Chapter 11
The next morning, I woke up as if in a fog, aching all over. My dreams had been strange and chaotic things, and suddenly my body jerked as I felt a heavy, dull pain in my ass.
“Ouch, Gabriel!”
“Squeal if you want, but my dick is going in your ass when I want it. And I want it now.”
One hand was on his cock, the other on my cheeks, spreading me wide for him.
My ass wasn’t built for his size, it wasn’t ready for his size, but he spat on his cock, pressed it in past resistance until every muscle in my body was tensed, like I was afraid to move or he’d shatter me apart.
Since he wanted me to scream, I resolved not to for as long as I could, my hands clutched out at the sheets, wishing desperately I could lever my body out of the bed and run away from him.
“It’s not going to go in!”
“Not only is it going in, but you’re going to come for me.”
Inch by arduous inch, he moved inside me as I poured with sweat, gritting my teeth until I could stand it no longer and I had to let loose with whimpers and moans.
My cunt was puffed-up and swollen, rubbing on the bed until I felt like I was going to scream with frustration.
It was such a depraved intimacy to feel him so close to me, his eyes greedily watching my every move.
“Take it,” he ordered with each inch as the discomfort seized up my muscles, ground my clit down harder onto the mattress.
I came so hard I might have blacked out, stars clustering in my vision as the dueling sensations of throbbing, erotic pain mixed with the urgent needs of my swollen cunt.
When I came to, he was still going.
“Another,” he ordered in a gloating voice, and I knew my body would obey him, would obey even with every cell afire with agony.
When we were done, I lay limply on the bed, feeling like my orgasm had wrung all the moisture from my body as I watched Gabriel walk around the apartment naked.
“Come shower with me.”
“What? Why?”
“Come use those pretty lips and talk to me.”
“Why? No!” I said pettishly, and he suddenly turned and loomed over me, reaching for my throat and yanking me closer.
“Because I want to hear your voice, that’s why.”
“Why me?” was all I could ask.
Why was I the object of your dangerous and unholy obsession?
“I like how you look,” was all would give me. “I like how you sound, too.”
And that was all I got, all the explanation for why he listened unblinkingly to everything I said, insisted on having me next to him at all times. . .
My ass was extremely sore as we went downstairs.
There were so many dark hallways leading off the main one. . . surely, somehow, I could find a way to escape.
I tried to test it a bit as we wound our way around a staircase, quickly going a few steps ahead of Gabriel.
The shadows were so deep. . . I could melt into them. . .
But before I had even put a toe into the densely carpeted floor, I felt a hard hand on my neck and I was being yanked back onto Gabriel’s chest.
“What are you doing?” he growled, burying his other hand in my long hair so that his fingers spanned my scalp.
“Just walking downstairs.”
“Walk downstairs next to me in future.”
“The moment I get a chance,” I said coldly. “I’ll be gone.”
He snapped his hips forward so I felt the rub of the belt on my back.
“Want to feel this on your ass? Then you better behave.”
“But I need to go get Plan B! After last night!”
“Why?”
“You didn’t use a condom!”
“And?”
“And I don’t want to get pregnant,” I hissed angrily.
“But I want you to get pregnant.”
“You cannot be serious!” my heart fluttered desperately. “I’m 38 years old! You’re 22. You don’t want a baby,” I tried to reason with him. “That would get in the way of going out to clubs and with your douchebag friends picking up women.”
“I don’t want that. I want you. I wonder if I got you pregnant already.”
“Hell no,” I bluffed, but I remembered I was about halfway in the middle of my cycle.
Maybe he had.
No.
Nightmare.
I had to believe it wasn’t true.
As we came down the stairs, I saw a group of workers whispering together, some frowns on their faces.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“They found another body,” one of the younger workers said quietly. “Down in Ashgrove village.”
“Who?”
“The schoolteacher there,” she said as Branby hushed her. “She was so young. Only her first year.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
Who was doing this?
My skin crawled with unease.
Had Gabriel been beside me all night?
I didn’t know
“Son, are you ready for the interview?” Lucian asked.
“Yes.”
It was like the death of someone so innocent and young just didn’t matter out here in Ashgrove Manor beyond how inconvenient it would be.
What if Gabriel said something during the interview that made it clear he had fucked me?
Would that ruin my reputation?
What if he showed that picture?
Lucian ushered us into the room with the Steelblades corporate suits. It was a big, warm sitting room with a roaring fire, and he poured everyone a glass of whiskey.
I declined, glaring at Lucian.
“Please,” he mouthed.
“You’re fucking weak.”
How had I ever thought he was my dream man?
I headed for a place as far from Gabriel as I could get, but he blocked me, pulling out a massive leather chair and spinning it around.
Defiance hovered on my lips, but then he tapped the chair with two strong fingers.
Did these gobble-necked pencil-pushers look like they could save me from him?
If I burst out that their precious superstar was literally holding me here by force, would they be able to get me out safely?
Looking at how Gabriel loomed over the entire room, the dark suit stretched tight over his shoulders, I didn’t think so.
I sat down.
“This is Dr. Lindeth,” Gabriel said in his deep bass voice. “She has been working with me to find healthy coping strategies for stress.”
Assshole fucker
He thought it was funny to taunt me, knowing I couldn’t do anything as long as he had that blackmail material.
My mind was racing as I half-listened to the Steelheads management talk.
Certain regrettable incidents. . .
A fight in a bar that had ended in significant injuries to others. . .
Surely that had been provoked. . .
Destruction of property. . .
Car that had been totaled. . .
And, of course, the college hockey commissioner who. . . suddenly turned around a suspension after a mysterious fire at his house. . .
I was astonished that even the litany of his sins didn’t fully express how dangerous he was.
What else had he done?
Truly, no matter what, I had to tell the truth. I could not lie.
But, even as I determined to do the right thing, Gabriel brought my phone out of his pocket and laid it gently on the table in front of him, his big hands resting coolly beside it.
Fuck
I eyed the hateful thing fearfully.
I knew exactly what was on there. My face tipped-up, my mouth opened wide, on my knees in front of my patient as his cum coated my tongue and splashed over my face.
“What do you think, Dr. Lindeth?” the Steelblades coach asked. “As his therapist you are in a unique position to confirm or deny if he is fit to play hockey.”
I hesitated.
This was my entire scholarly reputation down the toilet if anyone found out about it.
Because Gabriel was the most frightening psychopath I had ever encountered.
After all, most psychopaths weren’t remotely violent.
Gabriel had benefited from his unusually attractive face and body. His violence had been sporadic and done with an almost bored casualness.
Unless there was more we didn’t know about. . .
His hands were folded on the table and there wasn’t a muscle that moved in his face.
You should have seen what he did to me! I wanted to scream.
You should see the bruises on my hips from where he holds me down.
You should feel the cum soaking my panties, dripping past to seep into my hose.
You should see my car at the bottom of the fucking pond.
What the fuck was he going to do to me if I didn’t lie and say he was just a normal 22-year-old?
“Not a psychopath,” I said, my throat feeling dry.
Would it be too suspicious to take a massive drink of water?
“He just had a lack of mental stimulation in college. In retrospect, perhaps a more arduous major would have been beneficial.”
“That’s a good point,” Lucian put in.
Oh, I hated that look on his face. I had been fooled by his Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences face into thinking he had some kind of strength, but he was nothing but a weakling.
“Are you sure? This is a matter of extreme delicacy. If Mr. Descoteaux is at all a diagnosed psychopath or sociopath we do not want him playing on our team.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair and I saw the outline of his massive dick in his suit pants.
“Thank you, Dr. Lindeth. I feel like under your care I am developing a healthy, non-toxic masculinity.”
I wanted to fucking strangle him, if I thought he’d have done anything but laugh and let me, until his cock got so hard he’d return the favor.
“Well, I think that’s all we need to see,” one of the suits said with barely disguised glee.
He reached across the table and shook Gabriel’s hand.
“Welcome to the Steelheads. “Can’t wait to see you play on opening day.”
“Thank you,” Gabriel said, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
“So sorry to hear about all the recent tragedies,” one of the management put in as they all headed out the door.
Was it my imagination or was Branby almost grinning?
Sick fucker.
“We hope the perpetrator will be found soon,” Lucian said with his smooth, bureaucratic smile. “The police are considering it might be a backpacker who has been camping out in the woods somewhere.”
A backpacker?
I didn’t think it was likely that a backpacker would stow a body in the Ashgrove Manor farmhouse. . .
“You wanted to disobey, didn’t you?” Gabriel’s silky gravel voice growled in my ear as he held me back from the group. “But you resisted. What a good little mama.”
His hand was on my lower belly, rubbing it with an obscene parody of domestic tenderness.
“I’m already pregnant with your father’s baby,” I hissed back.
He snorted.
“Please, my father couldn’t possibly keep up with you. He’s fucking 55. He has old-ass sperm. He couldn’t give you a baby. I’m 22. I’m going to keep you pregnant until I’m ready to stop.”
“But I don’t want a baby.”
“Remind me where the fuck I asked you what you wanted?” he asked, gripping me tightly against him so I could feel the heated threat of his cock on my back.
Lucian and Hemsworth walked back inside, with Branby carrying a tray filled with wine glasses.
“Let’s have a drink,” Lucian said, “to celebrate.”
Gabriel pulled me into the sitting room after him, my hand held firmly in his.
“To Dr. Lindeth,” Lucian said in a warm voice, winking at me.
“Fuck you,” I said, suddenly absolutely furious. “Your precious son is a disgusting amoral psychopath and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” he said, raising one aristocratic eyebrow. “And you’ve just confirmed he is normal in every way before a whole committee.”
“Did you date me just so I could lie for you?” I demanded.
Lucian looked disturbed for once. “No, of course not. I did think—a stepmother for Gabriel who had psychiatric training—just the thing.”
I felt so furious at this, just a gut-deep flaming rage that he’d brought me here under false pretenses, when he must have known perfectly well Gabriel was a psychopath, that I flew at him, tearing at his tie and stupid pocket squares.
Gabriel only chuckled as Lucian tried to fend me off.
“Let her,” he said.
“Son—”
“I said let her.”
I ripped out his cufflinks and kicked at Lucian’s ankles, almost frightened of my own rage.
This wasn’t usually me. I wasn’t an angry person.
What had happened to my scholarly convictions that every psychopath could be taught empathy?
“That’s enough, baby,” Gabriel said, pulling me back against him. “You’re making me horny.”
“She’s mine,” he told his father, as a hard hand clamped down on my head, stroking my hair with a terrifying metronomic regularity. "Not yours. She never was yours. All you did was deliver her to me.”