites of some fine, exotic food few other men had ever tasted.
But not this man - this time - this experience.
I couldn't help the small sound that escaped me again, and when I went to bite down on my lip to silence the moans escaping the back of my throat, he released my hair, ripped his hand free of the hood and wrapped his fingers over the front of my face before my torso had the chance to move forward.
Strong fingers squeezed my jaw until it popped open, and he shoved the front of the hood into my mouth, packing it in until I feared I would choke on it. Now tight against my nose, the fabric of the hood made it difficult to breath, but rather than fighting, rather than panicking, I forced myself to find my center, to breath evenly as his other hand continued to fuck my body.
I bit down on the bunched fabric of the hood instead, and realized that while it was used to silence me, he may have intended for it to keep me from injuring my lip or tongue with my teeth while struggling to remain quiet.
All I could hear was the wet slap of his fingers between my legs, the springs of the mattress as he moved and pumped his hand. But then he groaned, a barbaric, feral sort of sound that had my muscles clenching over his fingers, the pleasure in my body igniting into a fire from the sparks.
It felt wrong not knowing who was behind me, not knowing whose hand was violating me in every way that mattered. It could have been Aiden, or Anthony, or another man given permission to come inside this room and take what he deemed was his. It wouldn't be the first time I was passed around like a party favor or a participation trophy, but I hoped after I endured the chains that Aiden kept locked to my body, it would be the last.
There was only one man I wanted owning me as thoroughly as I was being owned now, and it was his face I saw, his scent I wanted to smell, and his voice whispering to me that I was his dirty, broken whore. Most women would take offense to the name, but not me, not if it meant I belonged to a man that, while dominant, could also be kind. A man who wanted to take care of his toys rather than leave them outside in the rain to rot away beneath layers of mud, mold and decay.
Pulling his hand free, he splayed his fingers over the small of my back, pushing down until my legs split over the bed, my knees bent outward and the muscles and tendons on the inside of my thighs threatened to shred beneath the pressure. The burn of that tension ran up until I moaned against the hood shoved in my mouth, and when the noise escaped the cloth gag he'd fashioned, he released my jaw and used the same hand to force my torso down to the mattress, my face pressed flat against the thin pillow.
I was spread out and struggling to breath, but still, I refused to panic, I refused to give into my fear and strike out. I refused to break the promise I'd made to Anthony to submit completely while in Aiden's house.
No matter who it was staking their claim on my body, my submission was to one man only, one man who'd promised me salvation if I gave him the time to free me of the binds that tied me to the Hell I was living.
The blood rushing through my head was rolling thunder, the beat of my heart a pounding drum. Through it all I couldn't hear what he did behind me after pulling his hand away. Another sense taken, making touch and taste the only two I had left. Amplified by the lack of the others, I could taste the fabric shoved in my mouth and could feel the burn along my inner legs as I held the position he'd demanded of me.
Movement over the bed caused the mattress to shift beneath me, but still I held on, my heart picking up speed while I waited for his hand to return to my sex, for his fingers to massage the inside until I came.
His hand didn't return between my legs, it gripped my right hip instead. And when his other hand released the back of my head, allowing me to breath easier, he dragged it down my back and gripped the left hip.
With one forceful move, he pulled me up until I was on my knees, and then it was the head of his cock pressed against my swollen, wet entrance. Demanding. Possessive. Dirty and dominant. His cock was all of those things as he pushed himself inside, his girth stretching me until I wanted to scream, but I bit down of the fabric of the hood instead.
He wanted me to play the quiet mouse, and with thoughts of Anthony spinning in my head, I was willing to play whatever game he asked of me.
It wasn't another man taking my body if my mind told me it was the one I wanted most of all.
Pulling out until only the thick head held me open, he released my hip with one hand and slapped the side of my ass so hard every muscle in my body squeezed tight. That's when he forced himself back in, and I couldn't help the scream this time.
The mattress creaked beneath us, the old rusty springs screeching with each push and pull of his hips, a frantic, yet even rhythm that I could barely hear beneath the moans escaping my throat. My body twisted and turned inside, the chaos of an orgasm building until I wasn't sure I could contain it. And each time my muscles pulsated with the need to come, he slapped me again, forcing me tight.
I chased that orgasm each time he pushed it away, and had damn near caught it when he ran his fingernails down the line of my spine. Fire burned down my back, the pain exquisite and real, hypnotic and daunting. I thought he would do it again when I bucked against him begging for more, but instead he reached up to wrap his fingers over my throat, squeezing as he lifted my torso from the bed.
In the past when a man cut off my airway, I fought like my life was on the line. Most of the time, I didn't know the asshole ramming into me, and I didn't trust he wasn't into the idea of killing a woman while he jacked himself inside her. It didn't help that the bodies of the other women killed littered the cramped pit where they kept me. I was punished each and every time I ran my fingernails down their faces, and I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from doing it again this time.
The pressure wasn't so bad that I was open-mouthed and gasping. It was just enough to force my brain into an altered state as he drove my body wild with the force of his cock. I'm not sure if it was the lack of oxygen in my lungs or the lack of blood rushing to my head, but within seconds I felt like I was floating.
My muscles tightened again and I could feel them pulsing over him. His hand gripped tighter until I couldn't take a breath, but when he let me go, he pulled the gag from my mouth to allow me to swallow the air around me.
I was spiraling, it seemed. My mouth opened wide on a silent scream as my pulse pounded with each crashing wave of pleasure and sensation that was a tsunami inside me.
It was overwhelming in its intensity, utterly frightening because I'd never felt that insane before. But even as my body calmed down and I was left with simple tremors, I couldn't quite grasp onto actual thought. Everything was swimming within my head until I snapped back to the moment to find he was still working his length inside me, not quite satisfied because he wasn't done.
My upper torso collapsed against the bed, but I was only allowed to remain that way for a minute at most. Before I realized what was happening, he'd pulled out of me, crawled off the bed and was jerking me up into a seated position on the side.
Lifting the hood just enough, he hooked his thumb into my mouth, dragging my jaw down by gripping my bottom teeth. The head of his dick pressed at my lips and I took him inside like the obedient bitch that I was.
The taste of my orgasm was on him, the musky smell pulling at me together with the satin smooth skin that was taut over the long vein that ran the length of his shaft. My tongue followed that vein and I opened wide to keep my teeth from scraping. When he hit my throat, I nearly choked, but I suckled it regardless. His hand wrapped over my head holding me still as he pumped his hips to fuck my face. This wasn't sweet or kind in any way, but it was Anthony's face I saw in my thoughts, his voice I heard in my imagination.
Just lying to myself that this was him made me want the rough treatment.
Forcing myself not to cough and sputter, I licked him clean as he fucked my mouth, but he growled out with frustration, eventually pulling free of my lips to press his hands to my shoulders and push my back against the bed.
His hands gripped beneath my legs, lifting my hips from the mattress before wrapping my calves around his back. Once I was secured, he tucked his palms beneath my ass cheeks and buried himself inside me so deep I was barely able to take him in. My chest arched up, my breasts hungry for touch, as he moved inside me like a man gone mad.
Every inch of him was sexual fury. There were no regrets, no apologies and no concern that he was taking something that wasn't his.
And I let him. Like a pleasure crazed whore, I laid back and enjoyed the ride, my fantasies overtaking reality, Anthony's promise of freedom tackling my shame to the ground before pummeling it with angry fists.
With the hood covering my face, I was trapped in deep shadow. He bent over me while still driving himself deep, latching his teeth onto the tight peak of my breast, stealing my ability to breath.
Another orgasm lazily uncurled its wings inside me, growing in strength and size until it consumed me within its fiery breath, the inferno blasting as he slipped a solitary fingertip inside my ass. I came apart beneath him, biting my lip to hold in the scream of pleasure while he thrust himself deeper inside to release his own climax.
Once finished, he stayed inside me, his cock growing soft until he decided it was time to pull away. My body dropped to the bed, my lungs working furiously to drag in air while my heart threatened to rip clean from my chest.
I didn't dare move or attempt to pull the hood off my head. Instead I listened as he zipped up his pants and walked away.
I was relieved and sad at the same time, but when those footsteps stopped, when the thud of boots turned back and advanced on me with such speed that I braced myself in response, genuine fear took hold.
Blinded by the hood, and still naked as the day I was born, I had no weapons or defenses against the violence I feared was moving in my direction.
But the violence never came - at least not in the form of fists or blows, just the possessive hand of a man gripping my cheeks from over the hood I wore.
His grip softened just a touch, the searing pain of my inner cheeks against my teeth lessening as his thumb swept over my lips so delicately it brought tears to my eyes. Only one man had touched me like that.
Anthony...
He released me then, his booted steps a slow drumbeat as he walked away. I heard the door open and close, the creaking of hinges not enough to chase away the thought screaming in my head.
Lying motionless in a dark room on a dirty ragged mattress, I didn't care that my body was sore and that the smell of sweat was suffocating me.
All that I could grasp at that moment was the fleeting chance - the desperate hope - that it had been Anthony in my bed.