The Vixen Torn (11 page)

She tapped into that part of her, that primal area she tried so
hard to deny its existence. Her lips quirked as she pushed down the
dress to the floor and stepped out of it, completely nude to his
gaze. Her sun kissed skin made her look like an exotic treat just as
much as those elven ears and curious, emerald eyes.

“Exquisite,” she said as she knelt before him, her
eyes still brazenly trained on his.

His crimson gaze was glued upon her as she knelt before him, just
as he’d demanded.

Zarach reached out, stroked a hand back over her glossy black hair
to the back of her head, where he grabbed a fistful of the locks and
twisted her head at a painful angle. “Did you have to fuck him
to get it done?” the question asked so harshly as he glared
down at her.

Her face screwed up, and for a moment she felt anger flash through
her. “No. He trusted me.”

Brow unfurrowing slowly, he gradually loosened his hold on her
head, the pain of his grasp diminishing as he watched her. “Did
you do him in, or did you need Jaral to do it for you?” His
cold, commanding stare locked on hers as he waited for that answer.

Her eyes averted from his and her face began to flush. Just the
way he made it sound, like it was a weakness, embarrassed her at the
same time it thrilled her. “He did it.” Jaral. “I’ve...
I’m not a killer.”

Something happened inside his mind. He was so unreadable normally,
but some war between relief and disappointment went on within him
before he released her hair. “Very well,” he said. “Can’t
trust a bitch in your bed who could slit your throat anyhow,”
he remarked, loosening his grip on her hair further.

Yet she didn’t slip away or accept the give of his hand. She
made him tug lightly, and the prickling of her scalp made her squirm
as she knelt before him. “Did I do good?” she asked,
hating herself for sounding so needy, but her lust was mingling with
her fear, and it was making it so much harder to think.

She looked at him, and wondered if she’d have to kill him
one day.

With his hand on the back of her head guiding her roughly, she
found her thoughts drifting to the mysterious Jaral. She couldn’t
understand why. She’d never felt anything but revulsion and
fear for him in all the brief time she’d known him, yet as she
found her face forcibly pressed into Zarach’s groin, the scent
of masculinity permeating her senses, thoughts of the strange man
wafted into her mind.

“You did good enough for now,” stated the pale crime
boss, his manhood swelling against her face through the fabric of his
pants.

“I did what I was told,” she said as she nuzzled his
package, feeling his heat radiate through her. Her pulse quickened.
“Exactly what I was told.” She would get through this.
She always had before, and he was no worse than the others she had
serviced.

With his hand upon the back of her head, he ground his girth
against her before he stopped, the throb of his shaft having grown
rapid. “Unbutton the trousers, and take it out,” he
husked, yet in her mind the eerie presence of that foreign killer
lingered in her mind. He had lost none of his ominous aura, yet a
sort of ethereal link seemed to have been formed between her and him.
Like a magical tether.

Mystical or physical, she knew she was bound, yet it was still
unnerving. She looked up at Zarach with seductive eyes. Her fingers
went to work, eagerly, and her skilled hand pulled him from the
material with relish. Her gaze dropped and her mouth hung open, and
she wondered for a moment if Jaral was somehow spying on her. Even
then, in that private moment.

It was strange, to be confronted by one powerful man’s
impressive cock right before her eyes, yet to feel that unnatural tug
on her consciousness back towards the dark villain she’d
entered a pact with. She’d always been driven by lust, by
hunger for power and a man’s cock, yet as she confronted
Zarach’s impressive member she had to struggle to focus.

“A good, obedient elven bitch like you would be a rare
thing,” remarked Zarach, still clenching a clump of her hair as
he kept her face at his swollen groin, forcing her face up along that
lengthy shaft.

She swallowed and tried to focus. She’d never had trouble
with that before when feeling the heated pulse of a man’s sex
against her cheek. In fact, it was usually everything else that fell
away, leaving her empty headed and aroused. That was what got her
into this position in the first place. She shifted on her knees and
felt the tug of her hair in between his fingers.

She knew what Zarach had been doing yesterday: Grooming her.
Trying to win her affection and loyalty, and she knew he couldn’t
buy it. But he could force it.

With a tight hold on her long black hair, he pulled her up from
his groin and onto the bed, forcing her face to the mattress, so that
her heavy breasts mashed against the rich comforter. “I assume
you deserve a little reward then,” he remarked, rising up
behind her onto his knees. That proud, thick cock stuck out towards
her, as if reaching for the sweet prize of her quim. “For all
your diligent work for me this evening. In spite of your earlier
lies.”

Her body burned with need, even if her mind felt distant and
distracted. Her knees parted and she bared that glistening, swollen
sex to him. The position was hardly dignified, but she got the
impression he didn’t want her dignified.

He was so much hotter when his threats were implicit more than
realistic, but it didn’t matter. She still wanted him to fuck
her. To feel that comfort, that familiar sensation of a man inside
her.

With a grasp on her head by her hair, he bent over her, no need to
guide his cock in by hand, it was so stiff and full. He merely took
hold of her hip and pressed that full tip against her, forcing it in
rough and hard.

There was no delicate touch with him, not since he’d taken
her at the bar. He merely rutted into her like a low class hooker at
one of his establishments, plowing away with cruel stabs of his
manhood, again and again.

It felt so debasing, and not in the way she liked and craved. The
way that told her that a man needed her, needed to control her
entirely. The feeling of being just a replaceable woman, someone
interchangeable was at once depressing and terrifying.

One thing she’d learned fast was that the moment a man sees
you as just another toy is the moment your life truly is held in the
balance. As he pounded into her, she clenched her muscles, squeezing
his cock and begging him in harder, and faster.

She wasn’t just some whore.

She was Anjasa, and she was one of a kind.

Her motion succeeded in eliciting a throaty moan from him, that
squeeze of her muscles about his length irresistible even to the
cruel man that was using her. “Yess,” he hissed after a
groan, his hand striking her ass cheek hard with a loud crack that
filled the room, drowning out the impact of their bodies, the slap of
his sac against her clit and mons.

Yet all the while, as she resented the debasement and feared for
her life, thoughts and images of that dark stranger entered her mind.
Did she hope he would be different? Did she dare dream on some
unconscious level that he’d be what she’d wished Zarach
would be? Or was it something else altogether, just a psychic tug
brought on by that foreign man’s ways?

No matter what it was, it was a distraction, a way to cope with
the man that had turned cruel on her as if she were just some
discardable toy. Her ego was bruised and her rage simmered. She was
special.

She’d been made into something special. She had desires
normal women would cringe from. She had needs that suited male lusts.
Her body was curvy in all the right ways and she kept her skin
immaculate.

She wasn’t another pretty face. She was a trained and
willing slave, skilled assassin and thief, and a woman that could far
out earn any competition.

Anjasa kept reminding herself of that, even between the strange
fantasies of a man she didn’t know and the moans for a man she
had so quickly come to loathe. Her mantra reminded her of her value
and made her work harder to please the cruel Lord to be.

She managed to manipulate gasps and moans from him as he pounded
into her, breaking his cool, cruel facade with unasked for pleasure.
Another strike of his hand against her ass cheek, leaving it red and
swollen answered her diligent efforts, and he tugged on her hair
harder.

Yet as he huffed and swelled within her slick canal, thoughts of
that dark man, Jaral, filled her mind. She could see him so perfectly
in her mind’s eye, unmoving, his gaze ominous, yet cool and in
control. He reminded her of what she thought Zarach to be before he
showed his true colours.

In her mind she watched as he moved his hand towards that face
mask, hooked a finger into it and...

Zarach came. A noisome affair, he yanked out of her first, gripped
his shaft and beat his thick cock off so that he spurt his creamy
seed all over her tanned ass cheeks and back. “Fuck!” he
cursed through his own release, as if even that pleasure couldn’t
still his venom.

She cried out, cursing his interruption and the fact that he
couldn’t even give her the satisfaction of him cumming in her.
Her scalp prickled from his harsh fingers, and her body felt sticky
from the exertion, but she was terrified of what would come next.

Now that her use to him was over.

His exposed chest heaved in the aftermath of his climax, and he
stared down at her with his ruby gaze.

The moment dragged on long as he climbed down from his high of
sensation, though the first move he made came as a surprise. For he
released her hair then brought his fingers to her neck. He touched
her there gingerly. “I wonder what an Elvish bitch tastes
like,” he murmured as if to himself rather than her.

Slowly he began to bend down towards her, and instead of feeling
comforted by his sudden tenderness, his seeming desire to kiss her
neck, she felt impending doom instead. The kind she’d felt not
long ago in the presence of that masked killer.

As he was poised there, but inches from her neck, a knock came to
the door, interrupting them. And he ceased.

Her breathing had stopped, and she hadn’t noticed until he
pulled back. It was like the wind was knocked out of her, and even
though she tried to gulp in breath, it didn’t come easily. He’d
turned so quickly from his condescending ‘hun’s to
malicious ‘bitch’, and her mind reeled.

Pulling away from her he did up his pants and went to the door. He
opened it, not acting annoyed with the interruption, which seemed odd
to her. Though when she heard the deep, dark voice of Jaral she
thought she understood. “It’s taken care of.”

“And the bitch?”

“She did her job diligently,” he responded, his voice
cool and composed, but a slight tinge of surprise there.

“Good,” responded Zarach, but then he went back to the
bed and grabbed Anjasa by the hair again and yanked her off the bed,
dragging her across the floor to the door. “Take her out of my
sight. The dawn’s approaching,” he said, nearly tossing
her out into the hall.

To her credit, she didn’t stumble. Her grace was both innate
and cultivated, though it was impossible to see it as she was treated
like some animal. Her body burned with anger as she moved out through
the door, standing up straight as if she couldn’t be cowed.

Her nudity didn’t bother her, but she refused to glance back
at Zarach, even as she felt his cum begin to caress the curve of her
ass.

“I’ll put her away for the time being,”
responded Jaral, reaching out and taking her arm as he turned and
guided her down the hall. She heard the door slam behind her as the
pair rounded the bannisters and climbed down the steps.

Jaral quietly told her, “Be silent,” as he led her
past the thug Berro at the door—who stared at her nude form
lasciviously—then down to another door into the basement and
another barred door at the bottom.

It wasn’t until they had that second metal reinforced door
between them and the thug above that he stopped and looked to her. He
inspected her in the dark stone basement in her nudity, satisfying
himself it seemed with her state of being. “I arrived too late
to do the deed this time. But not too late to save you from his
reckless hunger,” and his hold released on her arm, his hand
rising as he meticulously adjusted her dishevelled black hair upon
her forehead and face.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment at that tenderness,
starved for affection already. The slightest amount of it made her
blossom after such humiliation and her smile was genuine. Even if he
did frighten her.

How was it that someone with such a foreboding presence became the
lesser of two evils?

“Too late?” she tilted her head, finally opening her
eyes to look at him curiously. “Hunger?”

“You don’t know what he is yet?” he asked, his
thickly muscled arm twitching just a bit as he continued his delicate
grooming, returning her to her usual state of beauty after her harsh
use. “I will kill him. But with what he is becoming, it shall
be no easy task, Anjasa,” he stated in that dark, exotic voice
of his. Even through the fog of fear that he caused, she knew that
combination was something that would set most any woman’s knees
to quivering.

She swallowed and her gaze dropped towards the ground as her
finger rose to her neck and touched the flesh there. “You know,
when a guy says he wants to taste you, it’s usually a good
thing.” How did her voice sound so weak and tired?

It was then she remembered she hadn’t slept in far too long,
and she sucked in a breath. Why didn’t she want to leave him?
Spirits, even hearing her name was like a tender caress.

“Not in this case,” he said to her deeply, the last of
her hairs into place and he used his cool fingers to caress her cheek
on down along to her chin. “I will clean you,” he stated,
slipping around her, lighting a lamp then wetting a cloth in a wash
basin.