Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
RACHEL
When he opens the trunk, he puts a damp rag over my face that knocks me out.
When I wake, I’m fuzzy-headed and confused. My vision clears and I realize I’m on a mattress in a nearly empty room. There’s almost no light, and there’s something around my neck.
“Sasha?” I call, glad that he removed the duct tape. My wrists are free, too, but when I try to sit up, I can’t. I turn my head and find a metal chain attached to a hook on the wall. It hangs down and trails over the mattress until it rises up to attach to the collar around my neck.
God!
I reach back, trying to find a way to remove it, but my fingers only find flat metal that’s locked down. I’m wearing a locked leather collar, like an animal. Or a sex slave. My stomach does a little flip at the thought.
I can’t believe C Crue has resorted to kidnapping me and keeping me in this condition. This isn’t some game they’re playing. I’m leverage, I realize.
“Sasha! C?”
A door opens, and I get a glimpse of another room that isn’t well lit either. For a split second, I see a charcoal-colored recliner. Then Anvil’s massive bulk fills the doorway and enters the room.
He pulls a metal stool to the foot of the mattress and sits on it. The stool looks too small for him, and I half expect the legs to collapse, but they hold.
“I can’t believe you guys have resorted to this.”
“Resorted?” he says, shaking his head.
“What do you call it?” I demand.
“Revenge.”
My head jerks, so I can look him in the eye. “For what?” I ask, the desperate feeling bringing me to the brink of being sick.
“For getting us ambushed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I smooth down the bottom of my little black dress. My fingers don’t shake, but inside I’m quaking. How does he know? How much does he know?
“C offered you our help. Instead you betrayed us.”
It wasn’t like that. I swallow hard, shaking my head.
My gaze darts around the empty room. I can’t believe this is happening. I know it’s my fault, in more ways than one, but I still can’t believe it.
“Sasha—”
“Don’t,” he growls. “It’s Sir. Or Master.”
My eyes widen. I’ve heard rumors that the founding members of C Crue dabble in BDSM, but I thought it was their dirty secret, only revealed firsthand to their play partners.
“I’m not calling you either of those things.”
“You won’t call me anything else.”
I shiver, then let my gaze rest on him, fully seeing him for the first time in a long time.
He’s six and a half feet tall and solid muscle.
He keeps his dark brown hair buzzed and a shadow of a beard covers his jaw.
There are a couple of small scars on his face and others that are hidden along with his tattoos.
I know his body better than I should from the time when he was injured.
When he was unconscious, I studied his tattoos, trying to puzzle out their cryptic messages. The truth is he’s always fascinated me.
“When you were wounded, I took care of you,” I say.
“Yeah. That was your second mistake.”
ANVIL
Anger and lust war inside me, fighting a battle that’s been going on for three years.
Her blue-black hair is stark against her pale skin.
The light brown eyes stare up at me, framed by a fringe of wispy lashes.
I’ve seen the curious expression on her face in hundreds of pictures from the Instagram account.
She’s got delicate features, always painted to perfection to feed the masses.
So fucking exquisite. That face haunts my thoughts; it stalks me in my dreams.
I can’t remember much of what happened from when I was wounded, but the things I do remember are all her.
And that’s what feeds my resentment. She’s five-foot-three and a hundred pounds.
My biceps are bigger than her thighs, but she laid me out.
And later, she coaxed me back from the brink of death.
She put her cool fingers on my burning skin and stole my fucking soul.
I stand, my muscles tight with tension. “Frank brags that he’s giving Alberto Leone his virgin daughter.
Leone brags that he’s getting the virgin Palermo princess that hundreds of thousands of guys worship.
He says he can’t wait to pop your little cherry on your wedding night.
I hear it over and over. That from the asshole whose hired guns killed friends of mine and delivered the gut shot that me made weak for months. ” I haul my shirt off.
Her eyes drop to my chest. Good. I want her looking at my body. I can dead lift five hundred pounds. I want her to know that when she’s under me she’ll be helpless.
“Sasha—”
“What did I say?” There is a sharp edge to my voice that matches the knife I slide from my boot.
She becomes very still, the way prey does when it senses a predator drawing near.
My gaze slides to the edge of her dress and her legs, my thoughts skidding to the place where they join together.
Does she shave that little pussy? Or is there a puff of curls?
If so, are they brown like cinnamon, her natural hair color?
My cock goes hard at these thoughts and because I smell her, a perfume that’s light and sharp and makes me want to lean closer.
I lower myself to kneel on the mattress, leaning over her. I cut the lower edge of her dress. She sucks in a breath and tries to draw back. I grab the fabric and rip it open all the way, exposing her indigo bikini panties and bra.
She raises a hand in protest, her eyes wide.
“Arms down, Raven.”
She crosses her arms over her chest.
I slice the sides of the panties. She shoves her hands down to cover her pussy as I pull the fabric away. I cut the straps of her bra. Her fingers come close to the blade, but I’m fast enough. I toss the knife, and it lands in a corner.
“What are you doing?” she demands, backing up until her back’s against the wall.
I don’t answer. This isn’t a situation that calls for conversation. Instead, I get the pump bottle of lube I brought. She stares at me, unmoving. Does she even understand what it’s for? I unzip my jeans and take out my cock.
“Oh, my God,” she says on an exhale.
My cock matches the rest of me.
“They weren’t lying,” she whispers.
I pause. “Who?”
The bright pink splotches on her cheeks tell me she’s scared and maybe something else.
“The neighborhood girls. They call it the battering ram,” she says, sitting straighter and tucking her legs to the side. Her arms cover her chest as her hands tug at the collar around her neck.
I stroke myself, wetting my dick with the lube until it’s slick and shiny.
She looks up at me, her light brown eyes clear and sparkling like damn jewels. I clench my jaw. I’m so hard I do feel like I’ve got a battering ram between my legs.
“Lie back and spread your legs.”
She doesn’t move.
“This is happening. If you’re smart, you won’t fight.”
She doesn’t move at first. We just stare at each other. Then I drop down onto the mattress and move closer, inch by inch. The only sound in the room is my harsh breathing and hers.
When I’m less than a foot from her, I pause. Will she fight? Will I let her?
My heart thuds in my chest, and it’s like she knows shit about me that I don’t even know myself. She leans forward, resting her small hands on my chest.
“You don’t have to do this.”
It’s dangerous to let her talk. I grab her upper arms and shove her back. She falls onto the mattress, and I don’t hesitate because I know any hesitation is going to cost me.
I force her thighs open and put the thick head of my cock at her entrance. My knuckles graze her opening and moisture coats them. I groan, shaking my head. I want this. I’ve waited for this. My balls are fucking aching for this. But I don’t move. Not my fist. Not my hips. Nothing.
She stares up at me, her eyes so round and innocent.
My breathing’s ragged. I want this more than my next breath, but my body’s rigid and still. I should cover her mouth and shut my eyes. My muscles strain, joints popping.
“All right,” she whispers. “Go ahead.”
My breathing’s harsh, and my thoughts are a car crash in my head, all screeching tires and crumpling metal. I shut my eyes and hear her voice. I don’t know if it’s now or three years ago.
Cool fingers grip my arm. My body reacts the way it’s hardwired to. I drive forward. She screams and arches, trying to move away from me. I grab her hips and pin her to the bed.
I pant, the urge to thrust so strong it roars in my head and I have to fight against it.
I open my eyes. There are tears welled up in hers, and she’s digging her fingernails into my forearms as her creamy little tits shake.
I clench my jaw, trying like hell to control myself.
“It hurts,” she rasps.
“You’ll get used to it.” I grab her left thigh, pushing it up, giving myself room. My hips move, burying me even deeper.
She shrieks and rakes her nails down my arms. I don’t care about the scratches. Let her mark me the way I’m marking her. I squirt lube onto my cock where the shaved petals of her sex are hugging me. I draw back and thrust forward.
“God,” she says in a tortured voice. “Please.”
It’s hard to catch my breath, but that word reaches me. I slow my rhythm, sliding my arm around her back, holding her in position, so I can take what I need while cradling her body.
I hit her womb over and over. Her groans shift, and her arms give up trying to push me away. She’s so tight and wet, so innocent and raw. I’ve forced her body to take mine, and she throbs around me.
She moves against me, her skin the softest I’ve ever felt. Her breasts and belly untouched by the sun, or human hands until now. I get closer, pressing us together. Her fingers grip my sides, half pushing me away, half pulling me closer.
I grind against her until her hips start to move and her thighs loosen.
My balls tighten, and I shoot my cum into her. It feels so fucking good.
I open my eyes and look down. Hers are closed in concentration, and she’s biting her lip. My collar’s locked around her neck, staking a claim on her tonight, holding her as my prisoner and slave. My hips jerk until I fill her with every drop.
When I pull out, my cock’s covered in creamy pink. I’ve taken her innocence. I’ve been her first. I’ll always be her first.
One of her hands reaches down to cover her pussy, the other comes to rest on her lower belly. How does it feel to her? Does she ache inside?
I stand and shove my jeans off before lying back down and pulling the blankets over us.
I drag her body against mine, her back to my chest. Now that it’s done I’ll let her soak in the tub or do whatever she wants, but first I want to enclose her body with mine. I want to see if she’ll resist that.
“You’re huge,” she accuses, not sounding broken or upset. She sounds the way she often did at Frank’s, calmly defiant.
I slide my hand between her legs, gripping the back of her hand where it’s cupping her sweet little tortured pussy.
She pulls her hand from between her legs and mine starts to come with it. I burrow my hand back down, curling my fingers over her. The warm fluid coats my palm and I press against her to keep any more of my seed from leaking out.
She hisses in pain and grabs my arm. “Sasha, I’m sore. Let go.”
My grip isn’t hurting her, so I ignore the command. Now that I’ve caged her, I’m not going to make it easy for her to push me away.
She kicks my shin with her heel.
I move and trap her legs between mine.
“Son of a bitch,” she whispers, her voice angry.
Yes, I think. I’m that and other things. I should spank her for using that tone, but I won’t. Having my cock inside her the first time was rough enough. Now’s the time to show her I’m not always rough with girls.