But then again…I wasn’t.
Having a black-clad seducer kiss me, all while shuddering with self-control didn’t make me vulnerable. Oh, no. It made me powerful. Brave. A queen being worshipped by a suitor she’d chosen, not a slave made to obey a wrathful master.
Elder captured my wrists, slamming my hands above my head. Tearing his mouth from mine, his lips glistened as he panted. “No.”
No?
No to what?
Touching him?
Pleasuring him?
Before I could ask, his free hand cupped between my legs. His full hand. His entire strong, elegant, cello-playing, wallet-stealing hand.
I flinched in desire.
I winced in fear.
I shook so hard his eyes lost the feral glint and turned liquid with understanding. “It’s me, Pim. Just me.”
Licking my lips, I nodded. Silence was once again my friend. I wouldn’t speak. I couldn’t. It took all my concentration to stay with him—to not fall down the rabbit hole.
His fingers tightened around me, making me gasp and squirm. The heat of being held in such a way scorched me until my clit throbbed for something, anything.
I wanted to run and hide.
I wanted to beg and ride.
I split in half with complications.
“You’re not ready.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “I should stop this.”
I shook my head, arching up to bring his mouth back to me.
I kissed him.
That was my answer. I might not be entirely free to enjoy this, but I wanted it regardless. I wanted to experience all the firsts he’d talked about. I wanted pleasure to replace my pain.
Another tumbling groan fell from him into me as he wedged himself impossibly closer. The heel of his palm dug into my clit, sending rockets and missiles jettisoning through my belly.
Then his hand moved downward.
His fingers feathered over my pussy.
His touch explored until they found my entrance.
Everything froze.
Me.
Him.
Time.
Our lips never disengaged, but we didn’t move as he asked a silent question and earned a silent answer.
Do you really want this?
I-I think so…
Another long second while he deliberated and checked the chains around his self-control.
And then he touched me.
Invaded me.
Pressed one long, strong finger inside me with concession, possession, and pent-up aggression.
Everything else faded.
I hated it.
I loathed it.
I wanted it.
I needed it.
My body stretched to accommodate his invasion. His finger slim and firm.
My mind turned dirty.
Curse words. Swear words.
All I saw was red and velvet and smoke.
His finger kept going, claiming me from the inside out.
Holy shit.
I’d never been touched that way before. Fingers were used to check how dry I was or slap lube on places I never wanted to be violated.
Elder touched me so reverently, I forgot about all that. I deleted the screams and tears and focused only on how odd and perfect and strange and splendid it was.
My wrists grew hot beneath his finger-shackles. My breath grew shallow as he hooked his finger and rubbed some spot inside me that doubled the deliciousness I’d only just been introduced to.
My eyes flew wide, wanting to imprint everything. I couldn’t look away from his teeth clamped on his bottom lip and the erotic sway of his hips into mine. His trousers kept him bound, but it didn’t stop his erection from branding me.
There were too many stimuli.
I didn’t know what to focus on. His body pressed entirely along mine, his leg flung over mine, his hand ordering me to feel, to clench, to open for more.
His deep voice echoed in my ears. “Do you like it?”
Like it?
I didn’t know.
I suffered every condition known to the human race. I was guilty, ashamed, afraid, awoken. I wanted him to stop, keep going, leave me alone, climb entirely inside me.
I was a jumping castle with every spectrum of feeling bouncing around inside.
He chuckled, sounding in pain. “You’ll grow to like it…I’ll show you. I’ll be the first to show you how it should be. I’ll be the first to feel you come.”
I wanted to believe him, but my ugly past was a third bedfellow between us. My heart raced with scars and wounds, doing its best to shut down my body that had decided to trust him.
My animalistic desires weren’t complicated. My body knew it was with a new partner and that partner would treat it well. But my mind…it had been conditioned too much to relax—to not tense for the first blow, first hit, first blood.
For me to be able to come? To become so wrapped up in Elder that I was able to shatter like I’d read about?
I didn’t think I could.
I doubted anyone could make me, no matter how much I wanted them to.
He angled his wrist, dipping deeper inside me. A second finger joined the first. The pressure was greater, the stretching wider. He filled me so differently to what had been used on me before.
Memories of unwanted objects and loathsome abuse played centrefold in my mind. I turned rigid as Elder’s breath heated my hairline where he pressed a lingering kiss. “Stay with me. Don’t leave.”
I sucked in a breath and forced my body to relax, for my mind to focus on Elder and only Elder, for the hotel room and soft silky sheets to remind me I would never be tortured again. That this was me claiming myself back. That this was imperative for my future healing.
Elder moved his fingers inside me, stroking, thrusting—slowly at first. Slow and deep and long.
I wasn’t prepared for how quickly my body forgot pain and reached with eager arms for what he promised. My eyes shot wide as his thumb found my clit, pressing in all the right ways.
I gasped, my hands opening and closing still pinned to the mattress above my head.
“Jesus Christ, you feel good.” His fingers drove firmly, deeply. “You need to come, Pim. I need this to feel good for you because I won’t fucking last much longer.”
He was so different to everyone I’d had to suffer through. He expected things for himself, but when it came to me, he was beyond generous.
I opened my mouth to apologise—to warn him that I might not be able to come, no matter how good this initial part felt. But he shook his head and thrust his fingers higher.
I moaned, thrashing my head to the side as a wave of bliss crested over me.
“Would it be better if you closed your eyes?” he murmured. “Focus only on what I’m doing to you.”
They remained resolutely open. I didn’t want to shut him out—not when I didn’t trust myself not to run.
My heart slapped worried hands over its mouth. Would he punish me if I didn’t come? Would he take it personally if I failed?
New fear at disappointing him rose.
“Pim, relax.” He stroked firmly. “Close your eyes. Trust me.”
I already knew what would happen, but for him, I closed my eyes.
The moment I obeyed all I saw was Alrik and my white prison cell and classical music and chains and ropes and pain. I was back there. I was bleeding again, screaming again, wishing for death again.
I was in pieces.
I was in broken torn little pieces.
Stop.
Stop.