Taken By Terror by Lolita Lopez
Chapter Fifteen
Shivering, Maisie twisted her soaking wet hair and squeezed the water from the strands. The chill in the bathroom had only been barely blunted by the steaming hot spray, and she stepped quickly under the drying vent. She wrinkled her nose at the slightly musty scent of the air and started rubbing her hands over her skin to hasten the drying process.
The accommodations on the waste ship weren’t the best, but they definitely weren’t the worst either. Terror had taken it upon himself to clean a stall, sink and one shower for them. The water was potable, if a bit metallic in taste. Sure, the heating was shot, and it was uncomfortably cold at times, but the company was nice.
She smiled secretly at the memory of the heated kisses they had shared only hours earlier. All those nights dreaming of what it would be like to kiss Terror hadn’t even compared to reality. Even now, her heart skipped a few beats as she remembered the feel of his big, strong hands moving over her body and his tongue darting against hers.
Finally dry enough to get dressed, she stepped out of the shower stall and made her way to the bench where a jumpsuit waited. Terror had been busy while she had been sleeping. She had woken up earlier to find a stack of clean clothing and sneakers on the table. They looked like they had come from the crew’s supplies, and she didn’t ask how he had gotten his hands on them. It was important that they blend in and go unnoticed when and they disembarked in a few short hours. If he had to steal to keep them alive, so be it.
The uncertainty of what awaited them once they left the ship frustrated her. There had been a moment earlier, when they were kissing and he was holding her close, where she had been sure that he was about to tumble her into bed. She would have let him. Happily. Enthusiastically.
But that moment had evaporated like the steam in this bathroom.
She wiped her hand across the mirror, clearing away a streak for a better look at herself. The fluids, vitamins and medication had vastly improved her physical state. It would take a month or two of proper meals, sleep and exercise to get back to her usual self, but this was a good start.
As she gazed at her reflection, she couldn’t help but wonder what Terror saw when he looked at her. After the heated kisses they shared and his appreciative hands roaming her body, she suspected he saw her the same way she saw him. Even now, standing here shivering from the chill, heat blossomed low in her belly at the memory of his hands on her skin. She touched her mouth, feeling the phantom slide of his lips on hers.
She nearly wept at the idea that their brief kisses might be the one and only experience she would ever share with him. After they disembarked, the odds they would be apprehended were high. Even if they managed to make it off the ship and to the safe house, they wouldn’t be able to spend much time in one place. They would need to flee to their next destination, maybe even split up and go separate ways to avoid being captured or killed.
This could be it. My only chance. Our only chance.
For so long, she had been denied the freedom to make her own choices, but no longer.
Maisie slipped into the coveralls but didn’t bother with the underwear, socks or shoes. She left the bathroom and walked back to their bunk room. Because the deck was closed due to the broken heating system, the corridor was lit only by the dim emergency lighting. There weren’t supposed to be any crew members down here, but she kept her guard up, just in case.
When she reached their bunk, she glanced left and right, making sure the hallway was still empty, and opened the door. She stepped inside and found Terror sitting at the small table, his tablet propped up against a couple of empty medication boxes. His gaze flicked from the tablet to her and then back to the tablet.
Steeling herself for a possible rejection, she reached for the zipper lining the front of the dark blue coveralls. She drew it down slowly, staring at Terror and waiting for him to notice. He did almost immediately. A master of his reactions, he didn’t show even the slightest bit of surprise. His gaze followed the slow slide of the zipper to just below her navel before moving back to her face.
Looking right at him, silently daring him to tell her stop, Maisie pulled the coveralls off her shoulders. The fabric fell to her waist, baring her breasts to his heated gaze. He rose slowly and took a single step forward. He seemed to be giving her a chance to change her mind. Boldly, she pushed the coveralls down her hips, letting the stiff fabric pool around her bare feet.
Terror closed the distance between them in three quick steps. He snatched her right up off the ground, hooking one arm under her bottom and using the other to jerk the coveralls from her feet. In the next moment, his hand settled on her nape and he crashed their mouths together in a nearly violent kiss. She wound her arms around his shoulders, gripping his shirt in both hands, and met his mouth with the same passion.
He walked them back toward the door, and she hissed at the shock of cold metal against her bare skin. He flipped the lock, sealing them safely inside, and then pivoted toward the nearby couch. She let her legs fall from around his waist and dropped down to her knees on the cushions, letting him support her so she wouldn’t fall. Desperate for him, she tugged his shirt from his jeans and urged him to take it off.
She stared at his broad chest and rippling arm muscles as he shrugged out of the shirt and threw it aside. Unable to help herself, she ran her palms over the surface of his lean abdomen right up to his chest. He had no tattoos on his skin, just scars. So many scars. Big ones. Little ones. Some with crudely outlined sutures and others fine lines. There were pink scars, red scars and older, darker purplish ones. Some were so old they had faded to pale white.
She pressed her lips to the biggest scar on his abdomen. It was a freshly knitted bit of skin from one of the wounds he had suffered during his captivity. She outlined the jagged scar with soft kisses, remembering how bloody the wound had been that morning she had come into his cell. It had taken her almost an hour to piece him back together. Her skills with a suture kit weren’t terrible, and the scar left behind wasn’t as rough as some of the others on his body. Still, she wished she had been able to patch him up with more finesse.
Lifting her gaze to his face, she let instinct take hold and dragged her tongue over the scar, all the while never breaking eye contact. His chest heaved, and he shuddered before combing his fingers through her hair. He fisted a handful, tugging her head back and her chin up. His other hand settled on her throat, gently and comfortingly. He captured her mouth in a sensual kiss that made her throb in all the right places.
When he ended the kiss, he stepped back, leaving her there panting and aching on the couch. He crouched down to unzip his boots and tug them free. His socks followed, and then he unbuckled his belt. He let it dangle from his hand for a moment, almost as if he were trying to decide whether or not he wanted to use it on her.
If any other man had looked at her that way, silently threatening to belt her bare bottom, she would have flown into an aggressively defensive rage. Seeing the flush of red on his skin, and the hungry way he stared at her now, she found herself wanting to turn around and offer her bottom to him. She wanted him to hurt her, just a little bit, to show her what everyone else meant when they talked about pleasure and pain.
She was nearly full-blooded Harcos, after all. Her body shared the same physiology as his. Women from their home planet, so many light years away, required pain to feel pleasure. Although she had only experimented a few times with her own body, Maisie had established she could reach a climax without any pain, but the one time she had tried pinching her breasts while touching herself between her legs, she had experienced an orgasm so incredible it had left her nearly comatose.
As if he could read her mind, Terror pointed at the table. She swallowed hard as currents of fear and excitement raced through her body. Rising on shaky legs, she moved from the couch to the table. She wasn’t sure how this part worked. Shy and uncertain, she glanced back at him, silently asking for his help.
His warm hand settled against her upper back, and he gently pushed her forward, guiding her to bend at the waist until her cheek touch the cold steel tabletop. He took her right hand and placed it against the edge of the table before carefully curling her fingers to grip the side. He did the same with the right. She breathed roughly as the anticipation of the unknown nearly overwhelmed her.
Terror stroked his rough palm down her back as if to reassure her. He combed his fingers through her still damp hair and then began to twist and coil it around his hand. He dragged her hair over her left shoulder, making sure it was out of the way. His body heat suddenly evaporated, and she shifted anxiously against the table, wondering where he had gone and what he was doing.
He appeared in front of her a moment later, crouching down until they were eye to eye. Very carefully, he said, “You will keep your hands here on the table unless you want me to stop. If you want me to stop, slap the table twice.” He showed her the signal and then studied her face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She gestured with her right hand and nodded at the same time. She was absolutely, positively sure she wanted this, wanted him. She trembled inside, her entire body quivering with need and apprehension as she watched him rise and move out of her line of sight. She sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his body heat covering her back. It wasn’t the belt that touched her next. It was his mouth.
Terror kissed her shoulder blades and then moved down her spine. He stopped when he reached the dip of her lower back, and his body heat seemed to dissipate. She waited nervously for what would come next. She swallowed hard when his big, strong hand pressed between her shoulders, holding her down against the table with just enough force to make it clear that he was in control now.
He won’t hurt me. He won’t hurt me. He won’t—
She hissed in shock at the smack of leather against her bare bottom. Okay. Actually. Yeah. That hurt. That hurt a lot.
Before she could decide whether she wanted to ask him to stop or continue, the belt slapped her already stinging ass. She clenched her buttocks as the fiery heat expanded with each successive whack. Six, seven, eight. She counted silently as the belt fell against her bottom, each swing leaving a blazing swath on her backside.
Torn between wanting to escape and wanting to submit, she closed her eyes and focused on the soothing pressure of Terror’s palm against her back. The belt slowed after a dozen swings, and instead of lashing her full force, he grazed the leather over her prickly, heated skin in a way that made her shiver. He shifted behind her, slapping the belt down onto the table and pressing the coarse fabric of his tactical pants against her burning skin. She gasped at the sharp bite of pain and then shuddered when he planted his hands on either side of her and bent low to kiss her temple. His stiff cock pressed against her bottom, teasing her with what was to come, and he kissed along the curve of her cheek to her jaw and then her neck.
Wanting him to know how much she wanted this, she pushed back against him, rubbing her bottom against his erection. She embraced the discomfort of the rough fabric on her sensitive skin and smiled as she felt him breathe in sharply and pull back. As if to remind her that he was in control, he grabbed both of her hands and tugged them to the small of her back. He waited a moment after securing both wrists in his much larger hand, clearly wanting her to decide if she was okay with this or not. With her hands held by him, she couldn’t tell him that she wanted to stop.
Yet, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t nervous about giving him total control. The trust they shared was unlike any other. She had shown him she would die to protect him, and he had proven he would go to the ends of the galaxy for her. He might hurt her, might cause her a little pain to show her real pleasure, but he would never harm her.
She relaxed into his dominant hold, showing him without words that she was willingly submitting. He gripped her wrists a little tighter, the strength of his callused fingers reminding her that she was at his mercy. Wishing she could see his face right now, wondering if his eye was dark with lust, she whimpered when his other hand slapped her bottom. His hand bounced from cheek to cheek, undoubtedly leaving a red bloom on her skin. Sometimes he smacked her higher up, and sometimes he smacked her down low, closer to her thigh. He kept her on edge, changing up the speed and force.
Overcome with sensation, she rubbed her legs together and squeezed her thigh muscles. Her core pulsed, and she could feel the slick heat seeping from within her. The cold metal of the table had been heated by her bare breasts and belly, but the press of her now-hard nipples against the metal was another added layer of discomfort that made her legs shake and her pulse race.
Terror’s hand picked up the pace, spanking her harder and faster. Unable to control herself, she wiggled her hips and tried to escape the falling blows. As if anticipating her attempt to get loose, he clamped down tighter on her wrists and used one of his legs to cage her in, pressing it against the backs of her thighs with his brute strength. The table bit into her hip, and she experienced a burst of excitement and quiver of fear.
Knowing she was caught and fully at his mercy, she let go. She closed her eyes and relaxed into his hold. She let herself feel everything—the thud of his palm against her bottom, the rush of blood through her veins, the vibrations of the ship through the metal pressed against her cheek. It was the aching, throbbing need between her legs she felt the most.
Please,she begged silently. Please touch me.
With speed that shocked her, Terror jerked her upright and pulled her tight to his chest. He cupped her throat with one hand, turning her face so he could punish her with brutal kisses that made her keen. His other hand followed the plane of her belly and the curve of her hip before it dipped down between her legs. She gasped as his skillful fingers parted her labia and exposed her clitoris. One fingertip touched the pulsing bud, and she cried out at the blissful brush of his finger on the most sensitive part of her body.
Terror nipped at her neck, his teeth leaving a mark that he soothed with his mouth and tongue, all while his fingers slipped in fast circles. She clung to the forearm clamping her to his chest, terrified her legs would give and she would fall before she felt pure joy. He seemed to understand and held her tighter, silently reassuring her that he had her.
Maisie rose on tiptoes as his fingers swirled faster, gliding in the slick evidence of her arousal. She tipped her head back, letting Terror nip and kiss at her neck while his hand continued its wicked dance. The coiling tremors of ecstasy grew, and she could feel her climax approaching. She wanted it—and she didn’t want it. She wanted this moment to go on forever, to feel this incredible plateau of joy and excitement as long as possible.
Just as she started to shake in his arms, Terror bit down on shoulder. The burst of pain sent her skyrocketing over the edge. She came so hard, her legs actually did give out, but Terror held tight, holding her against his chest while rubbing and biting until she was wrung out and limp. He cupped her sex, as if to shield it from anymore sensations, and kissed the bite mark he’d left on her skin. She sagged against him, her brain fuzzy with post-orgasmic bliss, and relished the aftershocks.
He shifted slightly, his erection pressing insistently against her bottom, and she pushed back and wiggled a little, letting him know she wanted to keep going. He didn’t need any other encouragement from her. With a rough shove that made her heart race and her belly flip-flop, he pushed her against the table again. One of his hands returned to her upper back, pinning her down, and she realized he meant to take her like this. From behind. Without letting her see his face or kiss him.
Before she could tell him to wait, he was shoving her legs apart. The illicit thrill of the way he manhandled her momentarily overcame her hesitation. His fingers traced the seam of her pussy, and she groaned with need as they probed into the one place no one but she had ever touched. He pumped in and out, seeming to assure himself she was wet and ready, and then suddenly, he was thrusting inside her, sliding so deep that her toes came off the floor.
The shocking intrusion stole her breath. She had expected some discomfort her first time, but this was a little more than discomfort. This was pain, and not the kind of delicious pain that made sex interesting and her orgasms more incredible. This was the kind of pain that made her slap the table and shake her head.
Not that she had needed to do either. Terror seemed to have sensed something was very wrong the moment he was deep inside her. She could only imagine how she must have felt different, not quite ready for the sort of rough love he seemed to like. He pulled free of her body as she pressed on the table and pushed herself into a standing position. A little woozy, she swayed on her feet as she turned to face him and leaned back against the table for support.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his face. His dark expression was a mix of anger and disgust. His gaze dropped down to his thick, long cock, now slick with her wetness and tinged just slightly pink. From my blood.
“You’re a virgin.”
She didn’t have to hear to know it was said in an accusatory tone. “Yes.”
He rubbed his hand down his face before pointing at her. “You should have told me!”
“When?” she asked and then rolled her eyes when it was clear he hadn’t remembered what the sign meant. Frustrated by the lack of easy communication, she strode to the couch, ignoring the twinge of pain between her legs, and grabbed her tablet. “When?”
“Before I fucked you obviously!” he shot back furiously.
She reeled back in shock and then gritted her teeth as she typed. “Don’t shout at me like that! Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings!”
He had the decency to look chagrined. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
Hating that he was ruining the moment they had shared, she smacked at the touchscreen. “Why does it matter if I’m a virgin?”
“It matters because you deserved more than being fucked face-down on an old table in a cold, dirty waste ship, Maisie.”
She wanted to tell him that was ridiculous but decided against it. Instead, she said, “I came onto you, remember? I don’t care about the ship or the table. I care about you.” She pointed at him for emphasis. “You are all that matters. Being with you makes me happy.” She gestured to the table. “That made me happy. It felt good.”
Ignoring everything she had said, he asked, “Did it feel good when I ripped into you and caused you pain?”
“No,” she admitted, “but I know it wasn’t done on purpose or because you wanted to really harm me. It was just miscommunication.”
“A hell of a miscommunication,” he grumbled. Shaking his head, he added, “I should have asked you about your experience. I should have been more careful with you.” Regretfully, he said, “You made the first move, and you seemed so confident and excited. I thought...fuck. I made a mistake and shouldn’t have assumed you were more experienced.”
“It’s okay, Terror.”
“It’s not.” He slashed his hand through the air. “It’s not okay, and it’s just another reminder of why I have no business even touching you like that.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He picked up her coveralls and held them out to her. “It means you need to get dressed.”
Her heart sank. “What?”
“Get dressed, Maisie.”
“But we aren’t finished!”
Terror’s entire demeanor had shifted, and he was suddenly cold and aloof. “Yes, we are.”
