Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 26

She woke from a dead sleep to the deep bellow of male yelling.

Flipping over onto her back she sprung up, disoriented for a moment in the deep shadows of the bedroom.

Then she realized the yelling was right next to her. Jon was sitting up in bed, naked, arms waving about.

Frustrated at the way her wrists were still bound, she reached for him, shocked at the tears welling in his eyes, this brute of a male, a man who’d wrung from her body both the deepest pleasures and the most agonizing pain she’d ever experienced.

But now, he was in pain, and for reasons she didn’t understand, she needed to try to comfort him.

“Jon! Jon! It’s… it’s okay! I’m here. You’re… you’re all right!”

His eyes were glazed over, eyelids puffy and reddened.

The deep voice rattled in her chest as he roared the words. “I can’t… oh fuck… what have I…!”

He held his head in his hands, his breathing rapid, his deep barrel chest rising and falling like a frantic bellows. He was covered in sweat.

She rubbed his shoulder, whispering to him. It was clear he wasn’t quite awake yet, caught in the grips of some sort of lucid terror.

Then he turned his head to look at her, and for that one instant, her heart nearly broke for him, for in those frantic bloodshot eyes, she saw pure, unadulterated fear. No, it was horror.

“Jon, it’s Yulia. You’re okay.”

And just like that, the focus of his dark eyes sharpened, the redness suddenly much less intense. He blinked several times, a bead of sweat running down his temple.

Then he sprang from the bed so quickly, with almost supernatural force, that she actually squeaked, clapping her hands to her face.

No man moves that fast.

Not a normal one, anyway.

He paced the floor next to the bed, and she tried not to look at the big penis swinging between his legs. Especially because it was already beginning to get hard.

She really had no idea how he’d managed to fit that thing inside her, and the soreness of her sex seemed to put an exclamation on her musings. Despite that, when she’d come all over that huge cock… pain was the very last thing she’d been experiencing.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking about his penis right now. Something’s happened to him.

It was clear it had, but she hadn’t the faintest idea what, and a bigger part of her was simply concerned for her safety—and even though it should have been insane—his safety, too.

This wasn’t the same man who’d abducted her. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she was utterly convinced of it now.

That knowledge was most of the reason why she wasn’t scared out of her mind at that particular moment.

“I have to think… this… what… you… this isn’t how this is… supposed to go.”

He rattled off the words in an almost mechanical way, not quite human.

But he was clearly a man. Wasn’t he?

“Sit down, Jon… seriously, it’s okay.”

She felt incredibly sheepish doing it as she patted the bed, especially with the chain linking both her wrists clinking together, but the urge was overwhelming.

Incredibly, he stopped, glancing at her, and did just that, sitting down. He looked to her, as if he were uncertain what was supposed to happen next.

“Tell me what’s going on. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, but his gaze remained locked upon her. “It was a dream… but it wasn’t. The things…in the dream. I did them—all of them. But it was wrong… somehow.”

“How was it wrong? The things you did were wrong?”

“Yes, of course. But that’s what’s so awful about it. I… that was me—and now it’s not me.”

“I don’t… tell me what that means, Jon.”

Part of her was beginning to wonder if he was starting to crack up, psychologically; her father had talked about when he’d encountered it in soldiers experiencing battlefield shock. But if that was indeed what was happening here, she needed to do everything she possibly could for him.

He looked down a moment, his fist clenching the bedspread, then met her gaze once more.

“In the dream. I liked what I was doing—all of it. Even the horrible things. I enjoyed it. It wasn’t just… carrying out orders. Following my parameters. But I’m… that man… it’s not me, anymore.”

“What does that mean though?”

He held up his hands. “If I’m not that man… Then I don’t know who I am.”

“As in you’re not Jon anymore?”

His little smile was not only unexpectedly playful, almost boyish, it was a profound relief, too. “No—I’m still Jon. I’m me. What I mean is… that Jon. He’s gone. It’s… in that dream it was like watching footage of a man named Jon. A man who looked just like me.” His voice dropped an octave, an edge to the words. “But that man is not me.”

Then a look of pure fatigue crossed his eyes, and he sighed as he glanced away. “I need… to lie down. Rest a while.”

He sprawled upon the bed then, closing his eyes. It was as if the stress, the strain of whatever was happening to him was exhausting him.

If you’re going to do this, now is your best chance yet.

She could—possibly—make it out of there… but to where? She still didn’t know where she was.

Shockingly though, fleeing wasn’t what she actually wanted to do here. Perhaps, not at all.

Something’s not happening to him. It’s happening to you, Yulia.

She laid down next to him on her side so she could face him. She wasn’t sure if it was because it comforted him—or her. Maybe it was both?

And maybe that didn’t matter anymore.

Listening to him breathe, there in the silence of the bedroom was soothing. His big chest rising and falling, the pace sedate, but not so sedate as to fool her into thinking he was asleep. Not yet, anyway.

The vision of last night played in her mind. Of how awful she felt, the utter abyss of loss she feared she was drowning in.

It was a sensation of being torn asunder—and torn from her last moorings to whatever the old Yulia thought she was.

He’d taken her… and she’d asked him to.

That doesn’t mean a damned thing, Yulia, and you know it.

Perhaps, but what was no longer in doubt was his effect upon her, and the fact that his distress… it affected her, too.

The worst part was that she could feel the connection to him, how he’d somehow… transformed. She’d sensed little hints of it in the days prior, but last night, it came to the fore, with full force—and she was baffled as to how to deal with it.

He’d taken her, forcefully, even brutally. It had hurt… but not as much as she’d feared. And most of all, the sensations he’d forced upon her, the emotions he’d dredged up… they were the most confusing of all.

Because she’d felt tremendous pleasure, too. More than she’d ever experienced. More than she’d thought was even possible. How could that have happened?

It was more than simple bonding with her captor, though perhaps that was part of it. It would have been easier to simply label it that, and thus better hold it at arm’s length.

Then came the night, the aftermath. As she’d lain there, utterly alone, missing her father, despairing at the profoundness and never-ending pain of his loss, that all she’d ever known—even her freedom—was now gone.

But then he’d done something that shocked her.

It had been his words.

“I’m sorry.”

The man who’d cruelly toyed with her, then kidnapped her, then played sadistically with her body and her mind… that man was not the same man who’d quietly lain with her, whose caressing strokes up and down her hip had been some strange lifeline to her, the one thing that showed her that, maybe, she wasn’t all alone after all.

Such a thought was insane, of course—she’d known it even then—but it was real.

Because his touch, his words, they had comforted her.

Whatever the reason for it, the effect… was the same.

And she felt a little less alone because of it.

All night, he’d lain there with her, as she dozed in and out of consciousness. At times, she’d felt his cock harden against her ass, and once even she’d wiggled subtly against it for reasons she could never hope to explain.

But not once did he take her. Not once did she even worry he would.

Because whomever it was lying behind her… it wasn’t her captor anymore. He was… her protector.

There was no explaining how she’d reached that conclusion; instinct and intuition were mysterious things.

The practical result though was that as they’d laid there, together in the dark, she no longer feared him. Not in the least. And instead, she was a little bit less afraid… because he was there with her.

For a long while, she huddled against him as she grew chilled. His muscled arm rested upon her, drawing her in firmly, wrapped in his warmth. It wasn’t a restraint, but it was possessive. More than that, it was… shelter.

Safety.

“Are you going to hand me over… to TSS?” She wasn’t sure why she asked it.

“No.” The voice was deep, definitive. Was that a note of shock in his tone too?

“Are you going to… let me go?”

A pause. “No.”

Her heart squeezed at that, but she didn’t know if it was disappointment… or something else entirely.

“W-why not?”

“I… I don’t know.” He turned toward her, looming over her. His gaze was almost fiery despite the deep shadows of the bedroom. “I know that… I need you with me. Safe… with me.”

He caressed her face, the touch like electricity along her skin. His thumb traced the line of her mouth, the curve of her cheekbone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched your face before.” His rugged features lit up when he smiled. “It’s a very pretty face.”

Incredibly, her cheeks heated.

“Now, it’s even prettier.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the subtle movement, and she peered down the long, sinewy plane of his muscled body.

His cock was almost fully erect, rising rapidly, the size of it making her gulp despite the fact it was far from the first time she’d seen it.

Because it wasn’t her body being broken that she was worried about anymore.

It was something much more fragile, and precious beyond measure.

Despite her soreness, the sight of his arousal had her belly doing flip-flops, the heat between her thighs almost instantly stoked to a blaze.

“What are you… what are you doing?” she asked as he moved closer.

She drew in a sharp breath as the hot bar of his erection lolled across her thigh, wetness at its tip already, leaving a tiny, glistening trail upon her skin.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” He wrapped a hand about her chin, a possessive grip, but not painful. “But I know one thing. I know you. And that you belong with me.”

“I don’t… belong to anyone.”

Your pussy sure doesn’t seem to be getting that message.

She was already wet and sticky, the lips of her sex—still a little tender—sliding together as she tried to move away from his hips.

His hand slid down to her throat then, stopping her. He held her that way, gazing into her eyes while he lightly tapped the heavy, hard length of his shaft against her naked belly, the slapping sound making her cheeks flush even more.

“You can’t leave, Yulia. Because nobody can keep you safe. Nobody can protect you—like me.”

He’d taken her already, yes, but this wasn’t the same. There was no real force here. He hadn’t previously edged her to madness for days on end. He hadn’t even so much as touched her pussy yet… and there she was, already sopping.

Yes, this was a different Jon.

But she wasn’t the same Yulia, either. “You aren’t protecting me.”

She knew neither of them really believed that though.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He loomed over her, arms sinking into the mattress at either side of her. His thigh eased hers slowly apart, his thick cock swaying above her belly, a welling drop of his wetness threatening to spill onto her. “But I know I’m not letting you go. Not ever.”

She brought her hands up, pressing futilely against his chest.

“I can’t… I’m… it still hurts a little.”

“Then you’re going to hurt some more.” He suddenly moved up, straddling her hips, his huge balls hot against her belly, his hard penis bobbing crazily. A viscous drop of his fluid was flung free, cartwheeling through the air, then landing on her breast.

“Jon… what are you…?” She let out a gasp as he grabbed the chain linking her wrists, and pinned it to the mattress next to her head, her fingers tangling in her wild hair.

Using one hand to keep hers pinned, he gripped her breast with the other, squeezing it possessively, just past the edge of pain, using it as leverage against her. He extended his body back down, his penis dragging over her belly, then across her mons.

The press of the impossibly broad head upon the seam of her sex had her whimpering, not from the pain, but by how much she wanted him to take her again. Even as she feared it.

Becauseshe feared it.

He obliged her instantly, driving steadily, but not brutally, inside her, the aching stretch reawakened in her tissues.

She moaned with the sweet pain, and yet she hooked her legs around him, using her heels against the pleasing musculature of his powerful buttocks to draw him in even deeper. “Jon… my Gods… Jon… what are you… doing?”

His fiery gaze kept her pinned in place with every ounce of power his body had, his thrusts beginning in earnest, each plunge deeper than the last, his thick cock threatening to tear her apart as he sawed back and forth within the desperately tight fit of her pussy.

“I’m doing… the only thing I know how… keeping you, Yulia. Giving you… what you need.”

He thrust within her in earnest then, drawing cry after cry from her as he pushed deep, so incredibly deep.

It was awful. It was wonderful.

This was wrong.

And she didn’t care.

Pushing as far as he could, the huge head of his cock pressed to her aching cervix, he lowered himself onto her. She sighed with the delicious feel of taking all of his weight upon her, not quite understanding why it spoke to something so elemental within her.

Slowly, he drew close, his hot breath upon her, the male scent of his sweat. He kissed her, softly at first, then a more forceful taking of her lips with his, tongue questing deep, staking possession of her even there.

When he let up, her head was spinning, and she wanted to taste him immediately again.

She squeezed down upon him then, and he reared up, groaning.

It was a sound she thrilled to.

As if that were the last restraint holding him back, he began driving within her, with a savage power that chased the breath from her lungs, even as her pussy was pouring with juices, the sound of him sliding within her wet, and obscene, and wonderful.

Within seconds, a cry ripped from her lungs with each painful bottoming out within the depths of her sex, he reached his orgasm, his entire body going rigid, the hard muscles spasming against her. His hot, gushing seed flooded her, the sensation enough to force her over the precipice too.

Stars burst behind her eyes as she arched under him, moaning again and again as each of his final staccato thrusts wrung even more incredible, shattering pleasure from her body.

With a breathless grunt, he collapsed onto her then, and though she struggled to breathe fully for a moment, the only thing she regretted was that her pinned arms couldn’t embrace him, his big cock still pulsing and quivering within the intimate clutch of her spasming, exhausted pussy.

None of it made sense. It shouldn’t have happened.

She was stupid to allow herself to be so vulnerable.

And yet… she wasn’t sorry. Not at all. In that moment, it was only the two of them.

Nothing had to be okay.

It just had to be now.

After a long moment, he stirred, rising up on his elbows as he drew his softening penis from her.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Yulia. But I do know I’m going to do it with you. By my side—or underneath me—I don’t care. But it’s going to be… with you.”