When he suddenly stops, he tears his lips away from mine, leaving me breathless and tingling. “I don't know about you, but I need a violent fucking. I'm taking you home to absolutely shatter that perfect cunt in a way it deserves,” he growls against my lips.
With a swift motion, he pulls his hand out of my panties, the sudden absence of his touch leaving me aching for more, but I don’t argue. I allow him to pull me away from the horse, my legs still trembling and his grip on my hand is firm, and possessive, as he drags me back home.
One Year ago
I sit huddled against the wall; my naked body smeared with blood. Closing my watery eyes, I lean my head back, wrapping my arms around my legs and holding them close to my bare chest. As I sniffle, the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, a taste I've grown accustomed to after enduring ten years of violent abuse. I wipe my possibly broken nose with the back of my hand, my mind growing hazy, likely from yet another concussion.
Suddenly, a distant whisper reaches my ears, and I slowly open my eyes. “Are you okay? I heard what they were doing to you.” I rest my chin on my knees in silence as she continues. “We need to get out of here. It will only get worse when he gets what he wants.”
I glance down at the shackle that is attached to my ankle, as it is most of the time. “It’s no use, Ara. We’ve been trying formonths now, and we need to accept that there is no escaping him.” I murmur back.
“Pull on the chain. I have been doing it for the past week now and the bracket on the wall is coming loose.” She says with determination and my eyes follow the thick, silver chain until they land on the heavy metal bracket that is screwed tightly in the solid wall. I brim with tears, feeling like giving up already and I throw my head back, my eyes closed. “I am just ready to die, Ara. I’m sorry.”
Suddenly she shouts at me in a demonic voice that pierces close to my ears, thumping my brain. “Fuck that! We’re getting out of here!”
Present time
Tomorrow night marks another Circus performance, and Hell has had me in vigorous training so I can perform for the first time as the Hollow’s girl. I’ll be dancing and performing with him on the wheel of death, along with other terrifying stunts. To say I am not nervous would be an understatement, but in a way, being around him this much and with the training, it has taken my mind off things. When I am with Hell, he seems to calm my crazed thoughts. Despite them shouting at me to do horrendous things when he isn’t around, they go silent when he is.
The more I get to know him, the more I find myself entangled by feelings I never knew existed within me. It’s an intensity that steals my breath, but only in the most powerful way. He makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. His touch is an enigma, both rough and tender, igniting my veins like an addictive drug. But I’ve noticed his growing curiosity, the way he asks more and more questions, as if he senses I am hidingthings, and he wants to decipher the darkness I don’t show. It’s clear I am confusing him.
As always, reluctance takes over, and I shut down. What’s the point in telling him everything that has happened? What could he do? I’d rather he remain in the dark, so I don’t have to relive it all over again. I worry his view of me could change, that he’ll treat me like a fragile doll instead of the woman I am. I want him to stay true to himself, to continue being the brutal man I’ve grown obsessed with.
Yeah, it would be nice to talk to him, to share my burdens, but it would change so much between us. The dynamic we have would be altered, and I don’t want that. I need him to see me as strong, as resilient. Telling him everything could strip that away, and I just can’t bear the thought of it.
As I flip and dance on the death wheel, I feel his heated stare on me from below, seated in the front row, beer in hand, barking out orders now and then. This circus isn’t for the faint-hearted, and I know it will take time to get used to it, but right now, I am also torn between staying, hoping to blend into the shadows, or leaving altogether and that decision cripples me.
“Straighten your back!” he yells from a distance.
I halt, slowing the wheel, breathing heavily, my lungs starving for oxygen. Hell is a tough fucking trainer; he is a perfectionist. After swiping my sweaty brow with the back of my arm, I place my hands on my hips and stare down at him. Tilting his head back, he takes a big swig of his beer, his eyes locked on mine, then lowers the bottle. Leaning forward, he hooks his finger at me to come down. I take a deep breath, somewhat relieved he's giving me a break.
As the wheel descends, I jump, my muscles aching, and then stroll toward him through the empty tent. It’s just us. It’s late,it’s silent and the lights are dim. I take my hair tie from my wrists and gather my sweaty hair before creating a messy bun atop my head.
I stop in front of him, behind the barrier as he sits back, legs spread wide and shirtless. His devious eyes rake down my body with a wicked intensity, taking in the silky, black bodysuit that sits high on my hips, wedging up my ass, and the black fishnets covering my legs down to my knee-high, platformed boots. When his gaze meets mine, his lips lift into a devilish sneer.
“Dance for me, pretty girl.”
I tilt my head to the side, and he waits patiently, never breaking eye contact. “There’s no music,” I say.
He lifts a brow, “Use your imagination and let your beautiful body flow.”
With his forearms resting on his thighs, he points to the floor between his legs. “Here,” he demands through tight teeth.
He wants a private show, and I have a feeling it won’t end there. His entire demeanor tells me he is seeking some form of dominance. I don’t know Hell well, yet, but I know him well enough to sense when he is eager to rearrange my organs, which is often. I let out a tense breath before walking around the barrier and passing all the front-row seats while releasing my hair. I halt between his legs as he rests back lazily.
When I think of a tune in my head, I allow my body to move to the music. I dance slowly, sensually, letting my hips sway and my arms trace patterns in the air. His eyes follow every movement, a predatory gleam in them and the sexual tension between us thickens.
I arch my back, letting my hair cascade down, my body bending and twisting to the rhythm. He drinks in every curve and motion as he drinks his beer, every part of me, he devours.
The imaginary music takes complete possession of me, and I swiftly turn, lowering myself onto his lap. I roll my neck before laying my back against his powerful chest. I rotate my hips, pressing my ass against his cock, my hands tight on his thighs. I feel and hear him inhale deeply, gradually losing control. I place my palm on the side of his tattooed neck, continuing to grind against him. He gazes down at my moving body, sweeping his palms up the front of me, but when I turn my face to the side, he follows, forcing our lips so close they lightly brush, sending electricity through me.
Maintaining eye contact, I bring my lips closer to his, taking his bottom lip between my teeth, sinking them in before sucking and dragging back. A deep growl escapes him and when I release, I push myself off him, whirling around.
I bend forward, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, and lift one leg, then the other, descending my pussy onto his clothed cock. I feel it strengthening beneath me as I flex my body back and forth like I am riding a wave. His eyes darken as I continue to buck my hips, wrapping my arms loosely around the back of his neck and flinging my head back.
He reaches up, flicking my hair over my shoulders casually before pulling the zipper down the front of my bodysuit. He stretches it, freeing my tits as expected. He glides his palm up and between my breasts before taking my throat, keeping my head tilted back, while his other hand squeezes my ass.
I continue to grind down on his hard length, the friction and heat between us building and his grip tightens, a primal need evident in his touch. The room feels charged; every sensation amplified.
