Twisted Devotion: A Dark Obsession Romance (Kings and Consorts)

My eyes fluttered open, squinting at the ceiling light. It stayed on day and night. A cold relentless sun beating down on me without even the apology of warmth.

Every hour down in the stone cell blurred into the next.

Even my feeding schedule seemed chaotic at best. Random dishes with no real indication of meal type, dropped off just inside the door.

Feeding schedule, like I was a horse on a farm. At least they got to walk around in the daylight. I had no idea how long I had been down here, but it was too long.

I left my sleeping corner, the one with the most open view of the entrance, walking toward the makeshift bathroom. Nothing more than a barely functioning toilet and a showerhead that only spurted cold water in a stream that was more of a drizzle.

Using the toilet, I tried to ignore the camera perched high in the corner of the ceiling as I finished up and washed my hands under the cold drips from the showerhead.

The room was so empty, my thoughts felt loud and transparent. I hated them. Wanted to force myself back to sleep so I could dream instead. You couldn’t be blamed for your dreams, but your thoughts…

Desires…

I shut my eyes, but he was there, too, superimposed on the backs of my eyelids. I knew he wanted me from the surveillance camera. I felt like he could read my mind through the camera feed. See what I was thinking from the barest twitch in my face.

He could come back any second and I’d have no warning.

He could touch me again.

I bit my lips.

This time, I’d let him. I’d let him do far more than touch me if it meant getting out of this room. Did that make me weak?

Did it make me pitiful?

I slammed my closed fists against either side of my head, beating out the thought. No. I wouldn’t ask him for it. I wouldn’t do what he wanted.

He threatened my Dad. Threatened Tessa.

Fuck, he killed Carlos.

I gripped my chest, hating how it felt like his blood was on my hands. If I’d just listened, didn’t go into the mortuary after midnight, Carlos would still be here.

I’d never liked his parents much, but the thought of them out there somewhere, searching for a son they would never find, twisted something in my stomach until it was ready to snap.

I tried to bring up some emotion, to grieve for Carlos’ loss, but the sob that came to my chest came for an entirely different reason. What was wrong with me? Something inside me had clearly fucking broken because I couldn’t bring myself to feel the depth of sorrow I should at knowing Carlos was dead.

There was guilt, a fucking truckload of it, but…

I dated him for ten months. I should feel something. There should be more.

I sobbed to myself in the dark, making excuses in the privacy of my thoughts.

I’m just in shock.

Maybe Carlos isn’t even dead. Maybe he lied.

I’m just in shock. That’s it.

What did he need me to do to let me go? Whatever it was, I was ready. I couldn’t stand staying down here alone with my thoughts for another day, another hour. Whatever he wanted, it was his.

I sat in my corner, pulling my knees in, leaning my head against the wall, rolling left and right until I had some semblance of comfort. I closed my eyes, willing all thoughts from my head, begging for the reprieve of sleep to take me.

I startled awake, my heart pounding in my chest at the sound of the door hitting the wall as it was thrown open.

Boots pounded against stone, the sound like bombs echoing in the room as two dark figures swept in.

“Wait,” I cried, my behind scraping against the floor as I tried to press myself into the wall, away from them. “No, please, what are you—”

Rough hands yanked me from the floor, dragging me from the room.

I blinked the sleep from my eyes, struggling to regain feeling in my limbs, the stinging needles of sleeping muscles screaming with each stumbling step they forced me to take. “Where are you taking me?”

I whipped my head around, my chest fluttering as I took in stoic expressions on unrecognizable faces. Did the ghost know they were here? Did he know they were taking his little lamb?

“Where’s Ruarc? I want to see Ruarc!”

They shoved me through a door and a hot wall of lavender scented steam slapped me in the face. I slipped on a slick floor, eyes clouded, and caught myself on the rim of a wide copper tub.

The door shut behind me, locked.

I stared down into hot, milky bathwater.

Oh my god.

Unable to help myself, I stuck my hand in and sighed at the comforting warmth of the silky water.

Flipping around, I checked the door, the room, for any signs of life, expecting to see him. Waiting in the corner, hidden by the steam.

But I was alone. The windowless room held little aside from the massive tub in the center of the floor. A high-backed wooden chair with some towels atop it stood next to the tub. The deep purple walls seemed to swallow up most of the light from the small chandelier over the tub.

I pulled my lower lip in between my teeth, running my fingers over the surface of the water.

My mind raced trying to figure out what this meant, but the visceral need for warmth, cleanliness, and comfort ultimately won out over logic and scorn. I stripped down to nothing, leaving my soiled clothes on the floor as I clutched the rim of the tub and stepped into the water.

I sucked in a breath at the near scalding temperature, but forced the other leg in, too, sinking myself into the satiny bathwater. The tub was so big I could stretch my legs out all the way and still have my shoulders beneath the surface. I sighed to myself, hating myself for how my nose burned with the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

Folding my arms across my chest, I slipped beneath the surface of the water, my hair swirling around my face.

I let out some air, the sound of the bubbles racing for the surface loud in the water. I let out some more, wondering darkly if I shouldn’t let it all out. If I shouldn’t breathe the water instead.

End myself before the bastard who took me could be the one to do it. See him try to blackmail my father with a corpse. There would be no reason to harm Tessa then, either.

No more time spent in a cold, dank cell underground.

No more guilt.

Just… nothing.

I forced out the last of the air from my lungs and opened my eyes beneath the surface, bracing my hands on either side of the water warmed copper tub to keep myself underwater.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I opened my mouth to suck in a lungful of water, but as soon as it filled my mouth, I shot up, water sloshing over the tub’s edge as I spat it out, gasping for breath.

What was I doing?

I couldn’t even die properly.

Angry tears filled my eyes as I fell back against the copper, resting my head on the rim.

The water hadn’t even begun to cool when the lock turned and the door opened, the two men from before swarming the tub. I stood before they could haul me out, shoving their arms away as I went for the towels on the chair, uncaring that I was completely naked.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I hissed, wrapping the towel around myself, wringing my hair out onto the floor.

The taller one reached for my arm again but I pulled away, glaring at him. “I said don’t touch me. I’ll walk myself.”

The two silent men shared a look before the shorter of the two waved an arm toward the door, indicating that I should leave.

I scooped my soiled clothes from the floor on my way out, turning back toward my cell with leaden legs.

“Other way,” the tall one said and my brows furrowed.

Were they taking me back to the bedroom?

Fuck. I was going to cry again.

I swallowed against the wall of emotion building in my chest, too wary that at any moment it could be shattered beyond repairing.

The two men fell into step with me, one in front, one behind, corralling me like a wayward sheep back to its pen.

Striding through a glass door, the sky opened up above us. A velvety midnight blue brightened by the moon and stars was clearly visible through an open roof.

The man in front of me moved to join the other man behind, the pair of them leaving without a word.

My mouth dried. Something was wrong. I’d been desperate to leave the basement, but this didn’t feel any safer.

Lamps stood on perches, scattered throughout lush greenery and winding pathways. The hedges in some areas looked so high not even the tallest of men could see above them. A maze?

I spun around, gasping at the rise of an imposing gothic spire against the night sky. I could see more of the bath side of one wing of the grand mansion, all of it dark and sharp and hauntingly beautiful. Something out of a twisted fairytale.

Casting away my curiosity, I tried the knob on the glass French doors I’d been brought through.

Locked.

No surprise there.

Break it, I thought, spinning to find something, a stone, a brick, anything to smash through the delicate glass and twist the lock on the other side.

Like a shot of lightning through the dark, a deafening blow sounded through the air.

I fell to the ground, my hands over my ears.

My mind blanked. My ears rang.

I knew what it was and wished I didn’t.

As the shock subsided, fear engulfed me. I was stuck, frozen where I stood.

Do something. Run. Run.

Adrenaline pushed me to my feet. I pivoted, making for the tall windows I’d seen on the other side of the space, praying for an unlocked door.

There he was.

Ruarc.

My stomach dropped to my toes along with the pile of soiled clothes. I clutched the towel tight around myself.

“Run,” he commanded, the barrel of the old looking gun still loosely clutched in his right hand smoked at its mouth.

“What?”

I blinked, my mind scattered.

He raised his arm, pointing the gun in my direction.

Run.

I bolted as a tall cement vase shattered behind me, raining dirt onto the flagstone.

I screamed, rushing through the bushes, arms tearing to get through, my heart pounding in my throat. Tears running down my face. I whipped my head around in the dark, but he was gone.

No. not gone. I could feel his eyes on me in the dark. A predator stalking his prey.

I pushed into the maze-like garden of hedges, rushing around bend after bend, the tap tap of his measured steps behind me spurring me forward.

A bench sat in a lonely corner of hedge, overgrown with vines.

“Little lamb…” Ruarc called, his rough voice a dark melody to the violent rhythm of my heart.

I dove for the bench, tucking myself beneath it. I sealed my lips shut, silencing my breath. My throat ached, burning and raw. My lungs withered in my chest.

All this just to shoot me now? It didn’t make sense.

His steps drew nearer and I slapped a hand over my mouth, holding my breath.

“There you are.”

The garden went still with deafening silence. I waited. Waited.

Tentatively, I withdrew my hand from my mouth, peeling one eye open.

He grabbed my leg, dragging me out from under the bench over the cobbles. I screamed, kicking.

The gun clicked. I froze.

“I thought I told you to run,” he mocked, hovering over me with a curious glint to his eyes.

I stared up at him, up into the barrel of the gun pointed squarely at my face, unable to move.

He tipped his head to one side, as if considering me in a new light, liking what he saw. The flush in my cheeks. The bright burn of fear in my eyes.

“Fear is your red lipstick, little lamb, though it suits you more than that shade ever could.”

My lips parted, trying to make sense of his words in the riot of my pleading thoughts.

“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked, moving closer, wedged between my legs.

“Wh-what?”

“What did I tell you, little lamb?” he asked, his voice low, almost a purr, starkly in contrast with his actions.

I struggled to regain coherent thought. He expected a reply. I didn’t want to think about what he might do if he didn’t get one.

“You told me to run.”

“What else did I tell you?”

There was more?

A cold sweat broke out over my chest and I fought to swallow.

“Everything,” I stammered, the memory like a whip cracked against bone. He wanted my everything. For me to do whatever he asked. For me to ask him.

“Good,” he admonished. “Now strip.”

He reached out a hand to help me stand, but I recoiled from it, standing on my own.

Ruarc let out a chuff, watching my every movement as I gripped the towel still around me, now covered in nettles and dirt.

“Now, little lamb.”

Static rang in my ears. Desperate, rote obedience activated somewhere deep inside the recesses of my brain and my limbs moved almost as though of their own accord. Like a watcher in a dream or a nightmare, I distantly was aware of the towel coming apart, of the kiss of air on my still-damp skin, the feel of it falling in a puddle on my feet.

I wouldn’t lift my gaze to find the expression he wore, but it had to be smug. It had to be glee. Twisted joy that I was his puppet to control.

“How many more nights do you need in your dungeon?” he asked.

I pressed my lips tight, not knowing what else to say. None, I wanted to scream. No more.

He moved suddenly.

I flinched, instinctively trying to move away from him, backing into the spiky hedge. Ruarc crowded me, pressing the cold metal barrel of his gun to my neck, drawing a fractured whimper from my lips.

“How many?”

“N-none,” I croaked, helpless.

I was paralyzed, completely at his mercy, my fingers gripping the foliage at my back, needing something to hold on to. Something solid. Something to remind me that this was real.

“Is that so?”

Whatever he wanted, he was getting it. I felt his thigh press between the apex of my thighs, but this time he didn’t force them apart, he waited, an expectant gleam in his eyes, until I opened them for him.

His lips feathered against my cheek, moving as he spoke into my ear. “Good girl,” he crooned and I closed my eyes, a heavy breath escaping my lips before I could snap them shut.

The cool hardness of the gun moved down my body.

I stiffened as he dragged it over my collarbone, lower to graze one of my nipples on the way down. Lower still until the barrel bumped over my hip bone, pressed into my inner thigh.

Sirens more urgent than the gunshots he’d fired went off inside me, awakening every nerve ending, breathing life into my hollow soul.

“What are you doing?” I whimpered.

Fear made me jump at his slightest touch. I could barely string two thoughts together, but the gun between my legs sent panic flowing out of every one of my pores.

“Anything I want,” he rasped, barely above a whisper.

And then something touched me. Hard and cool. It brushed over my mound and slid down to my clit. I gasped, my legs sealing together.

“Please,” I whispered, my nipples hardening, core tightening.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut against the wave of traitorous arousal striking sparks over the fresh gasoline in my veins.

No.

You could die, Emily.

“Uh, uh,” Ruarc scolded. “Open.”

My lips parted but I had no words for him. None that I would dare speak out loud.

Don’t touch me.

Don’t make me like it.

It was like prying apart metal to force my thighs open for him a second time. He took his time, running the side of the smooth metal barrel up my thigh until it pressed flat against my cunt. I shook, my back arching as the pressure awakened something I didn’t even know I had inside me.

Ruarc lifted the weapon to the moonlight, finding the evidence of my arousal on the sleek barrel before returning to its lethal work.

He rocked the butt against me, slowly, up and down, a controlled pressure that was enough to stir something in my core. My body knew what I wanted him to do, but my mind was running blind, fighting the dark at every turn.

Ruarc drew the smooth body of the gun over my clit. I groaned, feeling the hard weapon on my softest flesh.

“Please,” I whispered. “I don’t… I don’t want…”

Why couldn’t I finish that sentence?

He laughed darkly while I stewed in a vat of my own self-loathing, biting back a moan as he swirled the quickly warming metal against my nub.

“Stop fighting it,” he demanded.

I was so humiliated I could have died as he reached between us, his fingers plunging into me.

Ruarc thrust two fingers hard and deep into me, searching out all my ugliest secrets, my most vile sins, taking them for himself.

This monster had me in the palm of his hand, teasing out every sick desire I had, making me face them. He pumped his fingers hard and fast, curling them into that spot, the one no one else seemed to be able to reach, all the while keeping the heel of his palm against my sex, mounting rhythmic pressure there until I was seeing stars.

I didn’t realize I was rocking into his fingers until my hazy eyes snapped sharply into focus on his knowing smirk.

No man I’d ever been with elicited such a feral response from me.

My body surrendered to him, hurtling towards orgasm, a quickening clenching in my core, squeezing, building…

…but he withdrew.

A sob escaped me. My body ached for release.

“Tell me what you want.”

My throat tightened, and my pussy pulsed with an ache I knew could only be properly sated by one thing. One dirty, deviant, dominant man.

“Tell me.”

“Don’t…” I trailed off, two sides of a battlefield struggling for triumph.

Don’t touch me, I thought.

“Don’t stop,” I said.

Hot shame crawled up my neck as he brought his fingers to my mouth, pushing them past my lips. I opened for him, tasting myself on the digits.

Staring into the abyss of his reflective eyes, I trembled against him, sucking them clean.

Below, the smooth gun was back between my legs. Ruarc gripped my jaw, his fingers still in my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, holding me in place with a makeshift muzzle.

He restarted his assault on my clitoris. I moaned, the dull pressure not enough. Not nearly enough. My hips jerked wildly, the friction teasing my desire, holding release just out of reach. Frustrated tears stung my eyes.

“You want more?”

I tightened, feeling the barrel against my entrance. I stiffened, the muscles and tendons in my thighs stretched taut as I fought the urge to snap my legs closed. Any rapid movement, any jerk of my body, could see that trigger pulled.

Ruarc groaned, gritting his teeth as if he shared my pleasure as he slipped the tip of the barrel into my dripping, greedy cunt. I threw my head back in a silent scream, bucking my hips. His fingers left my mouth, smoothing down my jaw, around my neck.

He squeezed, jerking my head back down to look him in his lust-filled eyes.

“Fuck yourself on my Glock, Emily.”

My pussy clenched around the firearm. Its irregular, hard grooves pressed lewdly into my yielding flesh. I cried, overwhelmed with terror and shame and lust. My walls shuddered as I sucked small breaths through my lips, Ruarc’s hand on my throat tightened and black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

Lust, stronger than my fear, moved my hips.

I writhed and twisted for the sensation, every movement assaulting my flesh. I felt light-headed. My body bathed in heat.

He barely moved the gun, letting me fuck myself on its hard barrel. I bucked wildly, afraid he would withdraw again. I felt like I’d fucking die if I didn’t come this time. Like I’d spontaneously combust from all the pressure with no outlet for its escape.

Desperately, I released the foliage behind me, rolling my clit under my fingers. The added stimulation blasted me over the edge. I screamed without sound, coming so hard on the gun that my vision blackened. My cunt shuddered and throbbed, electricity shooting through my core, curling my toes, coiling up my spine.

The gun, Ruarc, the garden, everything disappeared. I drowned in my release, the pleasure giving way to shuddering, broken exhaustion.

Every bit of energy in my body drained away as the weapon slipped from me and I drew in a full lungful of air. Ruarc’s grip on my throat loosened, but not gone as he stroked a finger down my carotid artery.

I tried to hold myself up when he finally released me, but it wasn’t necessary. My ghost’s dark shadow covered me, arms lifting me with ease from the flagstone.

Too weak to fight him, I slumped against his chest, my feet swinging with each step he took out of the maze.

“Where are you taking me?”

I winced at the thought of returning to my cell.

I’d done what he wanted.

Just like he wanted.

With my face against his chest, his warmth and the steady beat of his pulse was strangely soothing. His smell, like warm sandalwood and smooth musk filled me, soothing the spikes of fear still sharp in my blood.

Just minutes ago this man held a gun to my head and put his hand around my throat. Just minutes ago he made me beg for him to let me come and pushed a weapon into me.

And I didn’t try to stop him.

I didn’t fight him.

I came on his gun like some twisted whore with a death wish.

Silent tears filled my eyes, but I forbade them from falling. I wouldn’t cry for this monster. I’d already given him too much.

No more.

No more.

My eyes fluttered open and closed as we went from outside to indoors, the cloying talons of sleep too persistent to ignore.

Soft fabric greeted my sensitive skin, disorienting after the harsh stimuli I’d endured downstairs. I opened my eyes to a warmly furnished suite, the same one the other man, Nixon, had brought me to when I was first dragged into this salacious nightmare.

I opened my mouth to say something but Ruarc walked out without a word over his shoulder or a look in my direction. I resented his silence but it felt like a peace offering. A reward. I’d earned my way back upstairs, and now he’d leave me to pick up all the pieces of me he’d shattered in the gardens.