At the Edge of Desire

I lie with my legs tucked under me, ignoring the cramp, ignoring the pain as the horrifically tight bindings around my wrists keep my body pressed against the wood.

They’d knocked me unconscious and I’d woken, tied to a bedpost with the leather collar still around my neck. It digs into my skin and I’m aching to rip it off.

I shift, feeling the fabric of the pathetic excuse for a dress they’d put me in rise, and I try to move in a way to make it cover me more.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. In this room. In Rufus’s castle. But I know that he will be here soon; the man that has bought me. And as much pain as I am in right now, I know it’s only about to get worse.

I think of Amera and wonder where she is right now, where all of them are, the other women, the ladies of King Rufus’s court that they have captured and sold like we are nothing more than objects.

I hope whoever has bought her will be kind, considerate. She isn’t like me—she’s far more fragile, human, and I fear for what a man might do.

But she is also a princess. She has royal blood. Maybe that alone will protect her, though, judging by the way these men have behaved so far, I doubt it.

I hear the footsteps, loud, heavy, echoing as someone approaches, and I brace myself as the door opens. He stands there, his face obscured by the darkness of the room and the light beyond.

He walks in, shutting the door, and lights a candle, ignoring me entirely.

But my heart races in spite of it. My breath is caught in my throat and I look away from him too scared from what I saw in his eyes earlier to do anything else.

“Are you thirsty?” he asks.

His voice is harsher than I expected, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I shake my head, unable to form any coherent words. He is watching me now. I can feel his eyes running over my skin, devouring me despite him standing on the other side of the room.

“It would be easier for you if you had a drink,” he states.

“What would be?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“You know well enough. You were his whore,” he replies.

“I was not,” I snap, turning to glare at him, and instantly regret it.

Because he is right here, right in front of me, with those awful eyes, and that realization makes my fear overwhelm me.

“We all know what you were,” he says as if amused.

I shake my head. I wasn’t his whore, despite what everyone thought, what half the court said.

King Rufus protected me, sheltered me, and treated me like I was one of his daughters. King Rufus alone knew what I was, what I really was, and we’d both endured the rumors because it was safer than revealing the truth.

Safer for his people and far safer for me.

He leans down and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. His breath smells of alcohol, and I don’t know if it will help me or not.

He unties the ropes and yanks me to my feet, and I stand, shaking, as he sits back in a chair and watches me.

“The old bastard had good taste,” he mutters.

I shut my eyes at his words, wishing I could shut it out, shut it all out, but there is no escaping this. No escaping him.

“Strip,” He orders.

“No,” I reply, clenching my fists.

“What did you say?” he says before standing up.

I gulp, taking an involuntary step back, but he catches me in his grasp anyway.

“You belong to me now, girl,” he growls. “And you would do well to obey me.”

I shake my head again, trying to get free, but his fingers dig into my skin, and he turns me so quickly my head spins.

He yanks my arms back, and I cry out as he binds my wrists so tightly the rope cuts into my skin, cutting off my blood supply.

He then throws me back onto the bed and I land flat on my stomach, my shins hitting the wooden frame of the edge below.

He is on me within seconds, his hands running up my thigh and my stomach before stopping as he gropes my breasts.

I cry out, jerking beneath him, but he just laughs because we both know he is stronger and there is nothing I can do to fight him.

Besides, I belong to him now, just as he says; he has bought me—he can do whatever he likes and no one will stop him.

“I paid a pretty penny for you, girl,” he mutters.

I kick out again under him. “Then you’ll be disappointed,” I retort.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he says, and I hear the fabric rip as he tears the dress from me.

I let out an involuntary whimper because all that is on me now is the collar around my neck from the auction.

“You are even more beautiful up close,” he whispers into my ear. His hot breath hits my skin and I shudder in repulsion.

He runs his hands back over me, clearly enjoying the fact that I am fully naked beneath him, and I shut my eyes so tight it hurts.

I don’t want this. I don’t want him. I want to be anywhere but here, in this moment, trapped.

He yanks me back, forcing me up so that I’m on my knees, and he shoves my head into the mattress while his hand holds my wrists so that my body is tilted at an unbearably painful angle.

I hear him growl appreciatively and realize my entire backside is exposed to him. As his fingers begin to probe me, I gasp. He jabs his finger into my entrance and I whimper at the pain.

He is not being gentle; he is not doing this for my pleasure. This is all about him, his enjoyment.

He jabs again and I can’t help but jerk away, but his other hand is still holding my wrists, and all it does is send a jolt of pain through my shoulders.

“Stay still,” he orders.

I curse him into the sheets, but he hears it anyway, and he hits me across my arse with such force I cry out, my eyes welling with tears.

“You will obey me.”

I bite back my retort. I want to fight him, I want to scream, to lash out, but he has me powerless to do anything.

He runs his fingers back down me, but I am dry. Really dry. Nothing about this is sexy, nothing about this would turn me on.

He spits on me and spreads it across, covering my entrance and labia as I grit my teeth. And then I hear the sound I’ve been dreading. He’s undoing his trousers.

He rubs his dick against me and it feels so hard and so big I feel my fear increasing even more.

He starts teasing me, but we both know it’s him who’s getting the pleasure, rubbing his dick up and down, pushing just a little against my entrance but not enough to actually penetrate me.

I’m shaking now because any minute he’s going to do it, he’s going to ram it in and I know it’s going to hurt.

“Are you scared, girl?” he asks.

I nod. I can’t lie even if I want to. We both know I don’t want this. We can both feel how much I’m trembling.

“Good,” he says and then he rams himself into me and I scream as he groans.

It feels like he is ripping me, tearing my insides apart. He is so big. Too big. My body is not built for this.

I feel the tears welling in my eyes and I want to push them back, but they’re already flowing down my face into the mattress. He is pulling out before ramming all the way back into me.

“You’re so tight,” he growls. “That old bastard’s cock must have loved every minute of you.”

I shut my eyes and try to block it out, block it all out, but he is too much. His body on me, his smell all over me, his dick in me. It is all too much.

I make a choice then. A reckless choice. A dangerous choice that I know I will regret, but in this moment, I don’t care. I just want it to end. I want the pain, the torture, the humiliation of it all to be over.

So, I let her out. I let the creature inside me out, let her take over, and my mind fades into the background as the pain fades with it.

“Fuck.” He groans as my body responds, and I become some wanton thing, some devil spawn.

He is ramming just as hard, just as aggressively, only now I feel pleasure, now I’m loving every second of it.

My body is writhing against him, pushing back, urging him on, and he loses his mind; he can’t understand it, but he doesn’t question it—he is too lost in it. Too lost in the moment.

He lets go of my arms, letting them drop, and then he grabs my breasts, using them as anchors almost to rock me back and forth against him.

I don’t complain. I don’t fight. The creature is in full control and she likes it. She likes the pain, the domination…all of it because right now she is free.

His dick is sliding in and out of me, my body is humming, and in my mind, I’m aware of what’s going to happen, what I’m about to do, and I want it to stop, I want it all to stop, but the creature is in charge, not me.

And she is slapping my arse into him, rolling my hips, turning him on more and more as she builds my body up to climax, and I shudder knowing I am so close now.

The man growls again and I know he is close too. My body pulls tightly around his dick and I squeeze my eyes shut.

He is still ramming into me, still claiming me, and then I scream my orgasm out as the creature inside me screams in delight. The man roars in response as if he’s never felt anything like it, and in truth, there is no way he has.

He cums too, filling me up.

He pulls out of me and I fall, exhausted, onto my side and huddle up into a fetal position with my arms still bound tight behind me, my hair half covering my face.

The creature is gone now. She has abandoned me. Left. She has had her fun, had her fill, and now I am all alone again in this strange room with this man.

He stares down at me like he’s only just seeing me, and I shut my eyes and bury my face into the sheets.

I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to acknowledge him, and I certainly don’t want him looking at me either.

“You couldn’t have been like that with the king. You would’ve given the bastard a heart attack,” he states, but I don’t reply.

I have no reply.

He grabs my wrists and unties them, and I rub where the rope made my skin red and raw and my hands so numb that they feel useless.

I doubt this is the last time he will do that, though. From the look in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to care.

He walks back across the room and downs his drink. He’s still wearing his jeans and he pulls them off, exposing himself completely to me.

I look away. The thought of him makes me sick, but this man is my future now, and there’s nothing I can do about it unless I find a chance to escape him.

He turns, smirking, as he watches me and carries the candle to the bedside table. He sets it down and then he grabs me, yanking me up to him as he pulls the sheets back.

“Get in,” he says.

I obey. I’m so exhausted now I cannot fight him even if I want to. He climbs into the bed beside me and I scoot over so that I’m practically over the edge.

He laughs at me, a cruel, mocking laugh, and then blows out the light, plunging us into darkness.

For a moment, I drift off before I force myself back awake.

How can I sleep beside this man? How can I even remain in the same bed as him?

My thoughts are running wild, and all I can think of is what will come next. What he will do next. And who he is.

Is he one of the other kings?

The power of his presence, the way he changes the air around him tells me he is a man with some serious authority.

Did he come here to carve up Rufus’s lands?

Amera said something about submitting earlier, but it makes no sense. Rufus was loyal; he was a good king. He obeyed the Council. He wouldn’t have done anything to cause this war, and yet these men had come anyway.

I sigh. I need to stop thinking, to stop caring. There is nothing for me now. I have nothing. King Rufus is dead and I have to endure whatever this man is planning to do with me for the moment because there is no other option.

I lie here, listening as his breathing slows, and it sounds like he is sleeping. I get up quietly. I creep away, but something pulls me back, and I scream before crashing onto the floor hard.

He’s tied my wrist to the bed so that I cannot get away. He must have done it when I was asleep.

He snarls, throwing the covers off, and wrenches me back into the bed by my hair.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he says.

I shake my head, trying to push him off me, but his arms hold me firm against him and I can feel the heat of his chest against my back.

His body is so big, his arms are so strong, and it makes me feel physically sick knowing he is touching me after what he did earlier.

His breathing slows again and his breath tickles my skin. He is still holding me and I fidget, trying to get free. But he is asleep now and he doesn’t fight me. He rolls over and I seize the moment.

I get out of bed, carefully this time, and try to find the end of the knot to undo it, but the rope won’t give. He has tied it too tight and I let out a wail of frustration before I can stop myself.

Fear hits me as the sound reverberates through the silence of the room, but the man is still asleep. I haven’t woken him. And then I sink down, onto the cold floor beside the bed.

This is my life now, this man, and I cannot escape it.