Riley: Ecstasy
“Riley, don’t disobey me again.”
I know I should be obedient. I know I should blend in. But I can't help myself. It feels like the night at the ball and the morning's confrontation have set something free in me. And I just have too much pent-up frustration.
“Or what? You’ll lock me up and deny me more somehow?”
“I could punish you in ways you haven’t even dreamed of yet.”
“Fine. I guess you’ll do what you have to do.”
“And what do you think that is?”
“I don’t know—lock me up even more, spank me, deny me…something…”
“I never said anything about more spanking,” he says.
Words catch in my mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t know. You asked. It just seems like the kind of…”
“What?”
“The kind of sick stuff you would be into, I guess.”
“Why do you think you don’t deserve what you want?”
“I don’t want you!”
“Answer the question.”
“I do think I deserve what I want.”
“No, you don’t. Something’s holding you back. Maybe someone told you a long time ago that you’re not worth anything and you were dumb enough to believe them—your mother, or your family, right?”
“No! And I do think I deserve things. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I want…I want plenty of things that I have: I want a nice house, and a stable life, and—”
“No, you don’t. You don’t give a fuck about any of that. Not really. I can see it in your eyes. I could see it in your eyes from the moment I found you. Everyone around you is so boring. The whole world is boring. They live their lives grabbing for their the next bloody dollar—fitting into their little world, never questioning, never wondering. But you have dreams behind your eyes. I can see them. You’re full of dreams, still. But every time you have a chance at one, you deny yourself. You think the world is extraordinary, but you think you don’t deserve it. I don’t know how you believe. I don’t. I can’t. But somehow you do. You…you’re extraordinary.”
He says it with the sweetness and honesty of a high schooler confessing his first love. And it hurts because for just a moment I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“Stop, Jack. Lock me up. Force me to humiliate myself. But stop fucking with me like this. What, do you think it’s funny? I’m…I’m fine with being normal, okay? I get that. I’m okay with that—not everyone gets to have an extraordinary life. I’m not like the girls you have. I’m not like you. What, do you think it’s funny to manipulate me? What step is this in your handbook—set me up then knock me down once I say I believe it? Is that how you’re amusing yourself this month?”
“Look at yourself in the mirror, Riley!”
I follow his hand and see, for a moment, a striking girl in a dark dress. Then I just see myself.
“Look at how I see you.”
You’re lying to yourself. He’s lying to you. You just want to believe the lies.
“Go to hell, Jack.”
“No one talks to me like that.”
“So punish me! You’ve taken everything from me! How could you ruin my life any more?”
“You keep asking to be punished. Do you want to be punished?”
He’s close to me now and I back up but I run into a wall.
“I don’t want you to do anything to me! I detest you! You kidnapped me!”
“You didn’t remember any of that last night. You didn’t remember any of that at the club last week.”
“That’s not fair! You—you manipulated me!”
“How did I manipulate you?”
“You keep me locked up. You use that terrible vibrator on me!”
“It doesn’t seem very terrible when you’re trying so desperately to press yourself against it in the night.”
“You watch me?”
“Of course I watch you. You’re fascinating.”
“Well…well, the vibrator…it’s just…I don’t have a choice. It’s just physical. I have to respond.”
“Was the dance just physical? Was the night just physical? I didn’t even touch you. You were wet before I even laid a finger on you.”
“That’s because I’m desperate! You’re forcing me to be desperate!”
I’m flushed from arguing with him, and my chest is heaving. He’s so close to me. I can feel his breath washing over my neck, my breasts. The dress doesn’t feel like it conceals anything.
“Then beg me for what you need, and you won’t have to be desperate anymore.”
I grind my teeth. My thighs are trembling. My body is throbbing. I fight to focus.
“Let me get one thing straight with you: I’ll never, ever beg you for anything—and I’ll especially never beg you to fuck me! You’re repulsive.”
I push myself off the wall and shove past him, heading for my room. And suddenly he has me. His iron arms wrap around me and I’m helpless. I’m so angry that I try to kick and struggle against him, and it's useless. He lifts me and in a moment we're in his room and he's thrown me onto his bed.
I can’t get my breath under control. I can’t think.
His hand is on my chest and he rips the front of my dress to shreds. He tears my bra along with it and my breasts spill free, naked for him. I try to roll away and he pins me down, one hand on my arm and another at my neck.
“You can’t. I’m not like this…I’m…”
And his mouth is at my throat, sucking on the delicate skin there. “What, you’re a good girl?” his voice growls in my ear, mocking me.
His hand moves from my arm to between my legs and he’s touching me there, firmly.
“You’re very, very wet for such a good girl, Riley.”
I’m throbbing and trembling in his hand.
He tears the rest of my dress away, pulls off my heels, and shreds my panties in one violent tug. They leave red marks behind on my pale skin. I lay helpless before him, naked and adorned with diamonds.
He moves his mouth down my body—sucking my breasts and my nipples; licking down my stomach; tonguing my belly button; and then down, lower, lower, slowly kissing his way down.
My back arches and my legs spread open for him. I try to speak, to think of some other reason to stop this, but I’m afraid if I open my mouth it’ll come out as a moan and nothing more.
His mouth wraps around the warm wetness between my legs and I let out a small, whimpering gasp. It sounds like begging, to me, and I feel pathetic, but I’m too aroused to care anymore. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. He sucks and licks up and down and across my swollen folds and it’s so intense that I can barely stand it.
I reach my hands down by instinct and he takes them and pins them to my stomach. My hips buck and I writhe but he holds me in place with his free arm, wrapping it around my waist. It feels good—so good—pressing and straining against him but going nowhere.
I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get release, but each time I near the edge he draws back. It’s like he knows just the pressure and places to go to keep me on edge forever.
And I break. I beg.
“Please!”
“Please what?”
He looks up into my eyes and it feels like an electric current crackling between us. I’ve never felt this way before with anyone in my entire life.
“Take me.”
His clothes fall away from his body. He's dashingly handsome when he's dressed—some New York actor or rock star when you're looking at him from a distance and can't see his eyes. But without them, he's something entirely different. He seems primordial and barbaric. His body ripples with raw muscle and sinew over every inch of him. His shoulders and chest are even broader than I realized. He's huge. Bull-like.
He’s covered in pale, jagged gashes and circular scars that I realize, with shock, must be bullet wounds. Across his upper right chest, shoulder, and onto his back runs a terrible burn.
“Riley?” he asks calmly, seeing my eyes on the scars. “Are you okay?”
“I…” my voice catches. “I just didn’t know.” They’d told me and hinted about it. But I couldn’t understand without this physical topography. I couldn’t understand the cost you had to pay to become what Jack is. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life than I want Jack in this moment.
My eyes drift lower. He’s right there between my spread thighs. We’re so close. His enormous cock is throbbing before me, iron hard. He’s so big. I’ve never been with someone so big. I can’t take it anymore.
“Take me,” I beg again.
And his warm, hard length presses into my wet pussy. He enters me slowly and steadily and it goes on and on. Just when I think I can’t take any more—that he’s going to somehow break me—he presses all the way in. He lies over me and there’s nothing between us. Our entire bodies are touching, skin against skin.
He gazes into my eyes and then he kisses me. I don’t resist. I give in to his lips. His tongue explores my mouth. He’s so strong, so steady, so sure in every movement.
Slowly he rolls his hips and tugs back out of me, then presses all the way back in. He fucks me like that for a long time, in and out, slowly and surely. I want to touch myself, but he keeps my hands pinned above my head. I wrap my legs around him, opening myself to him completely, hugging him close. He touches me himself. He presses his hand there, to my most tender place, and rubs me with slow, steady strokes in just the right way.
Our bodies are both covered in sweat. His skin slides slickly against mine. His hard muscles press against my soft curves. I can’t stop trembling and gasping. It all feels so good.
My mind screams that this is wrong. But I think of Jack. Beautiful, scarred Jack. I think of his books, of how surely he holds me, of his eyes on me while I dance. I think of him shielding me in the alley.
And I just can’t remember the reasons why this is wrong. My whole life I’ve held myself back. Tried to do what’s appropriate. Restrained every dream and desire. Would it be so wrong if I just let go for one day? If, for just one day, I had exactly what I wanted, no matter how wrong it was?
Jack kisses me again and again and I’m back in the moment with him. I don’t think. I just give myself to him.
Finally, he gives me release. He keeps my arms pinned and as he fucks me, he continues slowly, surely rubbing that intense, orgasmic spot he had so carefully denied me.
His fingers seem to know every inch of me, somehow. He’s so big inside of me—it’s a fullness I’ve never felt before. He’s gazing into my eyes steadily. I can feel the raw want and passion behind that look and through his whole form, and I know it’s for me.
"Jack, I'm going to cum," and he kisses me and presses me harder and harder. I start to writhe and buck beneath him. There's a tension and a warmth wrapping and coursing through my whole body. And then the tension finally releases and the warmth crests and carries me like a wave.
I orgasm.
I feel Jack throb as I convulse around him, and he fills me with his seed, deep inside. Our bodies twist and strain against each other and then relax. It almost hurts it feels so good. I stay there, tensed and bucking and grinding against his hard form for what feels like minutes.
Then I drift off into a warm bliss for a long, long time. I feel free—like air.
When I finally drift back to awareness, Jack has me. His strong arms wrap around my body. His legs intertwine with mine.
I look at him, afraid all of a sudden, for some sign of disappointment or regret. But I only see something I can’t understand—want? Passion? It couldn’t be love. I feel vulnerable and helpless.
He kisses me gently and holds me so close to him.
He still wants me. That leaves me a little shocked. I had some idea that he was going to kick me out of his bed or discard me completely once he was done with me.
Instead, he lies with me for a long, long time. Our breaths and our hearts seem to move in rhythm. Eventually, he starts to kiss down every inch of my body: my lips, my neck, my ears, and my tender breasts and nipples. He pins my arms above me again and licks and kisses my armpits, which makes me feel dirty and shockingly aroused.
I feel like he wants and loves every part of me. I've never felt like that before. He moves down to my feet and sucks on my toes, then licks between them. He drags his tongue along my arches. I'm ticklish, and I squirm and gasp girlishly, but it feels incredible, too. Everywhere his mouth goes my body feels vividly alive.
He licks up the inside of my thighs, then turns me over and licks, kisses, and gently bites my bottom. He flips me back over and spreads me again. I’m still sopping we, and I feel so tender there. But he knows exactly how much pressure I can take. It feels like he could control me with just his mouth—like he could make me do anything.
He's effortless and perfect at it. After a few minutes, he has me gasping for breath. I'm moaning lewdly, and I can't think or speak coherently. The warmth and tension builds and builds.
I orgasm again.
He moves back up and holds me. His huge cock nestles against my bottom perfectly. A dirty, thoughtless want fills me again.
“Are you okay?”
I twist around to face him. I have nothing left but desire. He’s taken everything else from me.
“More, Jack. Please.”
His stamina seems limitless. He makes love to my trembling, needy body for hours. By the end, I can barely move. I'm left sweaty, wet, and gasping in his arms, and he holds me until I drift off into a sleep filled with passionate dreams of ravishment.
And then Jack makes a mistake. In the middle of our rest, he rises. I'm only half awake at first, and my breathing stays calm and low. I'm tired, and I try to lie still and drift back to sweet, warm sleep. But then I realize that Jack's gone to the wall instead of the door. I keep my breath slow and deep and peer at him through my near-shut eyes. He's standing at the far wall and I can see everything: I see him slide a small, seamless panel open. There's a keypad underneath and he punches in a code. I see every number and repeat it over and over in my head. I can't quite remember what I want it for, in my ravished haze, but I know that I need to remember it.
Larger seams appear in the wall and a panel slides aside. I see a dark room beyond it and then Jack steps in and is gone.
I curl back up to sleep but not until I’ve repeated the keypad numbers to myself so many times that they’re etched into my memory. And then I drift off, and Jack meets me again in my dreams.
I wake up in Jack’s bed in the early afternoon. My body feels warm and light. The room is empty and I wrap a sheet around myself and go looking for him. The penthouse is quiet and still. I wander out of his rooms. I feel like a queen—Cleopatra wandering through her own palace looking for Marc Antony. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
I find him on the fifth floor. There’s an enormous gym there. A running track winds around the top, down below there’s a basketball court, and then a stretch with punching bags and weights. I watch from the track.
Jack works there all alone—no one to see, no one to credit him. He’s shirtless and his body is slick with sweat. He’s practicing on one of the heavy bags, hammering it with his arms and legs. His muscles bulge and ripple under the strain. The blows are almost inhumanly fast. I understand now, a little, how he’s able to fight like he does.
He’s pushing himself to the limit. I can see he’s throwing everything he has into this fight against a bag. Just an average training session. Just any other day for him. He’s working himself harder than I’ve ever seen a man work at anything. It’s exertion and suffering I’ve only seen in athletes on TV—men at the pinnacle of their careers, in the greatest moments of their lives. Great, he’s the Olympic champion of beating guys to a pulp. Why does that turn me on?
I stand a long time, mesmerized by his form and the fire driving it. Finally, I shift and a board on the track creaks. Jack turns, and when his eyes settle on me he smiles. I go down to him.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi.”
He picks me up and I smile. I feel so strangely happy that I’m confused by it. He carries me through the gym and into the showers, flips on the water, tugs my sheet away, and sets me gently underneath it. He fills his palms with soap and starts to gently, firmly massage and scrub my body.
It’s absurd after how thoroughly he used me, yet I can’t help myself or resist. I’ve never done anything in the shower before. I want Jack’s wet, slick muscles pressed against my body again.
I turn my bottom to him and arch my back.
He doesn’t need to ask any questions. He’s on me in a moment. My breasts press into the warm tile and his throbbing cock presses into me. If his strong arms weren’t wrapped around me I’m not sure I would be able to stand. He fucks me hard, pounding me under the warm stream of water. I hear desperate moans and it takes me a moment to realize they’re coming from me. It feels incredibly good.
He erupts in me and brings me over the edge two more times under the streaming water.
When we’re done, I melt back into his arms and he carries me up to his room and to bed. I don’t care that I’m his captive. I don’t care that it’s shameful to give in to him and want what he can give me so badly. My mind rebels, but my body, or maybe my soul, loves this.
He brings me food and coffee and sweet things to drink, and then we lay in bed, me sitting on his lap, while he feeds me strawberries and pieces of melon and kiwi.
The day passes slowly, and we talk about books and movies and our lives.
“Don’t you have something criminal to do?”
“When you run a thing well, it can run without you every once and awhile.”
But then Jack’s phone rings, he steps across the room and answers it, and his face darkens as he listens.
“Who…” I ask.
“Benjy, about Hector Montcrest.”
In the tempest of trying to deal with Jack and work with Byron, Ariadne, and Monty, I’ve been completely distracted from the fact that Caleb is still held somewhere by the Amontillados, and Jack is actively working to take over his dad’s company. The thought of having to deal with them again is exceedingly unpleasant. I think of how Hector always seemed to stare at my breasts when I was talking to him, and Caleb never bothered to take him aside and tell him to stop. Or, like, even look anywhere else for a minute.
“He’s pushing back on the takeover and insisting on seeing Caleb and you before he signs over the final paperwork.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Send him one of Caleb’s hands.”
My face goes white—I’d love that moron to suffer a bit, but the thought of anyone losing a hand makes me sick. Jack laughs.
“I make jokes sometimes, Riley. As much as I hate to say this, get dressed. Time to go meet your repulsive ex and his dad.”