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“Well, not exactly. He threatened me beforehand, sure.” But when he disrobed, and I saw his large… when he suggested, I got excited. Oh dear, I can’t tell her that. I don’t even want to admit that to myself. The room grows hot, and I fan my cheeks. I’m a horrible person.
How could my breasts have betrayed me, tingling the way they did after he threatened me? How could my abdomen quiver and clench for him, knowing the way he threatened the boy, my father… the way he treats everyone? Being his prisoner, he should disgust me. What’s wrong with me? Was it just a survival instinct, to just accept my fate?
“So, he threatened you and didn’t force you?” she asks.
I groan and sit up resting my back against the firm pillow. “I don’t know!” I look into her eyes, searching them for answers I can only find within myself.
She sighs and motions for me to sit up so she can undress me for bed. “Sometimes, my Lucian gets a bit rough.” She giggles. “A bit demanding. It’s not always fun at first but eventually, I enjoy it.”
I swallow. “Do you mean he forces you too, sometimes?” I ask.
“That’s just the way of men, my dear. They can’t control their passions. It’s easier for us women just to give in,” she says. “It makes things a lot more pleasant.”
I pull away from her as she loosens my corset. Spinning around, I look into her eyes. “It shouldn’t be that way. If they want respect from us, they should respect us too,” I say with such passion, she presses a hand to my shoulder.
“Don’t misunderstand me, Olivia. My Lucian does respect me. He always asks beforehand. And if I’m not feeling up to it, he helps himself out. It’s just that sometimes it can get a little rougher than I might like at first,” she says. “But when it gets good, it’s so good.” She giggles. “Other times he’s tender and caters to my every need. It depends on the day he’s had. I quite enjoy catering to his needs as well.”
I blush, unsure of what to make of what she’s telling me. What happened tonight doesn’t feel like it’s the way it should be. I’ve read of love and romance. The sex always seems so right, tender, and passionate. I’ve always imagined that my first sexual experience would be founded on love and respect. Not contempt and anger. I shouldn’t like what happened tonight. In fact, it scares me. I’m afraid that each day in this place strips me further and further away from reality. I’m scared I might be slowly losing my mind and losing my sense of self. I’m afraid I might be normalizing the abnormal and accepting my fate. I’m not sure I know who I am anymore.
Holding up the shoulders of my falling dress, I scoot away from her. “I’d like to be alone.”
Her voice trembles. “Have I offended you?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s him. It’s tonight. It’s everything, really.” I scoff an unamused laugh.
She nods and picks up the bucket. “If you’re sure you won’t be needing me for the rest of the night, get some rest. And feel better,” she says before bowing out the door.
Slowly, I peel my clothes off before heading to the dressing table to untangle the barrette from my hair. I can barely look at my own reflection without feeling shame, and I brush through my hair while staring at the ground. Braiding the now poofy curls, I head into the bathing room to retrieve a rough cloth and charcoal which I use to scrub my mouth until it’s tender, rinsing it with some water and changing into my nightdress.
Sleep can’t come soon enough to rid my memory of today’s events.
Calloused fingers grip the soft skin of my bare arse. Scratchy beard and firm lips follow. I grip my breasts instinctively. They’re on fire. My whole skin is, and I can’t help but run my hand over my stomach. But my hands are trapped above my head before I can keep going, and I’m engulfed by the warmth and heavy weight against my back. Hot breath sizzles my neck, and the scratchy beard finds that spot too. Again, instinct has me grinding my rump against the hardness poking the sponge of my arse.
I beg for a kiss, for the hardness to do more than just poke me. A familiar chuckle hammers through my chest and tumbles to my toes. I’m spun around, groaning. My eyes are closed in desperate anticipation.
“Look at me,” the brush of firm lips against mine demand.
Anything for more. I’ll do anything. I open my eyes.
The beast.
I gasp and try to tug my wrists from his grasp, but he’s too strong. I narrow my eyes at him, snarling. “Let me go,” I bark.
He grins and heaven help me, my knees go weak. His hooked nose brushes against mine, and his dark-blond hair falls into his face, cloaking us both in privacy. I can’t see around the room. I can only see him, those pink lips, and those dark-blue eyes.
“I thought you wanted more,” he whispers.
I do. But not from him. Oh, dear. Not from him. I try shifting, but he’s so close, all I succeed in doing is rubbing my body against him. His lips touch mine without kissing me. The restraint on my wrists hurt, but I like it. And I moan.
“Please. Tell me, Olivia, you want me to do more than just torture myself loo…” he says, but I can’t stand the tease of his lips moving against mine as he speaks. I need more. And he’ll have to do. Shutting him up and surprising myself, I press my lips firmly against his, and he groans, releasing my hands and thrusting a hand in my hair while the other scoops me up so that I can wrap my hair around him.
He sucks and pulls on my lips, biting them and licking them until my nipples ache and movement happens between my legs. He throws me on the large firm bed and reaches for my nightdress, ripping it from my body. His lips and beard are on top of my breasts, which he squeezes hard as he sucks. I grip his hair as he usually does mine, pulling hard on it, but he comes up and grabs my hands, securing them on either side of me with his own. He hovers over me.
“No. Submission is your role,” he says while rubbing his hardness between my legs. My hips move of their own accord, trying to match his rhythm with my own.
“Please,” I beg, needing him inside me, though I don’t know exactly what that means.
But he just smiles before groaning as he continues to rub his thick length against a sweet spot between my legs. I moan, needing to touch my breasts, but my hands are restrained. Pressure builds on that sweet spot, and I no longer need him to penetrate me, just yet, just keep doing whatever he’s doing.
