Chapter 17
The way he holds her down is like being held under unyielding stone, suffocating and somehow boldly personal.
…Say no and mean it…
Perhaps…perhaps she can pour all the pain and twisted sick that’s sitting inside of her into him. He can take that weight on; he can feel like she does every minute of every day. This perfect, falsely charming man with all his upper-class breeding and money. He’s never lived a moment in shoes like hers, certainly not with an abusive father and a mother always on the brink of ending it all.
He’s certainly never felt the constant ridicule of his peers the way she always had, the way everyone looked down on her because of her circumstance, because so many didn’t like her father, knew what he was underneath the pleasant veneer he wore in public.
The bruises on his wife and daughter always told a blunt tale.
No, Nicholas Havenwood-Calais may make faces in public when people mention he may or may not have a controlling mother, but that means nothing in the face of years of lonesome, empty emotional agony.
Her jaw tightens painfully as she stares up at him. He’s waiting for something .
Kara imagines him as a younger man, dissects him in her mind as her palms creep up his shoulders with the intent to dig into his flesh. The debutantes must have loved him; a big influential name that dripped gold and a face carved from stone. A false playboy smile. The girls would have been easy, naturally. Anything to be ‘the one’. Anything for the money and the infamy of being on the arm of a Havenwood-Calais.
She also imagines that no-one ever knew him, really knew him. That’s something even she can’t claim, though she knows something a bit more than they probably ever did. All their easiness created this bored man, this man who wanted more, who wanted the hunt , not just the prize.
With care, her fingers curl into his shoulders, holding, not much else. Just feeling the strength hidden there. Is this what she wants? How far has she fallen, she muses, staring at his throat now, to willingly fall to her demise under a man who doesn’t wish her well?
Just like daddy, right? Is he a good substitute, Kara, you sick girl? Her own thoughts sound crass and cruel.
She’s always been like this though. Her mother had the gist of it. Kara never wanted the men she took to her bed to love her; she wanted them to make her feel small inside. The illusion shattered when they became sappy. The moment they became weak was the moment she couldn’t pretend any longer.
Kara takes a moment to envision that fuzzy night that she can barely piece together, of how Calais took advantage and discarded her. How she had meant nothing, just another nameless face. She allows anger and disgust boil in her chest, letting her signature viciousness flare in her chocolate gaze.
Placing a sneer on her lips, Kara uses her hands to push at him, at his broad-shouldered frame. Enunciating every word clearly, with hatred dripping from her words like sin, she demands, “Get off of me, you disgusting pig.”
Then, to throw gasoline on the fire, she hauls back her right hand and slaps him across the face as hard as she can. The sharp sound of her palm colliding with his cheekbone and nose crashes like glass in the otherwise silent room.
His face snaps to the side and for a moment, he actually pauses, staring in the direction the momentum of her hand moved him in. Then, his jaw works and he slowly cranes his face back towards hers.
Just like that, his lovely blue irises disappear into the yawning black of his pupils. The dilation is nearly immediate, cause and effect. His nostrils flare and then she feels all those muscles hidden under his shirt flex beneath her left hand. Calais presses her hard into the bed sheets with one large palm, his other yanking her naked legs wider.
Kara is suddenly torn between arousal and a distant fear, a cry of surprise escaping her lips.
She’s exposed and vulnerable. He’s still clothed.
Her emotions are a maelstrom, not one single feeling discernable as greater than the others. Fear, wrath, desire; they meld into one as she instinctively yanks her knees to her chest and kicks him away with her feet.
He grunts at the impact. Kara tries to lunge off the bed, but her own momentum is awkward and panicked, so she ends up falling off the edge in a wild sprawl, hitting her head against the wall after a hard land on her back. She groans.
Hands grab her, pulling her upwards roughly. “Was that a rejection?” He asks cruelly. “Poor form, little girl.”
She’s hoisted back onto the soft sheets, weakly wrestling with his much larger form. All struggle is futile. How could she have ever imagined that she could fight this man? His hands grip her wrists with bruising strength and Kara can feel the jarring sensation of bones grinding against one another.
Well, he did say she should ‘try’ to fight him. He already knows that she’s no physical match, the way his eyes glitter with dark lust.
Heresy and sin, violence and arousal. Things that should never mix together somehow have become the air they both breathe here in this room. “Don’t touch me, you ass,” Kara manages to grit out, exerting all of her strength into trying to get him off her body. Her muscles strain, tiring out. “No means no, haven’t you heard?”
He laughs, low and dangerous. Like a razorblade across a wrist. Violent. Bloody. “No, it doesn’t.”
Then, his hand covers her mouth harshly, pressing her head down into the bed. Her thong comes away with a simple yank. He doesn’t bother with her bra; he just forces it downward, exposing her breasts, letting them pop out over the top provocatively. His darkened eyes are a physical touch as he gazes at them, like a starving man.
He's hungry for her, ready to eat her alive.
Kara feels consumed, ravished. Like she’s straight out of one of those bodice ripper books. Like a damsel in distress, being shown sexual desire for the first time, complete with an awful, arrogant man and his need to claim her. Except, she’s not really a damsel in distress, but everything else fits.
Calais is staring between her legs in a way that has Kara flushing, breathing hard against the hand on her mouth. There’s a dark hunger in his gaze as he looks at her exposed slit, causing her to squirm, aching for some sort of friction to end this agony between her thighs.
He’s gazing at her like she’s an object for his perusal. Something for his enjoyment and nothing more. She’s a thing .
She wants to be consumed; she wants him to want her so bad that he can’t control himself.
He’s got his hand covering her mouth as she flirts with the act of either cursing him out or moaning in pleasure as he brushes his fingers over her, stroking her open with surety, pinning her down with his weight. The heaviness of his body on hers is delicious, hunger coiling in her belly. He lowers his heated mouth to her breast, sucking on her nipple. His tongue dances across her sensitive bud and the sensation causes her back to arch off the bed.
“Take what I give you,” he says against her flesh crudely, all tongue and saliva, fingers still filling her.
She gasps into the palm over her mouth as he licks and nips at the tip of her sensitive nipple, hearing the squelch of her pussy on his fingers as he presses hard against that special place inside of her, causing Kara to see stars. His thumb dances over her clit, not giving her enough friction.
God, she’s going to die in his bed. He’s smirking against her breast, as if he knows how well he’s playing with her.
He plays her like an instrument. One moment, he’s all violence. The next, he’s lustful sin.
“Bastard,” she hisses into his hand, pressing her tongue to his flesh, tasting salt and skin. Lost to need, she continues lapping at his palm with the flat of her tongue, the way she would with his cock. The animalistic sound he makes in his throat can be felt at her breast and every nerve in Kara’s body tingles.
“You filthy cunt,” he rasps at her in the low tone that makes her wet. He runs his tongue roughly across her tits, pulling his hand from her mouth to grab at them, palming them the way a man would in a bar, aggressive. Taking, dominating. “You like having your tits sucked, huh? Does that get you off?”
Kara doesn’t know how to respond, her face burning. To admit her pleasure at his hands would feel like failing. Instead, she arches her back and presses the side of her face into the sheets, refusing to look at him. The act presses her chest upward, presenting to him wordlessly.
An offering.
Shame fills Kara.
Pulling his fingers from inside of her, Calais grabs her face roughly, forcing her to look at him once more. Kara can smell herself on his fingers, musky and heady. His fingers press into her cheeks cruelly as he hisses, “Slut. It’s like you’re asking for it.”
Oh, yes. That’s the point .
She likes when he talks like this to her, cruel, depreciating. It shouldn’t turn her on, yet it does. She shouldn’t want to hear him call her names, like slut and whore , and yet…
There’s the telltale sound of a belt unbuckling, like thunder, loud and striking. The zipper, crawling open. Calais is still clothed, this authority figure that has her at his mercy. It arouses Kara even more, seeing the way he pulls his cock out, refusing to disrobe.
She’s bared before him. He’s baring only what is necessary to control her.
He rises up over her, kneeling over her chest, his erection slapping crudely between the mounds of her breasts. He rubs himself over her, degrading her with his words and actions. The look in his eyes is excited, aroused, the purple head of his cock dripping onto her flesh in a steady pace.
I know something about you, Kara thinks darkly as she eyes the thick, turgid flesh. You like demeaning women. You get off on that, Nicky boy. What a bad man you’ve turned out to be…
She wants to see him come apart.
He’s never cum for her before. Not that she can recall.
Recall.
A strange visual flashes into her head, there and gone. The limo. Hazy. Fuzzy and crude. A bruising grip on her jawline. No, she can’t recall the weight of him on her tongue, or if he forced her to deepthroat him until he came inside her belly. You want to experience what you can’t remember.
You want to take control again. You want the memory to be invalidated.
Horny and disturbed by herself, Kara arches, pressing her chest against his cock, watching the way his throat works in excitement. His breathing goes shallow when her fingers dance across the silken flesh. She cradles him between her mounds and stares up at him in a way that has him going still, his mind seemingly blanking with simple animal arousal. His eyes are midnight now, shadowed with lust. His cock twitches on her soft flesh, eager. Desperate. Precum wets her skin, glistening on her tits in a way that makes him lick his lips.
In this moment, she’s finally captured him. Her lips curl.
He must see some sort of glee, or triumph, in her gaze, for his eyes suddenly narrow. “Suck,” he says thickly.
“Are you going to make me?” She loves to push his boundaries.
Fingers at her jawline, tight. A hiss, teeth sharp and white in the dark of the room. “Is that what you want?” He kneels over her chest, closer within reach of her mouth. His cock nudges her lips, painting them with precum. “Open for me, baby girl.”
Kara keeps her mouth shut in rebellion until he digs his fingers into her jaw, forcing her to open. The broad head of his flesh slides against her open lips, dipping in.
She presses her tongue to his slit before taking him in, swirling and tasting. Suckling loudly. He likes the messiness of it, the noise. Calais throws his head back and groans deliciously, full of filth. Bit by bit, Kara swallows him down, playing with it slightly, poking the head into the corners of her mouth, letting her teeth dangerously graze his sensitive flesh.
When she glances upward, he’s staring down at her with his eyes half-lidded, need on his face. “Look at you, naughty girl,” he utters softly. “You were made to take cock, weren’t you?”
His breathing is getting heavier and Kara can feel the throb of his heart on her tongue. Vaguely, she envisions biting down, watching him shriek in agony. Blood and violence. She refrains.
“But, do you know how to choke on it?” He continues darkly, something dangerous coming to his tone.
You want to experience what you can’t remember.
Kara expected this to happen, but it doesn’t mean she’s ready for it when it does. He forces himself down the back of her throat, causing her to gag violently at the sudden intrusion. When she realizes she can’t breathe, she panics, throat convulsing around his cock.
“Hush,” he whispers lowly, thick and horny. “You’re not dying.”
They struggle this way for a few minutes, him fucking her throat, holding her jaw roughly as he takes his pleasure. Everything seems hazy, prickly and black with panic and fear as Kara tries to tell herself that breathing through her nose is just fine, that he’s enjoying this far more than he has any right to, considering she’s having such a tough time with it.
Calais tilts his head back again, groaning. “I could fuck your throat for hours. Look how upset you are. Fuck .”
His enjoyment of the act keeps desire in her belly, despite the panic in her breast. When he finally pulls out of her mouth, he looks wild, panting like he’s been running for miles. “Enough of that,” he says suddenly, on edge, precarious.
Without any preamble, he roughly yanks her hips further down the bed and pushes himself inside in a smooth thrust, leaving Kara gasping for air, broken into mental pieces of oh . He makes a noise of vicious satisfaction. Kara is shaking around him, mouth open in shock, her channel throbbing with the sudden penetration.
Need, euphoria, friction, a spiral of desire dropping from her belly into her core.
The stretch takes getting used to, but he doesn’t give her any time, his hips working. She feels full to the brim, burning, completely consumed and owned by him as he delves deeper. Instinctively, she sinks her teeth into his neck and he hisses, “Harder. Fucking bite me, you bitch.”
Her nails claw into his shoulders.
With a snarl of her own, snapping her hips upward to meet his, she clenches her jaw hard, harder than she ever would for anyone else. Kara can feel the muscles in his neck twitching in response and he groans. She wants to tear him apart, even as her insides quiver with delight.
Fuck, it must hurt , Kara muses with a dark sort of glee, imagining her teeth tattooing the space between his neck and shoulder. He should be able to hide it under the collar of a button-down shirt, but he won’t be able to hide from it in the mirror.
Nor will he be able to hide from the ache in his muscle whenever he moves his neck. He’ll think of her, of this very moment, of him buried deep inside of her, fucking her open on his cock while she digs into him with equal fury.
She’ll claw into his soul and leave a goddamn scar .
After a few hard strokes, he pushes her halfway onto her stomach, lifting her leg to his hip, slipping back inside shallowly. Kara clenches down on him hard, feeling that same, intense sensation that she can’t hold back. The orgasm that goes beyond an orgasm, the sensation that’s just too much as he angles himself in this same, precise way. “Oh, God,” Kara gasps, fingers clenching the sheets.
Kara wants to scream, hates herself for enjoying this so thoroughly.
She barely realizes that he’s been holding her down this whole time, his free hand forcing her combined wrists down as he humps into her from behind, her leg up over his hip. “Shi…I’m going to…” Kara practically whines with a sort of breathless panic.
“You like it this way,” he pants, “on your stomach like a whore?”
“Shut…up…”
“You like it from behind. Speared on a thick cock.” He grunts as he slams into her special place. “Slut.”
The words trigger something inside of her, a spasm, hard and vicious.
In a flash of heat, so extreme that she barely sees it coming, Kara climaxes with a shriek, contracting around him tightly. Pressure unwinds inside of her, a gush of liquid forcing itself out of her around his cock, drenching his balls. Calais groans in response, "Oh, you're a hot little fuck piece, sweetpea." He continues thrusting into her harder, ever harder, as if he wants to crawl inside her flesh, as if he wants to fuck his way into her rib cage. He fucks her through the spasms of her pussy until she's nearly floating in ecstasy.
Then, he stills, trembling.
With a vicious snarl, he pulls himself out of her, rolling her onto her back. She’s boneless, doesn’t care what he’s about in the slightest, her orgasm high warming her. Calais points his cock at her breasts, squeezing himself, stroking, spurting white onto her. Splashes of wet heat splatter onto her, his angry-looking cock jolting with each stream of cum he sprays onto her.
When’s he’s done marking her, he remains hovering, panting roughly, eyes shadowed. He absently rubs his cum into her skin, massaging it over her nipples in a way that has Kara shuddering, over sensitized. When Kara finally meets his shadowed gaze, he commands, “Clean me up.”
His cock is slowly going soft, throbbing with his rapid heartbeat. Kara plays troublesome, not moving, exhausted. “Clean yourself.”
“Do it,” he says, keeping a firm tone. "Clean up this mess you’ve made me make."
Kara’s inside shrivel with glee at the note in his voice, the vicious command. It reminds her…well, best not to think of that at a time like this.
Then again, Kara should just acknowledge her head is screwed up. Her father acted like this all the time; domineering, impatient, demanding. Taking so much, giving so little. It feels the same, but the sexual aspect of it makes her feel like she’s found love in violence.
Love in violence. What a phrase.
She cleans him, taking his soft cock into her mouth gently. He shudders, hands going into her hair in the mockery of an embrace.
Afterwards, he sits on the edge of the bed, cool as ice, all the passion and fire slowly melting away. He sighs and cranes his head to look at Kara over his shoulder. “You can stay in here for as long as you need. Use the shower if you want, it’s-”
“In the bathroom,” Kara replies quickly to hide her moment of hurt. What did you expect, a cuddle? That’s for boyfriends and he’s not that. “I know.” She feels wet and sticky inside, let alone on her chest where he outright covered her with his cum.
He must see something on her face, vulnerability. Or pain. Whichever it is, he gives her a slight smile that seems ersatz to her eyes. Familiar. He reaches a hand out and strokes her cheek gently; Kara tries to not lean into it, tries to not seem desperate for the touch.
Slipping away from him, feeling strange aches in her body, she steps into the bathroom and showers him away, washing her sweat and his semen from her skin. When she’s done, she wraps herself in the great white robe she finds on the door and returns to the bedroom.
He’s lying on the bed now, his shirt thrown onto the floor. Kara glances at him as she towels off her hair. The lack of a shirt makes it easy to see the vicious bruise mark where her teeth sunk deep. Her eyes drift over his body, now revealed, considering he’d taken her while nearly fully clothed.
A power play.
His pectorals are as well shaped as she imagined, strong and bulky. She glances at his stomach region, which isn’t defined, certainly not washboard abs, yet attractive all the same. Real. Not a man who lives in the gym all day every day, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring at his smooth skin, Kara feels her fingertips itch to run across the exposed flesh with a featherlight caress. She refrains.
He opens his eyes to glance at her, drifting over her robe covered frame. “Are you staying?”
“I haven’t decided, actually,” Kara replies evasively, unsure she feels like remaining one second more, now that desire has faded into the background of her mind.
“Hm. You can say my name, you know. You did so at the bar.” It’s funny that it bothers him, her lack of ever calling him by his given name.
“I suppose. Less of a mouthful than that last name of yours.” Kara pauses, then feels her heart jolt. “You didn’t wear a condom.”
“Obviously not.”
She stares at him, vaguely horrified that she didn’t think of this earlier, while it was happening.
There’s a slight noise of derision from him. “I get tested monthly by my private physician. I’m clean. So, as long as you’re on the pill, this shouldn’t be an issue. Unless, you’re the dirty one.”
Feeling somewhat better, but cursing herself for letting this all happen before setting the record straight, Kara says vaguely, “I’m not the one picking up women in limos on the weekends.”
There’s a pause, a silence. What happened between them a thick sort of awareness, like a hot blanket with weights in it. He didn’t like her comment about the limo, his chest tensing in a telling fashion.
“You’re going to lose, you know.” The slow rise and fall of his chest is distracting, but not more so than the devious words that have just fallen from his perfect lips.
Kara frowns down at him. “What are you on about? Lose what ?”
“The Max Dotaire case. You’re going to lose. I know intelligence occasionally eludes you, but I’m sure this reality has hit you in the face already,” he drawls with a mocking lilt.
It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since he was inside of her and already, he’s back to mocking her. Obnoxious, yet somehow entirely not shocking.
“You know what?” Kara envisions suffocating him with the towel her hair is wrapped in. “You can screw yourself next time.” With a sneer, she settles for hitting him in the face with it as she leaves the room. “You know, I’ve decided I’m not staying after all. The scent of asshole is prevalent here.”
He mutters something that Kara doesn’t make out as she collects her things, collecting her scattered clothes, grimacing when she bends over and her back complains. She must have bruised it. Nick, because that’s what he wants her to call him, apparently, follows her out into the hall, still shirtless, jeans still undone.
“Did you get what you came for?” He asks with an aloof note in his tone.
This gives Kara pause, her brow furrowing. Her back is to him, so he can’t see her expression, thankfully. While she feels the answer should be ‘yes’, she’s not completely sure. She wanted him, she had him, but not only that, he willingly gave her an outlet for the violence and anger under her skin.
He fits the mirror image; he fits the illusion .
But, is the emptiness inside of her suddenly filled? Erased? No, she feels it, still there. Ever present, wondering what it will take to make it disappear. “It will suffice,” she replies. “For now.” She’s not sure how to ask him if they will do this again or not. The last thing she wants is to seem desperate. “So, I take it you know how to find me if you feel the urge for a repeat performance?”
She hopes that is vague enough, detached enough.
“Kara,” his voice gives her pause. “Remember what this thing between us is …and what it’s not .”
Discomfort crawls through her stomach at those words. A blatant warning that feelings have no place here. The problem is, Kara is full of feelings, violent, tragic, and needful. It feels like acid reflux, a burn in her belly, the need to vomit, heart palpitations.
Feeling her throat work, an ugly expression drifting over her face with a strong emotion, barely held back, Kara clears her visage before turning slightly to say, “I don’t need a reminder. I’m well aware what you’re not. But I expect the same of you. Don’t plan on placing boundaries on me .”
His face freezes in a slight expression of dark amusement, like he thinks what she’s said is funny, in a pathetic sort of way. Then, he snorts dismissively. Typical. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he rasps in the sandpaper voice of his, that tone that makes her insides clench, like sex and sin.
She closes the door behind her without another word.
At home, alone with the bruises and an auspicious ache in her bones, Kara sits on her couch and stares out the window. She wonders, detachedly, if she is supposed to feel regret. Is that the normal reaction to an event like this?
She can’t help the way she replays the events of the night, thinking it through, daydreaming of his eyes and the way he felt, heated and strong. The way he sounded. The way he held her down so hard that it hurt.
There are marks on her wrists. Visible. She’ll have to hide them. That’s okay, she knows how to do that. She’s had years of practice. Despite the marks of violence on her body, she wants it all to happen again, even though she thought she wouldn’t.
Even though she still feels lost and unfulfilled.
It’s a horrid realization, when she accepts that she won’t be able to just forget about him and move on.
Trouble…trouble…trouble…you’re in trouble .
You never asked for anything more. He never intended for there to be strings attached, remember? This was just a moment in time for him and a sick little experiment for you.
Don’t let it become anything more.