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“Fight me, honey,” he said. “Fight me, but I’m not gonna hurt you now. I’ll go slow enough so you feel me and if you focus on me, focus on submitting, it will be easier on you. You don’t like it, and you won’t admit it, but you’re wet as hell after I’ve whipped you, and it’ll help.” She was silent, lying still beneath him. She had to fight. Grasping her hair, he tugged her head back. “Fight me,” he ordered, with a resounding slap to the side of her thigh. She howled, twisting beneath him, as he pushed her on the bed and lifted her torso up so she was on her knees, chest down, ass in the air. God, she was beautiful.
Straddling her from behind, he nudged his cock into her pussy. “I’m gonna take you darlin’,” he said. Though her eyes were closed tightly, she nodded once, just enough that he alone could see.
He wanted to go slow. He wanted to make her pleasure his goal. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard. She gasped as he plunged his cock into her core. She tightened around him as he filled her, and he groaned out loud with the feeling. He planted his hands on her hips, driving himself hard within her. Her pussy tightened around his cock with every thrust, slick arousal welcoming him to drive deeper, push harder. Her face tipped to the side and she groaned, a primal beg for more.
He focused on her beneath him, and shoved his right hand between her body and the blanket, grasping her breast. He glared, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, hoping that it would look like he was simply ravaging her, as the fingers that were hidden from the peephole flicked and primed her nipple, desperately hoping he’d arouse her. He slowed, leaning down to her, and whispered into her ear, “Such a good girl. You’re so wet for Daddy. Come for me, darlin’.”
She moaned again, her eyes closed now. He flicked a tongue out to her neck and licked the sweet skin. She was panting now as he dipped a finger to her nub and stroked. Her breath hitched, and she pushed back against him with a cry, her pussy milking his cock. She finally gave in to her own release, moaning aloud as she climaxed beneath him, his own cries of pleasure mingling with hers.
She sniffled quietly. Fucking hell, he hoped the bastards who watched were gone now. They’d gotten their show. How could he take care of her now without them noticing? He slumped against her, feigning exhaustion, as he withdrew himself.
“Stay there,” he hissed, pointing a finger at her so that anyone watching would think he was growling out an order. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, but you stay there.”
He zipped up his trousers and made his way over to the dresser. He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms up over his head, and flicked the lantern off so they were plunged into darkness. He unbuttoned his shirt, turned to the bed, and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. He didn’t look at first where it landed, but when he met her on the bed, a stream of moonlight illuminated the room. He could see how his shirt had landed in a perfect balled-up mess right on the dresser, effectively blocking the peephole. If they hadn’t moved on yet, and they likely had as there were more shows to watch in the other rooms, between the light being off and the clothes on the dresser, they wouldn’t see a damn thing more.
“Darlin’,” he said, as he walked over to the bed, stroking a hand against her hair. “C’mere.” He climbed onto the bed wearing nothing but his trousers. She turned away from him, her back to him, and pulled her legs up to her chest, a sight that made his heart twist in his chest. Did she want to protect herself from him? He closed his eyes and sat up on the bed, reaching a hand out and gently touching her back. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered, but still she did not move. Another pause. “Come to your daddy now, darlin’,” he said, and it was then that she finally turned to him, put her head on his chest, and cried.
* * *
Aida could see the self-loathing in his eyes. She knew he felt he’d had no choice but to do what he did. It had been an easy matter to fight him, as it wasn’t just him she fought, but her own dark inclinations and instincts. For as her mind told her to turn away from him to protect herself, his strength and power was the enigmatic pull she could not resist. Her backside throbbed from the strokes of his belt, and she felt the ache in her pussy from his brutal claiming. She wanted to push him away and hate him. Shetried.
“Leave me alone, you savage,” she said, a tremor in her voice, and yet she didn’t move.
“Hush, darlin’,” he whispered. “If they thought I felt anything for you, they wouldn’t believe I was with them,” he explained. “You’ll understand soon, but you had to fight me.”
It made no sense. The tears were rent out of her, and she wished she could pin her hatred on him, but she couldn’t. The loss of control while over his knee, or beneath him on the bed while he claimed her, made her feel more alive than she had in years, perhaps ever. She tried so hard to shove her base desires away, to tell herself not to trust him, to try to fear him. But she could not. Frustration welled in her and tears coursed down her face as he held her, strong arms holding her close to him, his bare chest under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of wishing that somehow this was real, that somehow he meant the gentle caress.
How could she explain that the tears that fell were born from a desperate need to know he really cared for her? There was too much to dwell on. “You make me call you Daddy,” she said in a half-drowsy state. “You want me to hate you.”
He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, his hand on her neck drawing her closer, tighter, and yet she wanted him to hold her evencloserandtighter.
“You have to hate me,” he said, his voice catching at the end. “A man like me isn’t good for a girl like you.”
He was wrong, so very wrong.
“If you say so,” she murmured. Leaning in closer to his bare chest, she kissed him gently, then her tears flowed even harder as the words flowed. She could not hate him. “You did that because you had to.”
I felt like a real woman. You make me feel like a real woman.
How could she get him to see? This was the moment, here, in the dark, when they were alone and bared to one another, when she could entrust herself to him. In the light of day, they’d have to pull up their facade again, feign hatred and maybe even violence. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
Resting her hand flat on his chest, she spoke frankly, softly. “You were not the one who took my innocence. You were not the one who stole my purity. I was defiled long before you ever touched me.”
She’d said too much.
Trust me, he’d said. Could she trust him?
“I don’t hate the man I call Daddy,” she whispered, tracing a finger along the prickly dark hairs on his chest. “You’re the only man I’ve ever called that.” She made a face of disgust, as if she’d eaten something rancid, and her mouth twisted. “But my father… I hate him. I hate him so much.”
Cole’s hand reached for the back of her neck and squeezed. “He violated you,” he said, the barest lilt at the end of his voice, a question. One tilt of her head with closed eyes was all she could muster.
It still came to her in the night, the sickening hopelessness and terror, the nausea she felt when touched by soft, greedy hands. She needed the strong, sometimes painful touch of the hardened man who now held her, the loss of control with him that somehow freed her from the shackles of shame and bitter memories.
She nodded her head again. Had she said too much? But no. His grip tightened and to her surprise, his whiskered lips grazed the top of her forehead in a fierce kiss.
“Soon. So soon, you will see, it will all come to light. Until then, you need to trust me. If I say fight me, you fight me. If I say obey me, you obey me.” He paused and his voice deepened. “And Aida, if I say run, you run.”
A chill ran down her spine and the small hairs on her arms rose, but she nodded.
