16. Bianca
16
BIANCA
I pace the confines of my room like a caged animal, my fury building with every step. The walls seem to close in on me, suffocating me with their opulence and the bitter taste of my own helplessness.
I want nothing more than to escape this… this prison, to feel the wind on my face and the burn of exertion in my muscles. What I wouldn’t give for a good, long run through the countryside or to punch something. Anything to release the tension that coils within me like a snake ready to strike.
A wave of homesickness hits me so hard, it nearly steals my breath away. Although my parents protected us girls, we were always allowed to leave the house and wander the grounds as much as we wanted. My father’s lands were extensive and very well guarded. They never had to worry about us. Whenever I needed some space, I was always able to head outside and breathe in the fresh air and clear my head.
But I’m trapped here, at the mercy of a man who sees me as nothing other than a means to an end—a pawn in his stupid, fucking, disgusting game. The memory of our charged encounter, the way his body had pressed against mine and the heat in his gaze, only fuels my anger and frustration.
I can’t believe I let him get to me like that, that I allowed myself to feel even a flicker of attraction toward him. He’s my captor, my tormentor, the man who has made it his mission to destroy everything I hold dear. The man who is using me to have a piece of my mother.
With a growl of rage, I rip the flimsy maid’s outfit from my body, tearing the cheap fabric to shreds. It comes apart easily in my hands, as if it were made of nothing more than tissue paper. I take a perverse pleasure in destroying it, in erasing any trace of the humiliation and degradation it represents.
I shove the tattered remains under my bed, my chest heaving with the force of my anger and exertion. I won’t let Rork break me, won’t let him use me as a weapon against my own father. I don’t care what I have to do, what I have to endure. I will find a way to fight back and turn the tables on him.
But even as I cling to that resolve, I can’t shake the memory of his touch, the way my body had responded to his proximity. It’s as if he’s awakened something within me, a dark and dangerous desire that I can’t control or understand.
I sink down onto the bed, my head in my hands as I try to make sense of the conflicting emotions that swirl within me. I hate Rork more than anything, and yet I can’t deny the electric pull that draws me to him, the way he makes me feel alive in a way I never have before.
This is so fucked up.
I also hate myself for the traitorous attraction that simmers beneath the surface of my anger. I don’t understand it. No matter how hard I try to push it away, to focus on my fury and my determination to escape, I can’t shake the memory of his body pressed against mine, the way his scent had enveloped me.
There was something intoxicating about the sheer masculinity of him, the raw power and dominance that radiated from every inch of his frame. When he held me against that wall, his hands gripping my arms and his eyes boring into mine, I felt completely helpless, utterly at his mercy.
And yet, even in that moment of vulnerability, there had been a strange sort of gentleness to his touch. Despite the anger that had flashed in his eyes when I slapped him, I realize he hadn’t retaliated with violence or brutality. Instead, he had controlled me effortlessly, his strength and size overwhelming me without causing me physical harm.
It’s a confusing, unsettling realization, one that makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself and my own desires. How could I be attracted to a man who has made it his mission to destroy my family and wanted my mother for himself? What does that say about me ?
I bury my face in my hands, hot tears of shame and frustration pricking at the corners of my eyes.
But that fucking encounter keeps playing in my mind.
The way he looked at me, his eyes dark with a hunger that made my heart seize. The way his lips had been so close to mine, the heat of his breath ghosting over my skin. I’d been so close that I could see the stubble on his chin and face. At that moment, I had been certain he was going to kiss me.
And the worst part is, I’m not sure I would have stopped him. Even now, as I sit here, I can feel a traitorous warmth blooming in the pit of my stomach, a sickening flutter of desire that makes me want to scream and rage and cry all at once.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? How can I be attracted to this man? I hate myself. I feel so dirty and tainted in a way that no amount of scrubbing can cleanse.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to calm the chaos that swirls within me. My skin feels hot and tight, my pulse racing with a sickening mixture of fear and arousal that I can’t control or understand.
I want to crawl out of my own body, to flee from the yearning for Rork’s touch even as my mind recoils in horror. I want to scream until my throat is raw, to tear at my hair and claw at my skin until the pain overwhelms the desire that coils through my veins.
But I still can’t stop thinking about Rork’s hard body against mine. I suddenly have a vision of myself on my knees between Rork’s legs as he threads his fingers through my hair and fucks my mouth.
The thoughts flowing through my mind start an ache growing between my legs. I shift uncomfortably, but this only makes the ache throb more.
I let my hand touch my naked torso, starting with my hard nipples. I moan as I tweak the strawberry-pink buds, feeling pleasure shoot through my body. Fuck, that feels good.
Fuck it. Fuck it all.
My hand continues its slow descent down my body as I continue to think about Rork, imagining it’s his fingers touching me. I’m so deep into my fantasy that I truly do believe that my fingers are his.
My hand finally reaches my pussy, and my fingers skim against the soft folds of my vulva as I bite my lip, fighting a moan. In my fantasy, Rork is looking at me with those intense green eyes of his as his face is right near my crotch.
“You like that, don’t you, Bianca?” he rasps.
“Yes,” I moan aloud, my fingers touching my aching clit, and I squirm at the touch, feeling bolts of pleasure rush through me. The contact feels so good. James Ambrosio never made me feel this way.
My legs fall open so I’m spread eagle on the bed as I close my eyes, my finger slowly finding its way inside me. Rork is touching me, his fingers pumping in and out of me while his thumb slowly circles my clit.
“More, Rork,” I hiss, my hips bucking up as my other hand drifts back up to my nipple as the fingers of my right hand slide up and down my wet slit. I shiver as I plunge one finger into my warm tunnel, pressing the heel of my hand against my clit for added stimulation.
I imagine Rork pressing two fingers inside me, and I groan at the feeling. My hips are moving wildly, creating more friction between my hand and my pussy.
Rork is still fingering me as he stretches himself over my body, his eyes still on me as he captures my lips in a heated kiss. I gasp, my fingers still working inside me while my left hand tweaks my nipple. Within minutes, I feel an orgasm approaching, the tightening in my lower belly becoming unbearable.
My panting and moaning fill the room, my fingers jerking over my clit and my hips thrusting into nothing. I feel my walls clench around my fingers as I cry out Rork’s name, riding out my high until I collapse on the bed, completely sated and content.