Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of non-consensual, dubiously consensual or reluctant sexual situations.
[Disclaimer: all characters portrayed in this story are over 18 years old. They are also fictional and a figment of my overactive imagination. Thanks for reading. Feedback is welcome.]
I awoke disoriented.
The room was dark and, after a few moments of blinking and familiar smells of vanilla and lavender, I could make out some recognizable shapes. Realizing I was in my bedroom and on my bed was, however, a momentary relief. It took a bit of struggling moving my arms, to register the restrains on my delicate wrists and ankles. My semi-conscious mind, now infused with panic regarding my safety, is jarred awake, sluggishly trying to piece together what's going on and happening to me. I struggle for a bit longer but can't find any slack in the binds. My hands are clasped as if in prayer and stretched high, with ropes keeping them together. Try as I might, I can't bring them down. My legs, splayed wide, are tightly tied to the posts of my bedframe.
My panic, now morphs into horror, as my fruitless struggles for freedom, along with my racing mind screech to a halt. I am buck ass naked. Lying on my back, on the 400-count thread lily white Egyptian cotton sheets my mom got me for my 24th birthday last month. I am fucking nude. My heart in my throat, I start hyperventilating.
"This can't be happening to me," I think out loud, anxiety and the beginnings of terror lacing every word. I hear a deep, amused snort from the left side of my bedroom and I freeze. My heart galloping wildly, I slowly turn my head in that direction.
"Who's there?" I try to quiet my breathing; try to force a sense of calm so I don't lose my shit before I can figure out how to get out of this.
"Honestly Via, did you really think I wouldn't be able to find you?" I feel chills running down my spine. Disbelief, horror, relief, and apprehension fight for dominance in my mind. I know this voice.
I thought I'd left this voice in New York City after the worst night of my life. I thought I'd never hear this voice again after running away and leaving everything and everyone behind. It sounded like honey and iron, deep and dark, velvety and unyielding. I always got the honeyed voice; never the iron. This voice promised pain; salvation would have to wait. After years of not hearing it, of missing and dreading it, I'm still surprised by the strength of the clench in my core, my body always betraying me when it comes to him. I'm surprised I can read my fate. I'm not going anywhere until he's satisfied.
"Liam," I croaked and hated myself for the nervousness I've just exposed. I take a deep breath as light floods into the room. Suddenly I want the darkness back as I blink furiously, trying to adjust to the golden glow bouncing off my lavender walls. My bedroom door, directly across the foot of the bed several feet away, is slightly ajar, showing a darkened world beyond. My vanity, nestled on the wall between my closed en-suite and walk-in closet doors, is on my right. The tiny rainbow lights dancing merrily along the sides of the oblong mirror seem from another world. My nightstands appear undisturbed, my mind flashing to my gun inside the bottom right drawer.
"There's no one else here to come to your rescue Via," Liam says, amused. "You really shouldn't have picked such a secluded home with no one around but you for miles."
"I didn't think—"
"Look at me!" He thunders softly, interrupting what I'm sure would've been something stupid that won't help me now anyway.
My heart racing wildly, I finally turn my head in his direction and see the blackout curtains on my floor to ceiling glass wall tightly shut. He's sitting back in my ice gray accent chair; his long legs clad in dark jeans, crossed at the ankles. His hands resting on his black button down covered corrugated torso. His hair, not quite black, not quite brown, is longer than I remember ever seeing it, almost shoulder length. High cheekbones pronounced against a regal, aristocratic nose and forehead. An angelic face stubbled with a persistent looking 5'oclock shadow, another difference from when I knew him to like being clean shaven at all times. Gray eyes, framed with the thickest and longest lashes ever wasted on a man, look on with what seems to be indifference but, I know better. I thought I'd be spending the rest of my life alongside this man. The one who still makes my heart beat staccato from fear and excitement.
He looks like every woman's wet dream come to life. The rake from the harlequin book that'll love you hard and leave you used up and satiated.
"You were saying," he gestures for me to continue, one perfect eyebrow arched.
I sigh heavily, needing to ground myself.
"Why did you tie me up Liam?" I hold his burning gaze, apprehensively feeling goosebumps erupt all over my body. My nipples pebble and the throbbing in my pussy intensify. I know I'm getting wet and, as if he can sense my emotional whirlwind, he flashes me that wolfish smile that never reaches his eyes. The smile he reserves for those who always come to feel his wrath. His left hand rub his top lip as if he's thinking about what to say but, again, I know better. Despite my body's reaction to his proximity, I'm on high alert and afraid.
He unfolds himself from the low chair, all grace and lithe like a panther. His tall and wide frame fills the space he's occupying, owning it, gravity be damned. He owns every movement he makes, no step wasted, no gesture overdone. He looks bigger than the last time I saw him; his chest and arms straining against the simple black shirt as he moves closer. His long legs eating up the few feet between the chair and the foot of my bed; bare feet soundless on the plush carpeted floor. I used to love his control; I made it my mission to try to shatter it at every chance I could get. I was the one who ended up broken to a million pieces though, so much so that I'm still an unfinished mosaic, trying to pick up the pieces of my life.
My eyes widen slightly as I get my first close up at his face, the light throwing his face in sharper relief. His full mouth looked all the more cruel, his eyes never straying from mine, the intensity undoing me. Undoing all these fucking years on the run. I've nowhere to go now.
"It's been three years Via. I've forgotten how beautiful you are, angel," his left index finger is trailing from my left calf up. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. My breath catches as I stifle the moan that almost left my throat. The pulse between my legs intensifies. "I thought you as a blonde was devasting but, whoever convinced you to become a redhead has my undying gratitude." His finger is now tracing up my flat middle, dipping into the valley of my belly button, detouring for the swoops and dips of my waist. He grazes the underside of my breasts, passes across my sternum and lingers on the small scar on my left clavicle. It's a new imperfection on my body he's not familiar with and his eyes burn with curiosity. I stare back stubbornly, trying not to squirm. He smirks; fingering the pulsing vein in my neck. Finally, he lifts his hand and touches the top of my head, fingering my waist length hair and freeing a lock from the messy bun I put it in before falling asleep. Snippets of memories from last night finally filter in; I remember the sleeping pills I washed down with the bottle of red wine I shouldn't have drank. No wonder I didn't hear him come in or feel him tying me up. My stupidity has made his job all the easier.
"So fucking beautiful," he muses softly.
"Liam," I sound breathless and needy as his name leave my lips. He stops looking at my copper red hair and slams his gray gaze on me. My words dry up and I swallow audibly, caught in the dynamism he always exudes. That, I don't think can ever change about him. He releases my hair and ghosts his thumb over my bow shaped lips, back and forth. Back and forth. The raging pulsing has become an unbearable inferno now.
"You didn't answer my question Via." His thumb slips between my lips and my tongue instinctively licks the invading digit before I can stop myself. His eyes flare with dark promises I crave and abjure simultaneously.
"Which quest… ahhhh," I moan, unable to keep the sound locked up when he spreads the wetness from his thumb on my left nipple and pinches like he knows I love.
"Did you think I wouldn't be able to find you?" He lets go, and moves away from me to walk towards my vanity; like he needs to get away from me. The only sounds are the rustling of his clothes and my panting breath, harsh and loud in the otherwise quiet room and even quieter house. I need to figure out how to make him free me. I can't give in. I won't give in. I try to muster as much of my shattered confidence and glare at him.
"Untie me Liam. This is not how we should talk after all this time apart; after all that's happened."
He chuckles softly. "You know how to make me stop, Via." One word flashes in my head in bright red. I should say it. He would stop if I utter the word. I want to say it but the word seems stuck in my throat, unable to be vocalized. "Now you want to talk?" he says, "We could've talked three years ago. Last year; hell, last month on our birthday." I gasp. His face is blank as his indifference bleeds into the room. "Yes," He smirks. " I know about our birthday, so no, now you don't get what you want, angel. Now you get to answer my questions. You get to do what I want. I won't ask again Olivia." His honey voice is smooth and calm, never betraying the fury I can see blazing in his eyes.
I swallow. Hard. How the fuck did he find out? Who told him? "I'm not afraid of you, Liam."
He smiles; he's not buying my half assed bullshit and frankly, neither am I.
"That was not an answer," he stalks back towards me.
"Wait!" I yell slightly off kilter at the menace rolling off of him in waves of impatience. "I thought I covered my tracks. It's been three years. Mom hasn't heard from you. Ellie hadn't heard from you. I didn't think you'd be able to find me!" I rush this all out when he stops, his right eye twitching slightly at the mention of my foster mother and best friend. He still dislikes them I see; can't say I blame the guy but they're the only family I have left. At least, the ones I'm choosing to associate with currently. "I did everything you taught me and I thought you wouldn't be able to see where I'd gone. William and Abby certainly couldn't so I thought I was in the clear."
"Our father and stepmother are dead."
Our father. So he does know. I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath. I'm shocked but not enough to curb the feelings of perverse pleasure. Fuck yes. They tried to kill me and nearly succeeded. If there is a hell, they're both probably very welcome by the devil.
"Happened yesterday, in case you were curious. Tragic really, how helicopters can just plummet from the sky." All this delivered as if we were talking about the weather.
"Did you kill them, Liam?" I should be disgusted by the breathless way I say this. I should lament the changes I've had to endure ever since I found out William Colchester was my father; our father. I should ask him who told him about our parentage, but this news of death is all I can focus on. I should be more perturbed by my newfound bloodthirst. I should, but I'm alive and they're not; and this news needs to be savored.
I draw a breath. And another. "Did you kill them?"
"You really shouldn't drink as much as you have been, angel. I can't imagine it's good for your health." I lift my head to see that hateful smirk painted on his mouth. My smile is wiped from my face.
"Have you been spying on me?" The thought of that is disquieting. I look around to see if there are any cameras in my room. I forgot how good he is at distractions when he doesn't want to engage but, hearing about the drinking he should know nothing about rattles me.
He knows what I'm doing. He always does. "There are cameras all over this room; all over the house." I gasp. I yell. He picks something up from my vanity and strides forward. It's a fucking gag. I arch and buck against restrains that give no purchase. My curses and pleading silenced by the ball pressed on my lips, then slipped between my teeth as he secures it behind my head. His intoxicating, spicy scent envelops me, inside and out. Notes of orange blossoms, neroli, French lavender and cedarwood tickle my senses as I breathe him in deeply, oddly calming down a bit as I exhale and inhale. I realize too late he's straddling me. I realize too late his cock is at eye level. I realize too late I've woken up the beast. He's hard; and I can't even lie to myself as I feel my pussy is as wet as it's ever been because I've craved this since I walked out of his penthouse. I've craved the erotic violence; the hot pulse his nearness invokes from my body. His taste, his scent, his touch. I've craved him.
"You should panic," he slides down my body, his clothes chafing against my nakedness, and lies on my right side. The juxtaposition of his clothed body and my nude one is ever so sharp; my skin highly sensitized and flushed. One of his hands prop up his head as he looks down at me and the other circles my neck. We can both feel my pulse thrumming. "I've known where you were since you left me." His voice is harsh and unforgiving as he leans down and rasps in my ear. Angling my jaw with his thumb, he nuzzles and breathes me in. I close my eyes to his gray gaze and pray he doesn't say what I know he will.
"I've been watching you take that gun out of your nightstand to stare at every night since you've moved in. I've been watching you lie like you breathe, about everything, to everyone. I've been watching you fuck and drink your way into an early grave. I've been watching, Via. But no more."
I feel his hair tickling the side of my breast and chest before his lips close around the bud. He suckles, then bites down, my back arching for more and my arms stretching further. The gag muffles my moan slightly, the strain in my arms, my legs, and the delicious burn of his teeth on my breast combine to make my throbbing center and arousal nearly unbearable. In this moment I hate and love him equally. The intensity is quite dizzying. He's taken away my ability to lie with my lips. All that speaks now is my treacherous body. And fuck me, he knows how to make this body sing for him.
My nipple pop out of his mouth with a lingering lick, as he lays back down next to me. His gaze molten steel, his hand hot as it traces along both breasts.
"Did they fill the void?" he sits up, kneels next to me and twists my nipples cruelly. I arch into his palms and scream behind the gag. He already knows the answer to this question.
He cups my mound possessively, then a finger slips into my folds. Up and down. Up and down. He groans, "you're fucking soaked, you filthy girl." He finds my engorged clit and pinches it while slapping my left breast, watching it quiver. I'm delirious with the pain pleasure only he knows how to inflict on me. This is so fucking wrong but god help me, I've missed this. I've missed him. I love him. I hate him. My heart squeezes with the chaotic blend of emotions; I feel myself bubbling up and out of control. My breath rushes out of my nose harshly and all I breathe is him. He's taken over every sense I possess but taste, and it's hard to take a full breath as waves of sensations crash into me. He slips two fingers inside me. Slowly. Unbearably slow. I whine in frustration as he pushes down my pelvis, stopping my attempts to fuck his hand.
"Be good and you won't be punished as harshly as you deserve, angel." It's my honey voice; the one meant only for me when I drive him crazy. I keen. He smiles as I shudder with the beginnings of a monster orgasm I can feel building from my toes on up. His fingers curve up and press hard, finding that secret spot as his thumb circles my clit. His attention is focused on my pussy; his tongue peeking out between his straight, white teeth. His eyes, slightly hooded and dilated as he drags me closer to the edge.
I grow more slippery. " Fuck yes angel," he breathes harshly, in that low voice that has me staring at the cliffs this induced insanity. "You're such a filthy fucking girl; you want me to go faster?" I nod and moan; past caring about his boundary issues, oblivion closer with every glide of his thumb and stroke of his fingers. "You want me to make my pussy come for me, don't you?" I'm at the edge now, ready to take the plunge, pleading with my eyes, all for him to remove his fingers, and then his hands, from my body.
'No!" My cry is muffled by the gag. I squirm and gyrate obscenely, my cunt trying to chase his retreating digits, driven mad with the need to come.
"You didn't think it'd be that easy did you?" He looks down at me. I scream muffled curses. He watches me impassively, waiting out my temper tantrum.
"I'll take the gag off if you promise to behave," he says when I've calmed down some. "Nod if you agree."
I still my struggles; I nod.
"Good girl," he places the gag on my left nightstand. "Are you ready to be punished, sister mine?" A fucked up thrill shoots through me at hearing him call me his sister. I shouldn't be aroused by this and I try to form some kind of coherent thought to convey how wrong it is, continuing down this path. He knows about us being siblings. I shouldn't be aroused by this.
"Don't sound so fucking gleeful, Liam. It's unbecoming. We're no longer engaged and I no longer submit to you, present circumstances aside. Why am I being punished for keeping myself safe from our batshit family? I almost died! And you're my fucking twin, in case you've forgotten that bit of it." I breathe to tamp down the hysteria that was climbing up my throat. I'm afraid he'll continue. I'm afraid he'll stop. I don't say the word he's clearly waiting for, his eyebrow raised, watching me intently.
A few beats pass in complete silence. He looks to be struggling to keep his temper in check and I crow internally that I've succeeded in making him lose some control of himself.
"As to you being my twin," he seethes, "it doesn't fucking matter to me; it shouldn't to you. If you had stayed instead of running away, you would've seen you had nothing to worry about. You're supposed to trust that I would take care of you. You're supposed to trust that I had nothing to do with what happened with William. You're not supposed to give MY pussy to anything that fucking crawls the earth. You're not supposed to try to KILL YOURSELF!" He stops abruptly; his eyes anguished as his hands run through his hair. I forget my anger momentarily and my fingers twitch watching him; I want to do that. We are quite the pair, him and I. "Why do you think I came to you tonight Via? I saw you take the pills and downing the booze. I thought—" he trails off, like he doesn't have the strength to continue.
I'm stunned, anger dissipating. "Liam. I just wanted to sleep. I wasn't trying to kill myself. I just wanted sleep." Tears run down my face as I take him in.
He exhales, his eyes boring into me, flicking back and forth. He nods, seeming to find what he's looking for; then licks the tears from my cheeks. I shiver and feel his smile on my skin.
"What's your safe word, Olivia?"
I knew the night wouldn't end without him reassuring himself that I'm choosing this debasement. I'm choosing to be depraved. Not uttering this word gives him all the power he wants and needs. I could've stopped this by uttering that one word this entire time. Since I've heard his voice when I woke up. If I answer, I'm affirming consent. If I answer, he'll take and take, never stopping even after he owns me again, repossesses my soul again.
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