Blood & Roses Volume 1

by Callie Hart

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

What happens in the dark never stays in the dark.
As one of Seattle’s most dangerous, feared men, Zeth Mayfair always carried out the jobs he’s sent on without a second thought. Drugs? Guns? Dirty money? They’re all fair game. But girls? Girls are another matter entirely. When Zeth’s employer decides buying and selling kidnapped women is a lucrative sideline, Zeth’s usually uncomplicated life suddenly becomes very complicated indeed. And his biggest complication goes by the name of Sloane Romera.

​Sloane’s sister is missing, and she needs to find her, yet all doors leading into the seedy world of human trafficking are firmly closed in Sloane’s face. She’s a trauma doctor; she needs information. What she really needs is help…and help presents itself in a most unlikely form. Zeth is terrifying, scandalously hot, and comes fully loaded with a terrible attitude and wicked smile. He also looks like he’s Sloane’s only hope. Can she work with the guy without getting herself killed, losing her job, or falling head over heels in love?

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 448

Sample

When I say I’m a ghost, I’m not being literal. I’m very much alive, or at least some days I hurt just enough to know I’m still clinging onto a heartbeat. No, when I say I’m a ghost, I mean people rarely see me. I’m the girl in the background. The average height, average weight twentysomething people look through instead of at.

I slip silently through the world without smiling. Without having to greet anyone for days at a time. It’s been this way for the last six months. It’s rare that I have to speak to strangers, but when I do it’s perfunctory. Instinctively, people seem to know I’m not primed for small talk. Today is no exception.

“Here’s your room key, Ms. Fredrich.” The receptionist in Downtown Seattle’s Marriott Hotel slides the plastic key card across the marble countertop. Once she’s withdrawn her hand a safe distance, I reach out and palm it.

“Thank you.” Eyes down, the receptionist staples my paperwork together. “So. Business or pleasure?” The warmth in her eyes dies when she looks up at me and registers my void expression—her smile slides away like butter from a hot knife.

“Business,” I say, because nothing has ever been truer.

“Okay, well… I hope you enjoy your stay.” She looks away as soon as she’s done with her front desk script. She doesn’t ask why I’ve turned up at her hotel with no bags or why I’m only booking in for one night. Nor does she ask why I’ve left a spare key card at the front desk for a Mr. Hanson. She isn’t supposed to. Eli’s given me a rundown of how this thing will play out, and so far, everything’s going to plan. I lift my purse from the desk and head to the elevator, straightening my coat.

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

I watch the numbers light up one by one. Each disc, the size of a dollar coin, flares and darkens in turn, and the elevator descends while I wait, impatient and unblinking. Others wait for the car to arrive. If this were an office building or a shopping center, I’d take the stairs. Me and closed spaces? We’re not friends. But since this hotel is forty-seven floors high, and I’ve booked a room on the forty-second floor, it looks like I’ll have to tolerate the presence of strangers for a beat.

The doors slide back, and I walk in first, moving to the back of the car. I don’t want the four businessmen who follow brushing past me as they exit. They’re staying somewhere midlevel. It’s easy to label them as midlevel guys. They’re wearing midlevel-guy suits. All four of them have midlevel-guy haircuts. An accounting department booked their accommodation, and accounting departments don’t spring for penthouses. They spring for twin rooms with en suites that have access to the gym and not much else. No mini bar for you, Mr. Corporate.

The lift doors roll closed, and I retreat within myself, pressing my back against the rear wall of the elevator. I close my eyes, exhale down my nose. This will all be over soon, but my heart still dances in my chest all the same. The fear of being trapped, of what I am about to do, is a coiled snake, wreaking havoc on my insides.

“Hey. You okay? You look a little freaked out.”

One of them talks to me. He thinks my nerves are because of the elevator ride, which they are, but only partially. The guy has brown eyes—a warm color that reminds me of melted chocolate. He has dimples, too. Probably twenty-eight or so. Around my age. He looks nice. The kind of nice I might have dated once upon a time, before… well. Before dating became an impossibility.

I force myself to look at him. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Good.” The guy with chocolate eyes smiles. “Deep breathing sometimes helps my sister. She isn’t a fan of elevators, either.”

He’s sweet. Way sweeter than I deserve, considering my purpose here today. I reward him with a watery smile—he grins back—and then the doors open, and the four of them leave. I jam my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking. I’m alone for eighteen floors (better than being trapped with four strangers, but still not great), and then finally it’s my turn to alight.

This hotel is much like any other I’ve stayed in. The only thing that sets it apart from any other hotel, the thing that will forever define it, is my purpose for coming here today.

I’m about to have sex with a total stranger.

And I’m doing it to find my baby sister.

By the time I’m inside and I’ve hung my coat on the back of the door, I’m almost ready. I’m wearing what I’ve been told to wear: black lace. Eli, the private investigator I hired to find my sister, wasn’t any more specific than that. He’s the one who set this whole thing up.

“Sometimes money just isn’t enough to buy what you’re looking for, sweetheart. Sometimes it takes a little more… persuasion to procure information like this. I tell you what. I’ll share what I know in return for a little favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“You spread your legs for a paying customer, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” The disgusting pig had actually smiled. The audacity. “Oh, come now, Ms. Romera. Don’t look at me like that. You want to find your sister, don’t you?”

And in the end, I’d agreed. He was right. I do want to find Lex. I want her home, safe and sound, and I’ll do anything to make that happen. Even if I won’t be able to live with myself afterward.

Aside from the lingerie, Eli told me to bring something else with me today. Something hidden in the pocket of my jacket. I take it out and put it on. The mask is black satin, trimmed with bloodred lace edging. It makes me feel a little more disguised, at least. I hit the bathroom light switch and rummage in my purse for my life raft. The bottle of Valium rattles when I pull it out. The thing about being a fifth-year resident at a large hospital is that there’s always someone available to prescribe medication when you need it, no questions asked. The Valium isn’t even in my name. It’ll never appear on my medical record. I pop one—just enough to keep me calm. Not enough to make me drowsy—and then I peer into the mirror, fixing the mask’s band underneath my hair.

You look like shit, Sloane.

I tell myself this every time I look into a mirror these days. Maybe it’s true. Then again, maybe it isn’t. I’ve been staring at myself in mirrors for so long now that my reflection doesn’t make any sense anymore. Lex was always the beautiful one. Oh, sure, I know I have a nice body. Eli said that was the only reason he was willing to do business with me. Because my tits were real and I had a nice ass.

Your height might make some guys uncomfortable, but hey… not a lot you can do about that.

I focus on the dark rings under my eyes, trying to remember that this is all temporary. It isn’t forever. I’m a medical student, after all. The body is just a machine, full of cogs and intricate parts all ticking away, working in harmony to keep you moving. Intercourse is a function of that machine, nothing more.

You can do this, Sloane. You can do this.

And then, not even two seconds later…

Lex wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want you used and abused, selling yourself for so little.

I hate that voice inside my head. It makes it so hard to justify going through with this, but I’m not auctioning off my most valuable possession for drugs or money, or even fame and fortune like some girls do. I am doing it out of love. Love for Lex. Any sister would do the same.

It’s been six months and I’m still no closer to finding Alexis. This really does feel like my last resort. And Eli’s smart. He’s given me just enough information to keep my hope alive, but nowhere near enough to risk my backing out of our little arrangement.

Thud, thud, thud.

“Holy shh—” The door. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, trapping the curse word behind my teeth. It’s go time.

Mr. Hanson will have collected his key from the chirpy concierge downstairs, but I was told to expect the knock. Lets me know the guy I’m going to be sleeping with is here and I have to wait in the bathroom until he comes to get me. I pull the door closed, and for a second, I grapple with a wave of fear. If I lock myself in here and refuse to come out, how long will he wait until he gets pissed off and leaves? I can’t do that, though. Eli will never hold up his end of the bargain, and besides, none of this matters. None of it. This is a means to an end.

An electronic beep sounds as a key card is accepted into the door. The rough catch of the lock sliding back follows. Then silence. The edge of the sink digs into the back of my legs as I lean against it, frozen, before I remember I shouldn’t do that. It’ll mark my body, and that’s against the rules. Even temporary marks like that. My stranger wants me in perfect condition.

Thankfully the drugs begin to kick in as a flat sense of peace washes over me. A good thing, too, because whoever is out there takes their sweet time in making themselves at home. Without it, I’d have been on the verge of making a run for it by the time a knuckle raps against the door. “Come on out. Turn the light off first,” a voice commands. It’s gruff and full of gravel, maybe the voice of a smoker? Fucking great. I’m going to have to spend the next two hours with my tongue down a smoker’s throat, and then I’m gonna have to bleach my mouth out. I turn the light off and open the door, and I’m perplexed by what I see beyond.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. The room is pitch-black.

“Couldn’t find the light switch?”

“Don’t touch it. Just come here,” the voice tells me. He sounds young enough, and he’s alone. Not that I was expecting more than one guy, of course. Eli swore it would only be the one guy. And only this one time. I step gingerly into the room, wishing I’d paid more attention to where the furniture was positioned before I’d shut myself in the bathroom. I immediately stub my toe on God only knows what and hiss with pain.

“You okay?” There’s an amused lilt to his voice, which is irritating. Who gets off on a girl breaking her toes?

“Well… I can’t see a thing,” I mutter.

“That’s the point, I’m afraid. Come here.”

If I knew where here was, I’d probably be a little less turned around. I try again, and this time I manage to stumble to the bed without colliding with anything else. The mattress dips as I climb onto it, wondering where the hell he is. I’m not half as scared as I should be. In fact, I feel almost a little giddy.

“Sit in the middle of the bed with your hands behind your back,” he whispers. Is he going to tie me up? That thought should bother me. Would bother me any other time.

“Do you need a name?” Eli said I should ask.

A low rumble, deep and throaty, breaks the silence, and I realize he’s laughing. “Are you offering to tell me your real name?”

“Eli said that’s against the rules.”

“Then, no.” The mattress dips again. He’s moving, coming closer. His hot breath grazes across the skin of my neck when he speaks. “I’m not gonna call you Melody or Candy or some other fake-ass name. We’ll just be strangers for a while. That square with you?”

“Yeah, I—I guess.”

In the darkness, my skin is alive. So are my other senses. My nose keeps on whispering to me, hints of mint and the ocean. Whoever he is, this guy smells incredible. Not a whiff of cigarettes on him at all, which means that voice… that voice is one hundred percent natural. I find myself curious about him in the most detached way.

“You done this before? Like this?” he asks me.

“Never.” My breath actually catches in my throat. I’m so spaced out that I can barely think straight, but the lack of lighting in the room is making my heart race. This guy could be a serial killer. He could still be a serial killer with the lights on, but at least I’d get the opportunity to see it in his eyes and run for my life.

Mystery Guy exhales, sending another warm breath across my chest. My nipples harden even though I’m not cold. I’ve never experienced that before. Never. Probably because I’ve never been this close to a guy before. “Place your hands in your lap,” he tells me.

I do it, and jump a little when I feel his hand touch my leg.

“Scared?”

“No.”

He laughs, and it’s a cruel and wicked thing. His hand gently trails up my leg until he finds my hand, where his fingers curl around my wrist. “You’re braver than most girls.”

“You do this with a lot of girls?”

“Some.”

Well, at least he’s honest. He lifts up my hand, brings it toward himself, and stubble prickles against the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

“You smell like flowers. What perfume do you wear?”

“Afresia,” I tell him.

“It’s clean. Not too heavy. I like it.”

So glad you approve. I feel like giggling. His nose brushes against my wrist and then the soft touch of his lips follows soon after. The kiss is barely even there, soft and gentle, but I can read a lot from it. His lips are full, and he’s gentle with his mouth. That’s unexpected. I fidget on the bed, wondering where this is going. Where his mouth will be going next.

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be blind?” he rumbles.

“Why? Are you blind?”

“No. Answer the question.”

“I suppose so. Sometimes.”

He guides my hand upward and takes it in both of his, uncurling my fingers so that my palm is open. He does it slowly, running calloused fingers down the length of my own, and I can’t help but shiver. It’s a simple thing, but the way he does it feels intimate and considered, not just grabbing and touching for the hell of it. I hold my breath as he guides my hand again, until my fingertips meet his hair, and then down to his face.

“Tell me what you think I look like,” he says, his voice a resonating growl. He lets go of my hand, and I have to lean forward to reach him properly. I shimmy closer, tucking my legs under my butt so I can balance properly, and then I raise my other hand to his face, too.

His hair is short, a little stiff from his styling product. His facial features are strong. Pronounced. Jaw’s a little square, nose mostly straight, apart from a slightly flattened part near the ridge of his brow. His eyelashes are surprisingly long, and his lips… I was right. His lips are full and way softer than any guy’s lips have a right to be. Especially a guy with a voice like his. From the tingling pads of my fingers, I can sense this guy has the face of an angel. A barbaric one—maybe like one of those guys who did a lot of smiting back in Babylon.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“You’re probably very attractive,” I admit.

He grunts. “And what about the rest of me?”

He applies a little pressure to my forearms so that they travel down to his chest, where my fingers meet with smooth skin and hard-packed, rippling muscle. His pecs twitch as my hands brush lightly over them, and then downward. I come across three horizontal ridges in his skin that shouldn’t be there, to the right of his abs spaced a couple of inches apart, and my fingers draw circles over them, trying to tease their story from them, trying to figure out where they came from. There’s an untold history of violence here, written in the planes of his formidable body. He twitches a little as I explore him, probing with a featherlight touch until I’ve traced my way across his washboard stomach and up over his obliques. He sucks in a sharp breath and tenses when I do that, and I smile a little. I actually smile. This guy’s ticklish. He doesn’t laugh or tell me not to touch him there, but his body tightens further still when I go over the area one more time to test the theory.

I move up to his shoulders, which are powerful and strong, and I lace my arms around the back of his neck, feeling over his shoulder blades. He’s huge, but I’m not really afraid of him. Of course I should be, yes, but I’m not. The Valium has flattened out my fear, and besides, the way I’d imagined this, the guy was going to come in here and want to lay his hands on me. He’d poke and prod and examine every inch of me, and he’d most definitely want to see what he was paying for. So far, this guy has touched me sparingly, and that was on the hand.

“Well?” he asks.

“Where did the scars come from?”

“I was stabbed.” He just comes right out and says it. Wow.

“Did you nearly die?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

I let my hands fall from his shoulders and find the scars again, one, two, three of them. They feel jagged and terrible under my fingers. “What happened to the person who did this to you?” I almost don’t want to ask. Mystery Man’s been unnervingly candid since we began this interaction five minutes ago, and I’m afraid his answer will finally put the fear of God into me.

“He got what was coming to him,” he says softly. The bedsheets rustle when he moves, his stomach muscles contracting under my hands. When he touches my hair, tangling his fingers into it, I’m still trying to decide whether he means he killed whoever did that to him.

“I’m very particular about what I want. Do what I ask without question and this will go nicely for both of us, okay?” he breathes.

A shot of adrenaline finally lights up my nerve endings—an appropriate reaction to my situation. What the hell have I gotten myself into here? Valium or no Valium, I know that sounded like a threat. I’m in way over my head, but there’s little I can do about it. Besides. Alexis. Always Alexis. “I can do that,” I whisper.

“Good. Lie on your back.”

I let go of him, and suddenly I feel like I’m afloat in the middle of an ocean, drowning, with no way of saving myself. The smart part of my brain—the part still focused on self-preservation—screams that I should get the hell out of here, and for the first time the wrath of Eli almost isn’t enough to keep me pinned to the bed. But the thought of finding Alexis is. My muscles are jumping, ready to explode into action, when the guy gently takes hold of my right ankle.

“Did you touch yourself today?”

“Do… do you mean—” I’m no fool. I know what he means.

“Have you made yourself come today? Have you played with your pussy?”

Heat flares in my cheeks. No one has ever asked me that before. “No. No, I—I haven’t,” I stammer.

“Good. Then you’ll taste so much sweeter.” Rather than hooking his fingers under the waistband of my panties and pulling them down, he draws them to one side. My legs lock up when his hot breath skims over my exposed flesh. What am I supposed to be doing with my hands? This is untrodden ground for me in a very big way. When a guy gives you head, it’s usually because he’s done something very, very bad and needs to make up for it. At least, that’s what Pippa says.

“Do you want me to lick you?” His voice is even deeper now, laden with the promise of sex.

“I want whatever you want,” I gasp. That’s what he’s paying for, after all. That’s what’s going to help me get Lex back. He grips me hard around the top of my leg, squeezing until I cry out.

“We’re not playing that game. Own me, or I’ll own you. And trust me… you don’t want that.”

Shit. “Yes! I want you to lick me.”

He makes a satisfied grunt and moves, pushing his way between my legs. When his tongue darts out and laps at me, my leg muscles tense up. It feels hot and… and good. What the holy hell? I shouldn’t be reacting like this. Embarrassment prickles at my cheeks. What sort of person am I, enjoying a complete stranger giving me head? And under these circumstances? I can’t help it, though. From head to toe, my body feels like it’s being caressed.

His tongue moves expertly, applying a subtle pressure to my clit, stroking up and down in a rhythmic pattern that sends waves of heat crashing through me. I’m on the precipice of letting go, the tension in my arms and legs relaxing, when he stops lapping and sucks.

“Fuck!”

He doesn’t stop. He growls when I push back against him, rocking into his mouth shamelessly. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It feels… incredible. I’m panting and moaning like an animal when he pulls away, running his hands from the very tops of my knees, down the insides of my thighs to my panties. He rips them off in one swift motion.

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?”

I’m not here because I want to fuck him. It’s my job to make him think I do, yet the lines between acting and the truth are so blurred when I murmur, “Really badly. I want you really bad.”

“Spread your legs,” he commands. I spread them, wondering what’s coming next. The room is like a black void, so dark I can’t even make out the shadow of him as he moves around the bed. I hear a zip being undone and then the rattle of metal, like a buckle being unfastened. Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I wait for him to do whatever he’s about to do, piqued with worrying curiosity. He restrains my left leg first, strapping something wide and tight around it and then affixing it to the bed. My right leg is next, and then he carefully does the same to my wrists. I’m star-fished on the bed and completely vulnerable. His restraints aren’t the kind for show. They’re the kind made to stop people from getting away, and I’m sure as hell not going anywhere. Six months ago, I might have said a prayer. Now, I whimper, half from fear, half from anticipation.

He climbs up onto the bed, kneeling at my side, his breath playing across me again. I tense when something cold and hard presses against my stomach. “Are you still a brave girl?”

“Yes,” I exhale.

He doesn’t tell me what he’s going to do. The cool, sharp object pressing into my skin travels slowly upward until it’s poised directly under my breasts. I gasp like a fish out of water, trying to keep still, because I know what he’s holding now: It’s a knife. A really fucking sharp one to boot.

He lifts my bra by the underwire in the middle, and then in a single, clean sweep, it springs apart, freeing my breasts. He cut through my bra? Exposed. Terrified. Exhilarated. Confused. I can’t fucking think straight. My Mystery Man straddles me, and the material of his pants, rough, slides against my sides. He lays the flat, cool edge of his knife against my right nipple, sending a bolt of panic through me.

“Don’t move,” he whispers. I don’t. I am the stillest still thing ever. He leans down and touches me, his hand finally finding my breast. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes. “So well behaved.” And then his mouth is on my nipple, licking and sucking, hotter than anything I’ve ever felt before. My back arches up off the bed, and he chuckles. “You want me inside you?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? Be careful what you wish for.”

I wish for death on a daily basis. I wish for pain and suffering and blood and misery upon the heads of those who took my sister. Wishing for this feels just as dangerous but somehow safer than all that at the same time. He wanted me to own him, and despite the fact that he’s tied me up now, I still think that’s what he wants. I brace, hoping this is the right thing, and I demand, “Do it. Fuck me now. Don’t make me wait.”

The knife vanishes. He shifts off the bed, and I hear him undoing his pants, slipping them off. Panic sings through me again when I hear the rattle of another buckle.

“Ready?”

There’s no backing out of it now. “I’m ready.”

And he does something I hadn’t even considered. Not even for a second. He threads a loop of leather over my head—his belt—and cinches it tight.

Oh, fuck. I’m in trouble now.

“Open your mouth.”

“I—”

“Do it.” The tone of his voice is firm yet gentle at the same time. He brushes a hand down the side of my face. It’s designed to be a reassuring gesture—this is scary right now. Trust me. But trust him? I’d be fucking mad to trust him. And yet I do what he tells me to. He pushes forward and guides his cock into my mouth. I have no experience in this arena. God, this is my first time at the fucking circus. What the hell am I supposed to do? He’s rock hard and tastes clean and slightly musky… and he’s massive. He barely fits inside my mouth. I suspect only half of his length slides past my lips before he hits the back of my throat.

“Shit!” He hisses as I suck, forming a vacuum around him. I think I got that part right. His hips rock back, and he draws out of my mouth, causing a wet popping noise. “Still think you want me inside you?” He knows just how big he is. He’s fucking smug about it. This is going to hurt like nothing else, but I don’t want him to realize I’m a virgin. Even Eli doesn’t know that part. I’m sure he would have charged this guy a whole lot more if he did, and that thought turns my stomach.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, I want you.”

“Good. But you’re gonna have to exercise a little patience first. We aren’t done here.” He fists a handful of my hair and lifts my head closer to him, and then he pushes back inside my mouth, thrusting in and out while applying a gentle pressure to the back of my head. I writhe on the bed, surprised by how much this turns me on. I’m floored when he tugs on the belt strap, though.

Floored.

Even in the dark, I see stars. I can’t breathe with my windpipe cut off and his cock pulsing in and out of my mouth. “Stay with me, okay?” he grunts.

Fear and excitement pool in my stomach. It’s the same kind of anticipation I experienced as a child, suspended over the drop of a roller coaster, only a thousand times worse. And a whole lot scarier. Between my legs, my pussy tightens as he works his hips back and forth, keeping just enough tension on the belt strap so that I can drag the tiniest amount of oxygen into my lungs.

He shivers as his erection turns granite hard. If he doesn’t stop now, I think I know what will happen. But he does stop. Breathing heavily, he withdraws and crouches down beside the bed, easing his fingers beneath the belt and loosening it. His face is so close to mine, I can feel the intensity of his gaze as he stares at me in the dark. I still can’t see a thing, but then maybe he has better night vision than I do.

“Your mouth is perfect,” he whispers. And then he does two things that surprise me. First, reverently, he strokes my sweat-soaked skin, sweeping my hair out of my face. Second, he softly kisses my forehead.

“For being such a good girl, I’m going to make you come now,” he breathes. A tremor of anticipation shimmers across my skin, and he chuckles. “You are being a very good girl.”

He climbs up onto the bed and positions himself, hooking his arms underneath my hips, hoisting me up to meet him. The position is awkward with my ankles still bound to the bed, but all thoughts of my discomfort are forgotten when he buries his face between my legs and starts sucking on my clit again.

“Ahh!”

It’s too much. I climb, ascending higher as an unfamiliar, unfathomable feeling builds between my legs. It unfurls in gentle pins and needles throughout my body, growing more and more intense. And then…

I’m screaming. A wordless release. I’d scream for God, but I doubt He would approve of this situation. I have no idea who this guy is, so I can’t scream for him. I scream for myself and for the fireworks going off inside my head, the inferno licking over my skin, burning me out, leaving me hollow and spent. I fall slack, trembling as he continues to sweep his tongue over and over my clit.

“Stop! Oh my God, stop, please, that’s so—sensitive!”

“Mm, so selfish.” He hums into my pussy, making me clench. “Don’t forget. It’s my turn.” He fiddles around for a moment—condom? Fuck, I hope that’s a condom—and then he drops my hips and thrusts into me, hands tight on my pelvis, trapping me.

Oh…

My…

The pain is almost crippling. An uncomfortable feeling, a buildup of pressure and then a stinging release, lets me know that it’s done.

He stops.

“What…?” He inhales deep. Exhales. “You probably shouldn’t have kept that from me,” he says softly. He sighs, then, as though he’s disappointed in me, which is the most messed-up thing ever. “Are you ready?”

I whisper a faint response. “Yes.”

“Try to relax.” He fills me up, stretches me, makes me whole. He starts off slow, gentler than I think he would have done if he hadn’t just deflowered me. After a while, the pain subsides, gradually transforming until I no longer tense with every thrust but lean into it. By the end, he’s fucking me like a freight train—unstoppable and raw with need. He comes so hard, he roars.

I don’t, of course. It’s my first time, and the pain outweighed the pleasure. My mind is too fogged to understand what’s going on as he climbs off me and slides down my body. His lips caress the inside of my thigh, and I shiver as his fingers carefully stroke over my core. The touch isn’t designed to excite me—it’s more of an apology. Moving around in the dark, he unshackles my wrists and my ankles.

“You enjoy that?” The bass of his voice makes my legs press together.

“Yeah, I—I did.” The most startling thing, the thing that makes me most sick, is that I’m telling the truth. What the hell is wrong with me?

He grunts, unthreading his belt from around my neck. The release of pressure makes me feel like I’m floa