Dark Obsession Excerpts
Wicked Games – A NSFW (Seriously, I’m not kidding with that!) Excerpt
The feel of her soft breast being crushed in my hand while she pushed her ass against my cock, grinding down on the hand which worked her sweet cunt was the only encouragement I needed to know my new plan was truly best for her… and for us.
“Now I want you to be a good girl and get up on the chair.”
“Am I being punished for running?”
“Yes. That was an extremely foolish and dangerous thing for you to do, my love. More dangerous than you realize,” I warned.
She whimpered. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. She would learn soon enough.
Her small body trembled within my grasp.
Her next question was barely above a whisper. “Are you going to kill me?”
Turning her in my arms, I brushed a soft curl from off her shoulder and ran the back of my knuckles over her cheek till I could brush her full lower lip with the pad of my thumb. Focusing on that lush mouth and how I would soon be pounding my cock into it without mercy, I said, “Only if you disobey me again.”
Her knees buckled.
Grasping her around the shoulders and slipping my arm under her knees, I lifted her slight weight onto the upper tier of the siege d’amour chair. Lifting her arms high, I secured them over her head into the brass wrist shackles.
Ignoring her murmured pleas and apologies for escaping, I placed one ankle then the other in the stirrups before locking the brass ankle plates in place.
Reaching between her legs and under the cushion, I turned a small hidden crank. The stirrups slowly slid out to the sides on well-greased hinges. I didn’t stop till her legs were spread obscenely wide with her beautiful ass hanging just over the edge of the cushion, vulnerable to my ministrations.
Her prone body was now completely restrained. This really was a marvelous invention of Bertie’s. It had countless options for restraining not one but two females at once into some extremely painful yet pleasurable positions. Once I stood on the lower tier and placed my feet in the brass fixtures, after grasping the handles on either side of her head,
I would be at the perfect angle to inflict the most pounding pressure as I thrust into her cunt or ass.
But that was for later… much later.
For now, I had to make my little caged bird forget she ever knew how to fly.
Walking over to a silver tray brought in per my explicit instructions, I removed the silver cloche from the platter, and picked up the largest piece of fresh ginger root on offer. Selecting a sharp paring knife, a began to circle around Elizabeth’s body secured to the chair as I shaved and shaped the root.
Taking on the instructive tone of a parent about to discipline a child, I reminded Elizabeth. “This is the direct consequence of your own foolish actions. I need you to remember that, my love. How you are treated will depend on how you behave. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Richard,” she answered obediently as her wide emerald eyes stared at each movement of the knife in my hand.
“This particular punishment was used on female slaves in Ancient Greece when they were also foolish enough to defy their masters.”
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Slowly the small hard nubs and rough outer skin was shaved away to show the stiff, yellow fibrous ginger.
“It is designed to inflict maximum pain and discomfort without marring their… property.”
To her credit, she remained silent, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest with her anxious breathing. She looked like a rabbit caught in an open field by an angry beast, desperately hoping if they stayed still for long enough the beast would lose interest and move on. It rarely worked out that way for the little rabbit.
“It is called figging. It’s also called gingering the tail and is used to make horses carry their tail high and to encourage movement.”
Flick. Flick. Flick.
The piece of ginger was now twice the thickness of my thumb and about three inches long. An intense size for her first figging but then again, I had promised myself to no longer be lenient. It was for her own good.
“Are you sensing a theme, my dear? Punishment. Obedience. Responsive. Movement.”
Elizabeth wet her lips. “Please, Richard. I don’t need to be punished. I promise I’ll be good from now on.”
I placed the wet tip of the ginger root against her lower lip and rubbed it around her mouth. “You’re wrong. You do need this punishment.”
The tip of her small pink tongue traced the path of the ginger root. I watched as a spark of fear shown in her eyes from the slight sting its juices left on her tongue. I stepped away to replace the knife on the tray. I wanted to give her imagination a moment to think of where I would probably be placing the ginger. In any punishment, the imagination was as important a tool as a leather strap or restraints. In fact, I would argue even more important. In many cases, I could never inflict the type of pain she was currently spinning over in her little head, as bad as the pain I was about to inflict would be.
Returning to the chair, I stepped between her open thighs. The chairs upper tier placed her body perfectly at my waist. She whimpered and tried in vain to close her knees but the stirrups kept her legs spread too far open.
Taking the tip of the ginger root, I pushed it between the folds of her cunt. Taking a moment, I circled her clit a few times before apply just the slightest pressure against her entrance. Her body tensed as she held her breath. Again, I paused for her imagination to play. I then continued to her puckered back entrance. Using my one hand, I pushed her cheeks open a little wider to expose the dark pink hole with its tiny valley of ridges and peaks.
Adjusting my grip on the root, I pressed the tip against her hole and pushed.
Elizabeth tried to shimmy her hips back and away from my touch but the restraints prevented her.
I pushed harder, watching the yellow, fibrous cylinder slide into her resisting hole.
I could hear her gasp then still, holding her breath. Bracing for the pain. After a moment, she began to relax. I smiled. My poor pet didn’t realize it would take a moment for the ginger’s full effect to hit.
With anticipation, I stood between her open thighs and watched… and waited. I wanted to observe the very moment her body began to react.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Her fingers clenched into fists as her feet began to shift and pull in the stirrups with the movement of her hips.
“Oh god. It’s starting to burn!” she exclaimed.
I had cut a deep ridge at the base of the root, to form a plug, so she would be unable to push the ginger root out. Now I watched her anus, tremble and twitch as she tried to do just that. The pink skin began to glisten as some of the ginger juice was pushed out.
As the burn intensified her cheeks and chest began to flush as her eyes glazed over.
“Please! Make it stop!”
Moving over to the table. I picked up a well-oiled leather strap. It was actually an authentic Victorian era Army Hospital Corp leather belt. Authenticity was so important with such things. The heavy brown leather had carefully been maintained over the years with oil and use, so it remained as supple and flexible as it was back in 1884. I particularly liked the circular interlocking buckle with the Queen’s crown on it.
Stretching the belt between my two fists, I once more approached Elizabeth. By now her cheeks were flushed an angry red as her body writhed on the chair.
“Ow! It’s burning! It’s burning!”
The harsh ginger juice within the delicate, unprotected skin of her anus would feel like acid on a wound. And it was only about to get worse.
Standing to the side of the chair, I let the length of the strap fall over her stomach. I wanted her to see its width, to feel its weight. Again, I was using her own mind against her.
“It’s time, my love.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No! No! Please, Richard!” Her voice was shrill as she begged.
Reaching over, I stroked her hair. The elegant chignon had already come loose. It now hung in wild disarray on her shoulders with a stray curl sticking to the tears on her cheeks. Using my finger, I pushed the curl away and stroked her warm cheek. “I want you to scream as loud as you want, my love. No one who hears would dare come through that door to rescue you.”
Stepping back with my right foot, I raised the belt high.
Elizabeth began to scream before it even struck her flesh.
The first time the strap caught her across her smooth, flat belly. The next I aimed at her pert nipples. I loved the sound of the leather as it hit her skin. Over and over again. Her nipples darkened and swelled. Small welts caused by the edge of the belt began to appear on the soft curve of her tits. I also knew that with each strike her body would involuntarily tense her anus muscles, adding to her agonizing pain as they squeezed the ginger root, allowing for more juice to trickle onto her already sore and inflamed inner flesh.
She began to choke on her own cries as they tumbled in a mad rush to escape her mouth. Her body jumped and jolted as if hit with a bolt of electric current with each kiss of the belt.
“Please stop! It hurts! I can’t take it anymore.”
Allowing myself a small bit of pity and unwilling to belt her tits to the point of breaking the skin, I stepped to the space just outside her open legs.
Elizabeth’s tear-filled eyes widened as she realized my intent. “No! No! Please! At least give me some laudanum so
I can withstand the pain.”
I could understand why she was begging for laudanum. Its euphoric effect would take the edge of the pain while allowing her body to find the pleasure behind it that much sooner. It is probably why it was so popular in the Victorian era and why I was happy to add it to her training but not today. “Laudanum is for good girls.”
Raising my arm, I brought it ruthlessly down on her exposed cunt.
Elizabeth screamed so long and hard, I genuinely thought she might pass out and I would have to revive her to continue the punishment.
In later punishments, I would force open her folds so I could be sure to strike that small bundle of nerves into swollen submission but for now, I would be content with pussy whipping her with the belt, knowing with each strike her asshole would be that much more on fire.
After several minutes, I withdrew the ginger root. Elizabeth sagged in relief. I knew it would continue to burn for at least another half an hour but not as intensely, which was why I was preparing a fresh one.
Allowing her to catch her breath, I picked up the knife and scraped the skin off a second piece. From her rapid breathing permeating the silent room, I could tell the pain was beginning to build. Up to this point she had been reacting to the direct sting of both the belt and the ginger but the waves of prickling heat were taking over as the blood began to rise to the surface. Each place that was touched by the belt would begin to feel swollen and bruised as her own heartbeat would pound in her ears with each pulse of pain.
It would be absolute agony if I were to repeat the punishment all over again… so that was exactly what I did.
But first, I needed to give her a little pleasure. I wasn’t inflicting pain for pain’s sake. I was using it as a tool of submission and pleasure. Leaning over her stomach, I inhaled the spicy scent of her sweat mixed with ginger. Moving downwards, I pressed the tip of my tongue between her folds and began to play with her clit, swirling to the left then the right.
“Don’t! Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me cum while I feel this pain. It’s wrong! Please!” she begged.
Ignoring her pleas, I used my tongue and fingers to bring her to tortured release against her will. After her breathing started to slow, I knew it was time to insert the second piece of ginger.
Time for more pain, I thought as I picked up my belt.
By the time I removed the second piece, Elizabeth was nonsensical from the torment.
I knew it was only temporary. I would have to take her to this level of pain every day for the foreseeable future before she truly broke and submitted. Before I had truly clipped her wings.
From this point forward, she would suffer through daily instructions from me.
Still, looking at her pale skin, covered in mottled red marks and the bright sheen of sweat, I felt my own traitorous feelings of love rising to the surface. If I couldn’t comfort her, at least I could experience some of her pain.
Removing my clothes, I stepped between her thighs.
Fisting my cock, I placed the tip at the puckered entrance of her asshole. I hissed through my teeth as the ginger juice touched the sensitive head of my shaft. In fucking her raw, I would inflict even more pain which soothed my guilt but at the same time, I would also share with her that pleasurable dark sting.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my cock into her tight hole in one thrust to the hilt.
Her screams mixed with my growls as the ginger juice now tortured us both.
Sinister Games – A NSFW Excerpt
We stopped in front of an old iron gate which secured a small, walled-in private garden.
Looking around, I spied half a brick which was probably used to prop open the back door of a business across the way. Taking it in hand, it only took two strikes of the rock, to dislodge the small, ineffective padlock.
“Richard! This is breaking and entering!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“I don’t give a f*ck.” Growling my answer, I shoved her against the brick wall just inside the garden.
The stone cut into my palms as I caged her in. Before she could say another word, my mouth descended.
Finally claiming her for my own.
Leaning my hips in, I pressed my c*ck against her stomach as my tongue pushed between her teeth. She tasted of honey and champagne.
I was bruising her lips. I knew soon I would taste blood as the pressure of my mouth cut against the sharp edge of her teeth but I didn’t care.
I wanted her to feel pain from my kiss.
Wanted her to feel everything, including the threat of my c*ck.
Her small hands dug into the lapels of my jacket. Whether it was to draw me closer or push me away, didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Seizing her wrists, I pulled them high over her head and secured them with only the grip of my left hand. She was so small and delicate, like a little bird.
One I would soon cage so only I could hear the beautiful song of her moans and pleas.
Turning her head to the side, her breath came in ragged gasps. “Richard, wait!”
I claimed her mouth once more.
F*ck. I would never get enough of this woman.
It had become essential to my sanity that I possess her, everything about her – mind, body and soul – from the first moment I saw her in the park two weeks ago.
She had ruined my careful plans by almost getting hit by that cab today but no matter. The time for making plans was over. From this point forward, there was nothing but action… and her delicious response.
Using her trapped position, pinned against the wall, I kicked her feet wider while swallowing her cry of alarm.
Wrenching her dress up over her *ss, I once more pressed my hips into her pliant body, knowing the stone wall would scrape and bruise her soft flesh. The thought of one day soon putting a mark on that same gorgeous *ss with my belt or hand sent another rush of blood to my c*ck till it swelled painfully tight and hard.
I needed to be inside her, but that would have to wait.
Placing the heel of my palm between her legs, I pressed hard.
“Do you like that?” I breathed against her open mouth. “You like the feel of my hand on your p*ssy?”
I forced one finger inside her wet heat. Christ, she was tight.
Elizabeth cried out.
Pulling my hand free, I reached inside my jacket pocket and pulled out her panties. Releasing her wrists, I placed them in her palm.
Elizabeth stared at me with desire clouding eyes.
“Put these in your mouth.”
“You heard me. I want you to shove your own panties into your mouth.”
With large, trusting eyes, she carefully raised her hand to her mouth and started to push the black lace fabric between her lips.
It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have enjoyed forcing her mouth open and pushing them deep inside her throat till she choked and pleaded with me with her eyes but this was how the game was played. She needed to be an active player in her own humiliation. Her own inevitable debauchery. Otherwise, it wasn’t really a game. It was just me using brute force. No, it was much more satisfying and challenging when you made them choose to be debased.
Her mouth now gaped obscenely, stuffed with her own arousal slick panties.
Returning my hand to her p*ssy, I shoved one thick finger in deep.
Elizabeth’s muffled cry burst free as she lurched up onto her toes to try to avoid the pleasure and pain of my sudden intrusion.
It was about to get far worse for her.
I put a second finger at her entrance and thrust in deep.
Her head began to swing from side to side.
My mouth slid along the column of her neck, tasting her rapid pulse. I moved to lick the small hollow where her neck met her collar bone just as I forced a third finger inside her tight, little body. My tongue lapped and sucked each delicious vibration from her scream.
With tears in her eyes, she started to plead with me, forgetting that the panties in her mouth distorted everything she tried to say. When she reached to remove them, I grabbed her wrist and once more pulled her arms up over her head.
“If you move your arms again, I’m going to bend you over that bench there and thrash you with my belt, do you understand?”
Tears fell from her eyes as she nodded.
Savage Games – A NSFW Excerpt
Elizabeth’s emerald gaze darted over my shoulder to the exit.
My body tensed, ready to pounce.
Her foot slid to the right, as she slowly turned her body in the door’s direction.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I warned.
The sudden bark of my voice echoed off the bare brick walls and visibly startled her.
She leaned forward slightly… then my little bird took flight.
Running in an arc, she bolted for the door.
I was too quick for her.
Lunging, I stretched out my arm and caught her around the waist, pulling her struggling body against my chest. Her delicate frame no match for my strength. I could feel each thin bone and soft curve of her body as I pressed it to mine.
So easily breakable.
Elizabeth screeched and clawed at my forearm. “Let me go! Let me go!”
Wrapping another arm securely across her shoulders, I tightened my grasp on her. The pressure against her ribcage stifled her breath and ceased her struggles.
Taking the soft lobe of her ear between my teeth, I bit down. “Never,” I growled.
My blood was up. I wanted this fight with her. Needed it.
Releasing my hold, Elizabeth stumbled forward before swinging to face me.
Pushing her damp curls away from her face, she just stared at me with those wild, beautiful eyes of hers. A single tear coursed down her flushed cheek.
I would never get my fill of this woman… of this.
I wanted to swallow her screams and taste her tears. The wicked beast inside of me craved to devour every innocent glimmer of light within her soul till I had filled it with the same shadows as my own. I knew there was darkness inside of her. It called out to me. There was nothing in my life so enthralling or so challenging as drawing it out. Forcing it to the surface to come play my twisted, depraved games.
Backing up a step, keeping her palms defensively before her, she breathed, “It was a mistake to return.”
Reaching for my belt, I slowly slipped the long leather strap through the sterling silver buckle as I took a threatening step toward her. “Yes, it was.”
What was the point in denying it?
She had angered and betrayed me.
As I told Andrew, life had consequences.
Especially when you dared to fight me over something I wanted to possess.
And I would possess Elizabeth. In time, I would burn away all her defiance until she finally accepted that her fate lay with me… and only me.
Scrambling backward, her chest rose and fell with each quickened breath. I could see the sharp outline of her nipples through her still-damp t-shirt. Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagined her in the shower. Soft, warm water caressing her skin as foamy, iridescent bubbles clung to each curve. My cock swelled and pressed painfully against the zipper of my jeans.
“Richard, I love you, but we have to end this. It’s too toxic. It’s become too twisted,” she pleaded.
I nodded as I pulled my belt free. Running my hand down the long, thick length of leather before folding it in half in my right fist. “The only way you escape me, Elizabeth, is in death. You were mine from the first moment I laid eyes on you. Nothing has or ever will change that.”
I took another step toward her. My intent clear.
With a cry of alarm, Elizabeth scanned the wall before grabbing at one of my displayed swords. She chose a rather ominous Russian Cossack saber. Pulling it free of its hardened black leather and gold sheath, she exposed the long, flat, razor-sharpened blade.
Holding the hilt with both of her small hands, she extended the heavy blade in front of her, pointing it at my mid-section.
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned. Her voice sounded high and thin with a slight warble.
She was afraid.
She should be.
Keeping her gaze locked with mine, I took two deliberate steps in her direction. Wrapping my left hand around the blade, I ignored the harsh sting of pain as its sharp edge sliced into my fingers.
Elizabeth gasped, her cherry lips opening in shock as I placed the point of the blade over my heart.
She tried to back away, but the wall prevented her. Keeping my grasp on the blade, I lifted it higher till the point leveled over my heart. Refusing to take my gaze off her, I let the tip sink into my flesh.
“Oh God,” she whimpered.
Releasing the blade, I stood there. Watching as small drops of my own crimson blood trickled down the blade’s
bright silver edge.
“Do it, Elizabeth. Thrust the blade into my heart.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Richard, please… I can’t… don’t make m-”
“Do it,” I yelled, my harsh intake of breath driving the point in a little deeper. Hissing through my clenched teeth at the pain, I reached past the blade and placed my left hand over her trembling grasp. “Drive it deep into my heart because that’s what you will do if you leave me.”
This might take my sadistic manipulation to new levels, but I didn’t give a damn. I would not go back to my colorless, jaded existence. It was her and her love or nothing for me.
With a cry, she dropped the sword.
Kicking it aside, I pounced.
Vicious Games: Chapter One
Something was wrong.
As my brain clawed its way back to consciousness, my body stiffened, a primal reaction to danger. I could feel it, sense it. I stilled. I just knew… something was wrong.
I tried to open my eyes, but groaned when the bright sunlight sent a stab of pain straight to my temples. I threw my elbow over my eyes as I focused on taking a deep breath to quell the nausea which rose against the back of my throat.
My lungs tried to expand, but a clinging pressure restricted them. I flattened my hand on the center of my chest. Intricate beading and what felt like stiffened lace scratched my palm.
What the hell?
The dress I’d had on earlier was fashioned of soft silk.
I rose on my elbows and stared down the length of my body.
Is that blood?
I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but my feet got caught in the voluminous skirts of the dress I now
wore. I tumbled over the edge of the mattress, landing painfully on my hands and knees. Flecks of crimson marred the pale back of my right hand. Scrambling to my feet, I ignored the twinge of pain in my knee as I hobbled across Roman’s bedroom to the dressing room. I swung the door open and crossed to the floor-length mirror at the other end.
My mouth dropped open in shocked horror.
I raised my fingertips to the dress bodice as if I needed to feel it to know this was real. My gaze traveled over my body, taking in each unfamiliar detail of the dress I wore. The top was a tightly laced silk corset with cream lace and crystal beads in an elaborate floral pattern. I swiveled my hips to stare at the back in the mirror. There were reams of gathered silk where a large bustle would go, ending in a small train.
It was a beautiful Victorian-looking wedding gown.
The problem was, it wasn’t my dress. This one was the same color as the one I last remembered wearing, but it was different. I had never seen it before in my life.
It was also covered in blood splatter along the right side.
As I tried to come to grips with my mounting terror, I stared at my haunted reflection. My cheeks looked pale and sunken in. My eyes were rimmed with red, as if I had been crying. Red lipstick was smeared across my lips, which mirrored, in a macabre way, the mascara stains under my eyes.
My breath rising in panic, I shoved my fingers into my tangled hair. I hissed as a sharp sting had me wrenching my hand back. There was a thin cut down the center of my right palm, and a small droplet of blood clung to the skin.
Furrowing my brow, I gingerly dug into my wild nest of hair and yanked free the remnants of what had probably been a floral head wreath. The delicate white orange blossom petals were crushed and bruised. A sharp wire poked out from behind the ivory ribbon which had been wrapped around the head wreath. Its end was stained with my blood.
With a cry, I hurled the crushed flower wreath across the room.
I grabbed at the bodice, trying to wrench it off me. It was too tightly secured. Reaching behind my back, I desperately searched for a clasp, a button, a corset string, anything to loosen the dress. After several minutes of trying, I sank to my knees in front of the mirror. My chest was covered in scratches from where I’d tried to claw the bodice off.
Why couldn’t I remember putting on this dress?
Why couldn’t I remember anything?
And whose blood was this?
I could already tell it wasn’t mine. I had no visible injuries.
There wasn’t a lot of blood. It was just hundreds of tiny drops, as if someone had flicked a paintbrush full of red paint at me. Except it wasn’t paint. I knew the smell of blood. I had smelled the coppery harbinger of death right before finding my mother and stepfather dead. The memory of that scent never left you.
The only sound in the dressing room was my labored and erratic breathing.
There was, of course, one question I hadn’t asked yet… Where was Roman?
I wrapped my arms around my waist and rocked back and forth.
Why couldn’t I remember?
What the hell had happened to me?
What had I done?
I placed my hands over my face. Think. I had to think. I had no complete memory of the last twenty-four hours, just flashes of color and unknown faces. Fear. I remembered feeling afraid and confused. Then nothing. As if someone had wiped my mind blank. What if it wasn’t that I couldn’t remember but that my mind didn’t want me to remember? I’d read about the mind protecting itself from traumatic memories by refusing to recall them.
What had I done?
I stared at the wrinkled and bloodied wedding dress. It seemed oddly familiar, and yet I couldn’t imagine why. I’d think I would remember willingly wearing a freaking Victorian wedding gown.
Nothing was going to come to me kneeling on the floor. I needed to get out of this awful dress and wash the blood off.
Maybe then it would all come back to me. I ran my hands over my upper arms as a shiver wracked my body. That was, if I wanted to remember.
I wrapped my left hand around a drawer handle and used it to pull myself upright. I then searched the other drawers for a pair of scissors. My only option was to somehow cut my way out of the dress. I found a pair of large, silver, lethal-looking shears.
Just as I was about to thrust the opened blades between my breasts to cut the silk corset, I heard a sound behind me.
I turned, gripping the shears like a weapon and raising them high.
Roman stood in the doorway. His chest was bare. He was holding what looked like a wadded up white dress shirt soaked in blood over his shoulder.
I gasped. “What happened?”
His eyes narrowed. “You shot me. And on our wedding day, no less.”
Cruel Games: Chapter One
A bleak wind whipped the loose strands of my hair across my cheeks as I stumbled out onto the stone balcony. A furious shout from behind spurred me on. Without thinking, I hiked up one side of my silver sequined ball gown and stepped onto the wrought iron chair. Bracing my hand against the rough stone exterior, I raised my left foot and placed it on the narrow ledge. My right foot caught in the long length of my dress as I lifted it. My body jerked forward as my nails clawed at the bricks for purchase.
The London street blurred as dark shadows crept along the edges of my vision. Even at this late hour, people and cars streamed below, an army of disinterested ants scurrying from one destination to another. I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat and fought the urge to faint, to give in to the darkness. Clinging to the sharp-edged wall, I gently shook my leg to dislodge the dress. The fabric fell away and I placed my high-heeled foot on the ledge.
Avoiding the urge to use my hand to brush back my hair, I pressed my open left palm against the bricks. I stretched out my other arm to rest my right palm on the head of a grotesque gargoyle. It was a dragon with bat wings and a long, protruding tongue.
The cold damp air turned to piercing icicles in my lungs as I inhaled a shaky breath. The rushing wind scattered the sounds of civilization like rose petals cast into a storm, giving the scene below a strange, otherworldly feel, as if I were staring at a muted television. A sickly gray mist hung low in the atmosphere, obscuring most of the stars. Only a weak stream of moonlight broke through to cast a faint, eerie glow over the dark, churning waters of the Thames nearby.
I should have chosen the Thames.
I’ve heard drowning was a painless, almost peaceful way to die.
It wouldn’t work.
He’d find me too quickly.
I knew just as the chaotic nightmare of my life would start to fade, as I embraced the quiet, underwater darkness, he would reach down and breach the world between the living and the dead to drag me back to his side, like a bedeviled
Hades tormented by the flight of Persephone.
Not even death would separate us.
He said that to me once.
He told me I’d never escape him.
Even in death I would be his and his alone.
I risked a glance down. My heart pounded in my chest. How long would it take? Would I have a chance to regret it?
What would my final thought be?
I already knew…
It would be of HIM.
Always of him.
Only of him.
My dress tangled around my ankles as the harsh wind caused my body to sway, as if Mother Nature were trying to save one of her maidens from a fate worse than death by making the choice for me. I tightened my grip on the gargoyle.
I didn’t dare turn at the sound of my name on his lips. The musky scent of his cologne swirled around me with the wind, chasing away the stale earthy odor of the river waters. It would figure he would enforce his dominance over even Mother Nature.
His voice took on the hard, authoritative edge I was so accustomed to. “Kitten, give me your hand.”
I slowly shook my head as I stared at the ground as if mesmerized. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do us. It’s too much.”
“Goddammit, Aurora. Give me your hand!”
Panicked, I risked a glance over my shoulder as my fingernails dug into the stone gargoyle. “Don’t come any closer!”
He was standing only a foot away, dressed in his tuxedo, the bow tie hanging loose around his open collar. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. I should have never taken you there. Is that what you want to hear? I admit it. I was wrong. Now baby, please, step back off the ledge.”
He was closer now. Warmth radiated off him, cutting through the chill which wracked my body. I wanted to give in. I wanted to bury my head in his neck as I sought refuge in the strength of his arms. I wanted to feel his lips move against my forehead as he promised to chase all the demons away.
I wanted the impossible.
He wasn’t truly sorry.
It would be a cold day in hell when Roman Winterbourne apologized to anyone for his actions.
From before we had even met, every moment, every thought, every deed had been a calculated game of manipulation and deceit.
An hysterical laugh bubbled up from deep inside my chest. “What’s the matter, Roman? Was this not part of your master plan? Am I breaking one of your precious rules?”
His wrath seethed through his clenched teeth. “You’re damn right you are, and I’ll show you just how displeased I am the moment I lay my hands on you.”
A shudder ran down my spine. My skin prickled with awareness from imagining I could already feel the heavy smoothness of his leather belt against my flesh.
The soles of his shoes made grating sounds against the stone balcony floor as he shifted ever closer. “I won’t let you go. Not ever. Jump and I’ll follow you down.”
The tears froze on my cheeks. My voice warbled as I asked, “Why me? Why did it have to be me?”
He answered without hesitation. “It was always going to be you, my love. No matter what, even if I had to become the devil himself, you were always fated to be mine.”
A weight settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. “This isn’t love.”
“No. It’s something far greater, far more powerful.” He reached out and crushed the hem of my gown in his fist.
Startled, I turned and lost my footing. The soft bottoms of my high heels slipped off the ledge. My arms flailed as my hands grasped at the cold, unforgiving air. A scream tore from my mouth as a gruesome death seemed all but certain.
My body was both weightless and heavy. The ground taunted me from below.
As I slipped down into the waiting arms of the dark night, Roman lurched over the railing. His strong hand wrapped around my left wrist, wrenching me back from the clutches of near death. I dangled from his grasp, my life in his hands.
“I’ve got you.”
My eyes pleaded. “Please don’t let me go!”
His mouth lifted in a macabre hint of a knowing smile. “Never.”
As he spoke, the full moon broke free from the fog. It taunted me by settling behind Roman’s head, a twisted halo of unholy light.
A frigid sense of dread settled deep in my belly.
Somehow, someway, even this had all been part of his cruel game.
And once again, I had played straight into his hands.
“Don’t worry, kitten. I’ve got you… and I’ll never let you go.”
That is precisely what I am afraid of.
Sinister Games: Chapter One
My life’s… complicated.
You know that feeling you’d get when you’d start to run down a steep hill?
As you ran faster, there was this single moment… just a moment… of pure joy.
You would stretch your arms out wide as you embraced the sensation that you were almost flying. You believed, truly believed, if you ran just a little bit faster, if you allowed yourself to dare just a little bit more… maybe you would actually fly. Maybe your toes would lift off the ground and you would touch the sky.
So, you dared
You ran faster.
You swore you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet.
All you could see was the bright, beckoning azure sky.
And then it happened… you glanced down, back to reality.
It was just the barest of seconds, but it was enough.
Suddenly you realized, you weren’t flying.
You were falling.
I could feel Richard’s even breathing against the sensitive skin along my neck. His chest hair tickled my bare shoulder as I laid within the circle of his arms.
A lover’s embrace.
Except we weren’t lovers.
I didn’t know what we were, but this wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
His arm wrapped possessively around my waist controlled as much as it protected. There was nothing in my life which Richard did not reign over; how I dressed, what I ate, where I went, who I talked too. But really, those were just artificial things. His control went much deeper. My thoughts were no longer my own; my desires, my wishes, my dreams.
All were of Richard.
All were focused on pleasing him.
I could feel the final vestiges of my soul slipping away.
Every day a little death.
Every time he bent me over a table, or forced my legs open wide, or commanded me to fall to my knees and open my mouth… the person I once was died a little, only to be reborn as his ideal fantasy woman.
I was Richard’s living doll, to be played with or punished at his will. Soon there would be nothing left of the person I once was, nothing left of my former life. It would all be a distant, fragmented memory.
My life could be divided into two distinct phases, the time before Richard and after. The time before was already a hazy blur of faces, mundane routines and the basic motions of life.
After… was everything.
After was blindingly clear. Full of bright colors, intense emotions, pleasures and pain. After, was living a life so extreme you feel the heat of the flame as it gets fed by your own desires. It unfurls and stretches towards the sky, burning hotter and brighter. Soon it will consume you… and you don’t care.
Richard had become as much my obsession as I was his.
An unholy fusing of two damaged souls.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this… it had all started out so innocently, with a chance encounter and a stolen kiss. Even now, I wondered how I could have been so naive? As if Richard ever left anything up to chance. He had planned this… every moment of our mutual destruction, from the very beginning.
These violent delights have violent ends and, in their triumph, die like fire and powder which as they kiss consume.
If ever there was a quote to fit this fucked up, twisted obsession we had for one another, that was it. Except we couldn’t claim the innocent infatuation of Romeo and Juliet. No, this was something far darker and more all-consuming. We did have one thing in common with Romeo and Juliet—this would end violently. There was no other way.
An obsession this extreme does not just fade away. We were not the type of couple to randomly have an argument over frozen pizza and then split up, only talking again to exchange small boxes of meaningless trifles like toothbrushes and unread books. That was what happened to normal couples. There was nothing normal about our relationship.
Pain, punishment, and manipulation – all to chase the high of an ever more intense, ever more consuming pleasure.
We had each drawn blood in the frenzy of our own desires and yet instead of it becoming a sobering talisman it only spurred us on more.
Where would it end? In madness or death, I had no doubt. I was already half mad myself.
I could no longer tell what was real and what was part of our game. If I didn’t do something soon, to save both of us, we would be lost. Yet I knew, deep in my bones, Richard would never let me go, never allow me to simply walk away.
If I were honest with myself, I didn’t think I could now if I tried. I was bound to him with chains of my own making.
These violent delights have violent ends…
Shifting my body slightly away from his oppressive warmth, I reached under my pillow, moving my fingers beneath the silk till they touched cold metal.
At that moment, Richard’s arm tightened, his fingers stretched out over the narrow curve of my waist, pressing deep into my skin. I choked on a frightened gasp. The sickening taste of blood trickled into my mouth as I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out. My heart hammered in my ears, as I my body became rigid in an effort to stop my limbs from trembling.
My eyes closed as I braced for his rage at my betrayal.
Holding my breath so long I felt dizzy, the rush of adrenaline made my stomach cramp. Still, I waited in the darkness.
An eternity later, his fingers once more relaxed, resting heavily on my hip.
Willing myself to move, I carefully shifted to the side. My overheated bare skin sliding easily along the silk sheets.
I placed one foot on the hardwood floor and paused, listening for the even sounds of his breathing. I then swung my other foot over the edge and crouched by the bed. For a brief moment, I thought of covering my nakedness with my discarded nightgown, whose champagne satin shown bright in the moonlight. I abandoned the idea when I remembered how Richard had torn the delicate garment from my body only hours earlier. Its tattered remains would provide no protection for me now.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light as I scanned the bedroom, before my gaze rested on Richard.
Even in sleep, he looked intimidating. Nothing could soften the harsh angles of his jaw and sharp cheekbones or the heavy slope of his brow. He had the handsome looks and charm of the devil himself, with the same moral code. Half expecting to see his piercing blue eyes trained on me in anger, I let the breath I had been holding escape through my lips when I observed him still sleeping.
Refusing to take my gaze off him, I wrapped my stiff fingers around the smooth wooden handle of the gun, stifling a hiss as it pressed against the cut on my palm, and slowly pulled it free from under my pillow.
The Smith & Wesson .38 Special was heavier than I thought it would be. I’d never really held a gun before but for some strange reason I didn’t think it would feel so heavy. Its polished metal looked dark and sinister against the pale skin of my hand.
Tremors racked my body as I willed myself to take one step, then another, away from the bed.
This was it. There was no turning back.
Circling around, I turned to once more face his sleeping form.
Except he wasn’t sleeping anymore.
Those dark, intense eyes were trained on me.
My mouth opened on a silent scream as my stomach twisted in stark, terrorizing fear.
Had he been awake the whole time?
Had he found the gun earlier and guessed my plan?
Was this just another one of his games?
He the puppet master and me the helpless doll, dancing with every pull of my strings.
Was I once again a helpless player in a sick, macabre fantasy of his choosing?
This game… his game… our game… had gone too far.
It needed to end.
These violent delights have violent ends…
Desperately trying not to drop it, I switched the gun to my right hand and raised it chest high. It felt as if the blood had drained from my body. A chill crept over my skin as I watched him, feeling like trapped prey just waiting for its predator’s pounce.
Without saying a word, Richard kept his eyes trained on me as he carefully rose from the bed. I watched in horrified fascination as the sheet slid across his muscled abdomen only to drop away, exposing his thick hard shaft, unmistakable evidence the arrogantly confident man who stood before me wasn’t the least bit cowed by the sight of the gun.
He knew all along. I was now sure of it. My secret deadly plan had never been a secret from him. My heart felt heavy as I realized there wasn’t a corner of my mind he didn’t know intimately. He saw me too completely, knew me too well.
Stretching his arm out, he said calmly, “Give me the gun, Elizabeth.”
Hating myself for it, I took a hesitant step backward as I shook my head no.
“Baby, you don’t want to do this.”
My vision blurred as hot tears filled my eyes. My voice warbled as I whispered, “I have no choice.”
Not giving a damn about his nakedness, Richard took a determined step toward me.
“Stop! Please, don’t come any closer,” I cried out desperately. I could now taste my own salty tears as they slid down my cheeks and over my lips.
“Trust me, Elizabeth. You don’t want to start this game with me,” he growled in warning as he took another menacing step in my direction.
Once more I backed up, I could feel the plush edge of the chaise press against the back of my knees. The gun began to shake as my arms tired. I tried to steady it with my other hand. “I never wanted this game! Any of this!”
“Liar,” he snapped back. “You needed this, us, as much as I. Your soul is just as dark and twisted as my own. Don’t insult us both by pretending otherwise. Stop playing the innocent. It doesn’t suit you.” As always, his hard voice reverberated with calm authority.
Raising my hands up to cover my ears, the cold metal of the gun pressed against my hot cheek as I tried to block out the truth of his words. “No! I don’t believe you! You forced me to play this game!”
His hands curled into fists. “Forced you?” He bit out through clenched teeth. “Did I force those moans of pleasure that slipped past your lips earlier? Did I force you to wrap your legs around my shoulders drawing my mouth closer to your heat? Tell me. Was it I who forced you to scream ‘harder make it hurt’ tonight?”
My whole body shook with the impact of his words. I began to plead with him. “Stop! Please, stop! Can’t you see we have to end this? It’s too much! Too toxic. Too dangerous for us both. You have to let me go!” I screamed as I once more trained the gun on him.
His obsidian eyes shone with dark fire. His jaw clenched so hard there was a small throbbing tick on his upper right cheek. I watched him fight to maintain control, knowing how badly he wanted to just rip the gun from my hand and teach me a brutal lesson at the end of his leather belt for even daring to threaten him like this.
The silence shredded my nerves.
Would he let me go?
A traitorous voice in my head asked, do you truly want him to?
“Never,” he finally ground out. “You’re mine. Mine in life. Mine even in death. You will never be free of me,
Elizabeth. I own you; mind, body and soul and I will never give you up.”
He took another step toward me. Our naked bodies now so close, I could feel the angry heat radiating off him.
Lifting the gun with a determination I didn’t feel, I pulled back the hammer.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Richard.” My voice sounding high and unnatural to my strained ears. The keen edge of desperation gave me false courage.
His eyes narrowed. For the first time, he looked down at the gun in my hand before returning his intense glare to mine. “You better shoot to kill, because when I get my hands on you, there… will… be… no… mercy.”
His words were slow and methodical. Like with everything else, he wanted to make sure I felt the painful impact of every syllable.
Trapped by his gaze, I couldn’t move.
Then, peeking through a small slit in the closed curtains, a delicate shaft of golden light stretched between us. Dawn was approaching.
A new day.
A new little death.
The high-pitched light tone of a nightingale pierced the silence. A bird who symbolized love… and freedom.
He was right. He would show me no mercy. This was the only way. My right finger began to curl.
Richard’s eyes widened. I watched as the sharply defined muscles in his chest and abdomen tensed then shifted as his toned body pushed forward in a lunge.
He was too late.
I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
The roar of the gun drowned out the nightingale’s soft song.
As I said, my life’s complicated.