Damaged Beauties (Romanced by the Damaged Millionaire (Erotic Romance)) Page 6

  This was not how I envisioned my first sexual encounter with Ethan Greene to be. I had expected more . . . fireworks. I wanted more time and latitude and longitude. I wanted to be fucked out of my brains. I wanted to scream into the ceiling and be infused with so much pleasure that my head would burst. I want him to make me cum and cum again until I’m hoarse and ragged and out of my wits.

  He rolls off me, still panting. I manage to catch his eyes, which are glazed as if he is on a drug trip. Has he taken any drugs before I came in? I doubt it. I certainly haven’t seen any lying around. He was perfectly lucid.

  He lies on his side, not speaking to me.

  Instead of calming down, his breathing grows more labored.

  I sit up, concerned.

  “Ethan? Are you all right?”

  How much do I know about him anyway? He hasn’t complained of asthma attacks, but then . . . you never know.

  His eyes are closed and his chest is moving up and down – like bellows being pumped. Suddenly, his face contorts with agony.

  Now I’m alarmed. I touch his arm.

  “Ethan?”

  His eyes snap open. In them, there is a strange light, as though the room has shifted to another angle within the space of seconds. His features have gone calm.

  Transformed.

  “Who the fuck is Ethan?” he growls.

  12

  “Ethan?” I cry out, frightened.

  His green eyes have gone extremely dark, as though they are now fuelled by a different fire. They take my naked body in, roaming down my breasts, my belly . . . my wet, just-been-fucked pussy. And I’m scared, because the fire in his eyes is suddenly so monstrous, so feral, so surreal.

  It’s such a sudden and total switch.

  He’s looking down at me as if I’m a delectable meat morsel. He even licks his lower lip – a sensual swipe of his wet tongue.

  “Ethan?” He grins, as though he is remembering something and finding it hilarious. “Fuck Ethan. I’m Lothar.”

  “Lothar?” The fear is evident in my voice. He is perched above me, all a hundred and ninety plus pounds of him. His hand strokes my arm.

  “Yeah.”

  His hand moves to my right breast. His fingers and thumb encircle my nipple. He plumps it up with slow, deliberate, oscillatory movements. As though he’s trying to tune me up like a radio dial.

  And God help me, whatever he is doing is working. My nipple fills with a rush of warm blood and stands up enticingly. Another pool of wet, unfulfilled need moistens my pussy, and I’m suddenly aware of how needy I still am.

  Everything in the diary and the conversations I have overheard is now falling into place, like a jigsaw puzzle that refused to engage until I’m forced to acknowledge the truth. A truth I have known and started to piece together the moment I read the diary. I have read about cases such as these, of course, but I have never encountered one.

  Until now.

  How many more personalities are within Ethan Greene?

  Right now, the one called Lothar scares me . . . almost as much as he excites me. For I am excited, I won’t deny it. The wanton desire is so naked on his face as he looks upon me.

  “God, I want you,” he hisses.

  His mouth descends upon mine. If I thought Ethan was a good kisser, I realize now that I was kidding myself. Lothar’s mouth is ravenous, practically devouring mine in his need. His teeth nip at my lips and he pushes his tongue into my mouth. He practically combs the insides of my mouth with frenetic passion, and as my tongue attempts to writhe under his assault, he captures it with his mouth and sucks at it.

  I am practically pulled inside him.

  He does not allow me respite. His hands grope and tease my breasts, and then slide down to my pussy. His finger and thumb immediately ensnares my clit. He works it, kneads it, massages and compresses it until I can’t help but moan against his lips. He captures my sounds in the cavern of his mouth, and sucks all the oxygen out of me.

  I’m on heat. His ministrations on my clit are working me into a tizzy. I feel my climax begin to crest. But not so soon, surely! He hasn’t even begun. He squeezes the poor, tender nub of my clitoral hood and I come off the handle. I combust. I give myself to the pleasure. I arch my back and throw my head against the soft swell of the pillow.

  I cry out. My mind is flying a hundred miles high.

  Oh, oh, ohhhhh!

  I think I must have blanked out for a while, because when I come to, he is smiling down at me. Not pleasantly, but in the manner of a self-satisfied smirk.

  He puts his face very close to mine and says, “You like it, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “How much do you like this then?”

  He grasps my wrists with vigor and holds them against the headboard. I gasp with pain.

  “Please . . . ” I whisper, “don’t hurt me.”

  I recall the rumors I have heard about this entity. Because they are about this entity, I am sure. He makes my insides shiver – both with apprehension and exhilaration.

  Unless there’s someone else in there I haven’t met yet.

  Nobody really knows what happened that night, but those kids never came back here to Main Street. What happened in there, none of us here ever found out.

  The police came around to Main Street, asking about some hooker all the way from St. Louis who had gone missing. Turns out that her pimp says she went with someone who fit the description of Ethan Greene.

  Not Ethan Greene, obviously, but Lothar.

  God, what a mess!

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Lothar says, his eyes gleaming with unexpected menace, “unless you want me to.”

  I shudder. My pussy contracts, betraying me by sending out another spurt of cream.

  “Do you want me to?” he threatens.

  “N-no.”

  “But you might . . . later.”

  I shake my head. I can’t really decipher the emotions going through my brain right now. I’m afraid of him, no doubt. He’s so much bigger and stronger than me. He can overpower me at any time and do whatever the hell he wants to with me. But – like a virgin captive enslaved by a handsome pirate – my loins tell me that I want him as much as he wants me.

  “Then maybe you’ll like this,” he says.

  He pulls my wrists apart. I lie there, not moving, as he ties my right wrist to the bedpost with the tassel, and does the same to my left. The tassels are made out of silken strings wound together. They don’t exactly bite into my flesh, but they aren’t a walk in the park either. Lothar has tied them so tightly that I am secured with an iron grasp.

  Why did I let him do that? Why did I not put up more of a struggle?

  The answer is clear.

  I secretly don’t want to.

  Now that I am helplessly tethered, he’s free to do with my body as he wishes. He knows this too, from the satisfied look on his face. He lowers his mouth to my breasts and nips my nipples with his teeth. It’s none too painful, but the sting takes me by surprise.

  “Ow,” I shriek.

  All my senses are enhanced by the unknown. Of what might happen in the next twenty minutes or so. Because I can already tell this man is unpredictable. He may choose to hurt me . . . or not, and that adds to my mounting thrill.

  He suckles my nipples with an intensity that makes my womb ascend – as if it is being pulled up by a string of vacuum pressure on my teats. All this time, I am moaning through the pleasurable sensations. He augments this with his fingers at my clit again – scissoring the hood, tormenting it. He digs three fingers into my wet, wet vulva. My walls cleave apart with the onrush of digits.

  Ohhhh. The sex will be rough, I just know it.

  He abruptly pulls his mouth away from my breasts. He plants it on my pussy and immediately begins a severe tonguing of my clit and labial lips that elicits another paean of exquisite sensation in my nether areas. His tongue laves and licks and zigzags and stripes every inch of my pussy while his fingers fuck me. Desp
ite myself, another warm wave begins to build within me – spreading from my loins up the sweep of my belly to all over my breasts.

  He withdraws those fingers and, without warning, plunges them into my asshole.

  I cry out.

  “What? You don’t like this?” he demands, looking up and curling those fingers inside my rectum so that they form a hard knot that stretches my walls.

  “Pl-please . . . be gentle.”

  “And what good is that?”

  Once again, abruptly, he changes tack. He flattens his body against mine and opens my thighs – not gently. It’s as if he’s in a rush to take me. Before I can get my bearings, he spears his thick, erect cock into my pussy.

  I shriek again, more out of the suddenness of his actions than actual pain.

  He fucks me, his burning eyes boring into me. Fuck. That’s the only word for it. There is no tenderness, no romance. His hips move roughly against mine in a rhythmic, angular slap-slap-slap of flesh against flesh. My wrists strain at my bonds, but I am tethered securely. He fucks me so hard that my pillow is slamming against the headboard, and the headboard is pummeling the wall in a frantic knock-knock-knock must have surely roused Jeffrey.

  Unlike Ethan, Lothar fucks with a precision, certainty and focus. In particular, the focus is at my G-spot, which he seems to find with no experimentation at all. My little cluster of nerve fibers is rubbed raw – into delirium. I trash my head against the pillow and grunt and squeal. I am behaving like a wanton slut and I am lost to myself.

  The pleasure is so overwhelming that I come and come, my body peaking into an orgasm of crests and waves so intense that all my muscles are shuddering and quaking. I think I must have screamed several times. Screamed without abandon or a care as to who might be listening in. He doesn’t stop his fucking. His eyes wear an animalistic lust that I have not seen before. It frightens me, even as I am trying to recover my senses before another orgasmic tide hits me.

  And it does. Like a tornado, my overstimulated G-spot explodes again. And again. And again. He continues to pound me relentlessly. My mind transcends into that feverish realm of ecstasy and lust so profound that I black out. Momentarily.

  Seconds pass. Maybe a whole minute. I allow the pleasure to wash over me . . . to subside. My body is still left with residual tremors.

  It takes me a while to realize he is no longer fucking me. He has pulled out, and my vaginal tunnel is left with a residual wetness that I am not sure is semen. I mean, of course there is semen – from the first time. But can he come again so soon?

  I open my eyes. He is staring at me in that strange, ravenous way of his – as if he already has had his dinner and is now eyeing me for double dessert. Would he hurt me? I am helpless, really. I can only kick out at him, but he’s already done the deed. His rod is still hard and glistening from my juices. I am trapped under the quivering muscles of his iron hard thighs.

  His hand pushes my hair off my forehead. I am slick with sweat. I hadn’t realized I was so sweaty. My pants have not subsided. My throat is raw with harsh breathing.

  With a sly smile, he fingers the virgin hole of my ass.

  “Have you been taken here before?” he asks.

  “No.” My insides shrivel suddenly. I have never been taken in the ass before, it’s true. I have always been too afraid of the pain.

  He strokes his wet cock and positions it at the puckering mouth of my anus. He takes hold of my legs and drapes them around his shoulders.

  “No, please,” I beg.

  “You’ll like this,” he insists. “Relax.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “You’ll always be scared the first time. Look away if you can’t handle it.”

  “N-no.”

  “Say yes. You’ll like it, I promise you.”

  I gaze into his hard eyes. Three orgasms in a short period of time, and I still am not quenched. I bite my lip and make myself nod – to embrace this last bastion of my orifice virginity.

  Before I can think twice about it, he shoves himself inside me. The pain is instantaneous and splitting.

  I scream.

  “It’ll get better,” he says, stroking himself into me with slow, measured jerks. “Don’t think about the pain.”

  I am in too much of a vortex to think about anything. But he is right. The pain abates, though it is not completely void, but a whole new plethora of different sensations now assail me. I have always liked the feel of fingers in my rectum, and now, an entire organ stretches its nerve bundles – stimulating a whole new different set of fibers. The strange sensations shoot right up my spine.

  I gasp and writhe, which only serves to spur on his fucking. He’s even more animated than before. This very act seems to excite him more than the previous one, as if he’s exploring a part of me that has been forbidden before tonight. I squeeze my fists, unable to move them in arcs wider than what the tassels allow me.

  He sinks himself so deep into me that he’s hilt deep. His balls are slamming against my ass cheeks. He picks up his momentum, and his thrusts grow faster and wilder and more purposeful until he gives out a cry and spurts his load into me – his second of the night. His body trembles and shudders and his face is contorted with sweet release.

  Ohhhh.

  He allows himself to jerk once, twice, and then he collapses on top of me. He doesn’t hold me. Our coupling this time is not tender or loving. He slips out of me, refusing to look at my face – as if I am an anonymous whore who is no longer of consequence to him once he has had his fill.

  I eye him – the sweat stinging my eyes – as he gets off the bed. His cock is in semi-tumescence. He strides, naked, across the bedroom. Has he turned into yet another entity I have yet to decipher?

  “Lothar?” I call to him. My pulse is still racing at an unhealthy pace.

  He ignores me. Still naked, he walks out of the room.

  Outside the open window, the first drops of rain start to spatter onto the ground below.

  13

  I’m worried for Ethan. I’m worried about what might happen to him.

  I pull at my bonds. They are tight, but not impossible. Sex with Lothar was incredible, especially with the twin elements of danger and unpredictability. But now I’m afraid of what he might do.

  Wait, my inner journalistic voice tells me, you’re not supposed to be involved.

  It’s a little too late for that, surely.

  I do care about Ethan. He’s a lovely, lovely man, from what I know of him. I don’t want him to get hurt.

  The bedroom door is closed, but beyond it, I can hear some banging sounds. Slashing. Ripping. I’m frightened all over again. What the hell is happening out there?

  I don’t want to be tied up if Lothar comes in here again and decides that I’m a hooker who needs to disappear. Of course, I don’t know for sure what happened in the past. But like I said, I don’t want to be tied up. Why did I let him tie me up anyway?

  Oh yeah, like I had a choice.

  I am quite limber and flexible. I concentrate on my right wrist first. I scoot myself up so that my buttocks are sitting upon the pillow. I twist my waist so that my left hand is pulled severely by its tassel, but I can now reach my tethered right wrist with my teeth.

  It’s a struggle.

  The sounds outside the corridor have stopped. For the moment.

  I strain my ears to listen, but the downpour outside drowns everything else out. Damn.

  I resume the unraveling of my bonds in earnest. A few minutes later, and I manage to loosen the tassel. It all comes out with one expert pull with my teeth. I release myself from the other bond swiftly and jump off the bed.

  I spend a few seconds putting my nightgown over my head. I don’t want to be naked, just in case I bump into Jeffrey. In fact, I’m going to rouse Jeffrey. I don’t think I can handle this alone.

  I step out in the corridor. My feet are bare.

  And freeze when I see the destruction.

  The beautiful paintings –
made by Ethan – hanging on the walls of the corridor have almost all been ripped or slashed one way or another. By some sort of sharp instrument.

  The horror rises with the bubbles in my throat.

  My instinct tells me to flee this house. Lothar is not fully sane. What sort of rational entity would do this, unless he really hated the person who did those paintings? Lothar is dangerous. Yes, he’s the most incredible fuck of my life, but he’s also dangerous. He might decide to come back for me with that sharp instrument, whatever it is.

  I run down the stairs, almost tripping in the dim light of the sole wall lamp mounted upon the landing. Should I go find Jeffrey? I daren’t call for him, just in case I alert Lothar. Jeffrey obviously knows about Ethan’s condition, or else they wouldn’t be talking about triggers and such.

  The front door is wide open. Outside, silvery raindrops form an almost continuous sheet. Why is it so damned rainy here?

  I’m drawn to the doorway despite myself.

  Get Jeffrey first.

  I shrug off my common sense and venture barefoot to the door – out into the rain. The drops immediately pelt me. Somewhere up in the sky, a jagged lightning bolts streaks across the ominous clouds, followed by a peal of thunder.

  What am I doing?

  I don’t quite know, except that I am reminded of the other night – the night of my accident. My hair is immediately plastered upon my head and my nightgown soaked through. The temperature has dipped a good ten degrees. I shiver. What am I doing here? I should be going back to the house, to get Jeffrey and warmer clothes.

  And then I see him. He’s a blur in the rainy cascade, but he’s standing there in the middle of the driveway. His back is to me and his shoulders are slumped. A long, shiny piece of metal that has fallen to the ground catches the next lightning flash.

  I recognize the sword from the study.

  I blink the rainwater away from my eyes. Blood is running with rivulets of water down his right arm, and I’m frightened for him all over again. What has he done to himself?