“Yes,” he hissed out. Alex slipped his finger inside of her ass again until he was deep in her body. The groan that came from him was long and deep, and she moaned, as well, unable to stop herself. “Seeing my finger fucking you makes my cock ready to fucking explode.” After several seconds, he removed the digit and replaced it with the thick crown of his cock at her back hole. Every part of her was stretched out and on display. She was nervous, never actually having anal before, but at the moment not caring. She felt too wild to stop this.

  He started pushing into her, and she bit her lip and closed her eyes, the stretch and burn filling her. He pushed through the tight ring of muscle at her ass, and then he was fully in her, sliding all the way in until his balls were pressed right against her. He only gave her a few seconds to adjust to his size before he started moving in and out, slowly at first.

  “So. Fucking. Good.”

  After several moments, he picked up his speed and fucked her with long, powerful strokes. His balls slapped her moist pussy, the sound erotic, dirty good in nature.

  “I own you, Holly, and I’ll make you so fucking free.”

  He does own you right now, every part of you.

  He used his other hand to grip a chunk of her hair, pulled her head back until her throat was arched, and groaned out. Everything in her tightened to the point she knew she’d come again. Alex growled low, thrusting several more times into her before pulling out right at the last minute. He took hold of the base of his dick and stroked himself feverishly until white arcs of cum came out of the tip of his cock and covered her ass. She could only watch him over her shoulder, knowing her eyes were wide, her mouth parted. His pleasure was tangible as he groaned, his whole body tensed.

  His orgasm went on and on, and she felt his cum slide down the crease of her ass and along her pussy. When his orgasm receded, Alex moved back on his haunches and looked at her ass, clearly taking in the fact she was covered in his seed.

  Holly panted and collapsed fully on her belly, closed her eyes, and just let the post-euphoric haze wash over her. He lay next to her, and for several minutes neither spoke nor moved. She opened her eyes, only to see Alex was already staring at her. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair from her face, the act sweet almost.

  “This is what it means to own you,” he said and rubbed his cum into her skin, along her ass. “This is what it means to be mine.”

  He pulled her close to his body, held her like he was afraid she’d disappear, and she let him. Holly relaxed against him, closed her eyes, and thought about how she’d ended up here and where this path would lead.

  She opened her eyes again and stared into his dark, turbulent ones, knowing this man could have crushed her without breaking a sweat. He was an animal in human flesh, a machine with a living heartbeat, and she was his, in all senses of the word. There was no going back, not from any of this, but even if there was she wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere. This was her life, and this feeling of being free was something she’d never experienced before. Her mother would have wanted her to live her life the way she wanted to, and right now, right here, this was what she wanted.

  “You’re mine, Holly.”

  As fucked as this all was, she felt this blossoming of something darker rise in her. But the feeling wasn’t trying to suck her in, but make her whole.

  “You want freedom, you have it, but it comes with a price. It comes with being with me, with being mine.”

  She looked at Alex, seeing the hardness in his face, that determination covering every part of him.

  “You want to do this together,” she said without stating it as a question. Before he could answer, she spoke again. “I’m tired of being alone, of drifting.”

  He cupped her cheek, and the hold was firm, almost painful. But she liked that stability, needed it.

  “You’re not drifting anymore.”

  And she wasn’t. He made her feel stable, and it was a bittersweet feeling. It might be confusing on so many levels, and she might have been thrown into this situation, but right now this was Holly’s happily ever after … for now, and slightly twisted.

  Epilogue

  Several months later

  Holly wrapped the blanket around her tighter and stared at the city. It had been months since she’d first been brought to Alex’s home, and although the circumstances had been fucked-up, to say the least, in that time she’d found herself.

  She spoke to Rachel often, but her friend had moved out of town with her boyfriend. It seemed everyone was finding their way. Her bastard of a father was alive, but in prison for a drunken hit and run—one that had thankfully not gotten the other driver too hurt. She was glad he was behind bars, glad he could get the same kind of abusive treatment locked up as he’d delivered to Holly and her mother for years.

  The sun had set hours ago, the weather was chilled, and she felt good, happy. It may be only a few of months that she’d been living with Alex, and although to others … society, this was fast, insane, and she probably suffered from some mental disorder because she wanted to stay with her “captor,” Holly didn’t care about any of that. They weren’t hurting anyone, and this life they shared worked for them.

  She was happy, she made Alex happy, and that’s what mattered. He wasn’t the type of man that brought flowers and chocolate to make her smile, but he let her talk, listened, and was there for her. He’d always be hard and have an unforgiving personality, but that’s what drew her to him. He made her feel alive when she’d been trapped in her own skin. Holly wasn’t forced to be a prisoner in this apartment, in this life she’d chosen with Alex. In this short time they’d traveled, explored places together, and having him near her gave her this strange, yet intoxicating strength.

  The sound of the front door opening and closing had her turning around. She’d left the patio doors open, and watched as Alex entered. He set his briefcase down, took off his jacket, and all the while watched her. That intensity and connection she’d felt that first time hadn’t dimmed. In fact, it had grown, and she knew it always would.

  He crooked his finger for her to come to him, his expression dark, and full of promise. She felt her strength rise. Holly held control over him, as well, held the power that had his composure cracking, the wall he held around himself coming down, but only for her. It was that strength that made this different, made this right. In her eyes this was where she was meant to be, where her life was meant to go. It wasn’t conventional, maybe not even sane to some, but she didn’t care. Holly was happy, Alex made her happy, and that was what mattered. She’d never give this up, not now that she knew what living could be like.

  The End

  www.jenikasnow.com

  SINFUL

  Lily Harlem

  Copyright© 2016

  Chapter One

  A coil of fear wrapped around my body. It squeezed my chest, rolled in my guts, and pumped my muscles full of adrenaline.

  Fight or flight?

  The wet cobblestones underfoot were cruel to the high heels on my boots, but I ignored that and carried on. I’d chosen flight. Behind me the sounds of the riot faded—the East London street being burned and looted retreating into the distance. The cries and bangs were thankfully becoming quiet and muted.

  Sadly the footsteps that trailed me were still there. Hard. Mean. Persistent. I thought I’d made my escape from the peaceful protest that had turned into a full on revolt, but that wasn’t the case.

  I glanced over my shoulder, my hair whipping my cheek before the wind caught it.

  Darkness and shadows greeted me. There was movement there too, against the wall.

  Bile bit at my gullet. How the hell had I gone from protesting against the war to being stalked in the back alleys of King’s Cross? My parents had always warned me away from this area. And I’d watched more movies than I could recall of women getting caught out like this. Stupid, risk taking girls! Yet here I was.

  An attacker on my tail.

  A creepy, dark street.

  I sped up.

  So did the footsteps.

  I suppressed a whimper and let my handbag strap fall from my shoulder and caught it in my hand. The bag was hard leather, full of my usual heavy odds and ends as well. Would it be a good weapon to hit him with?

  Presuming it was a him.

  Of course it was.

  It was always a man.

  The cold air seemed to fizz on my hot cheeks. My thighs, bare in my short skirt, were tense as I forged forward. My heart rattled and my pulse thudded in my ears, competing with the echo of my footsteps on the uneven stones.

  Again I looked behind.

  Yes.

  There he was. No longer bothering to hide.

  Terror gripped me. He was tall. He wore a hoodie. His legs were long and his boots clipped the ground.

  I broke into a run. I had to get the hell out of this place. I looked left and right. Dark doorways, shuttered windows. No one to ask for help. The end of the street a lifetime away, and even then it wasn’t exactly buzzing with activity.

  I ran faster, upping the pace to a sprint when I went past the solitary lamp post. Rain drizzle floated in the halo of light it created.

  Damn, what I needed now was a guardian angel.

  I sent a quick prayer heavenward.

  Please. Don’t kill me. I’m not ready to die.

  He was running now. There was no pretense that he wasn’t after me. Wasn’t getting ready to attack me. Rape me. Kill me.

  I squealed as he drew level, his speed no match for mine.

  He was in front of me.

  My only option was to draw to a halt. It was that or barge into him.

  “Hey, little girl,” he said, his voice deep, gravelly, full of menace. He was breathing hard, as though excited that he’d cornered me.

  “What do you want?” I retreated a few steps.

  “Just making sure you’re okay. It’s getting nasty back there.”

  Yeah right.

  “Please, leave me alone.” I searched for my most confident, commanding voice. “I have a cab. Just up ahead.” I pointed over his shoulder. “The driver is waiting for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Of course it was a lie. I was scrapping the bottom of the barrel here. I just wanted him to piss off and leave me alone.

  I glanced left and right, praying that a doorway would have light coming from beneath, or a window would show signs of life behind the curtains.

  Nothing—darkness surrounding a heavy, arch-shaped door to one side and a shuttered up shop to the other.

  He took a step closer, his shoulders rounded, his arms reaching out, as though to grab me.

  Fuck it.

  I dropped my bag to the floor. It landed with a whump. Something inside it smashed.

  It was time for desperate measures.

  I set one foot behind the other and glared at him.

  He was white, perhaps late thirties, early forties. A heavy dusting of stubble, and thin mean eyes half hidden by greasy hair.

  I concentrated, amid my horror, in case I had to describe his ugly face to a police artist.

  He laughed.

  Actually laughed.

  But it held no humor. It was triumphant. A predator who’d captured his prey.

  “I have to warn you of something,” I said, tilting my chin. “By law.”

  “Oh yeah?” He was leaning closer. “What do you have to warn me about, little girl?” The sneer on his face matched that in his tone.

  I resisted the urge to turn and run. That would get me nowhere. It was clear he could out pace me. My three years at drama college was all I had left. “Yes. I have to warn you that I’m a lethal weapon. By law, before I kill or maim you, you should know that I’m a fourth dan. I’m registered as such with the police and martial art authorities.” I raised my hands like a boxer would, though I kept my fingers stretched out, the way I’d done in the two karate classes I’d attended at the local gym.

  “Fourth dan?” He looked bemused.

  “Yes.” I pulled in a breath. “Just going for fifth actually.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Some of the bravado had left his voice.

  “Think of a black belt, times it by five.” I laughed. “I’ve taken men your size down with my little finger.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “Yeah right.” From somewhere within I harnessed the courage to step nearer to him. “Are those really going to be your last words before you’re on a ventilator … yeah right?”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can do what the fuck I want.” I moved my hands in what I hoped was a karate-type move. “You’re a big man, it’s a dark alley. Who the fuck is going to believe you’re not out to attack me.”

  Which you are you cunt.

  He stared at me.

  “Self-defense will stand up in court no matter what condition I leave you in.” I nodded to the end of the alley, where my fictitious cab waited. “Now get the fuck out of here.” I paused and laughed. “Or not. I missed class with my sensei this afternoon. This would keep my training for the internationals right on track.”

  He took a step backward.

  I tipped my head. Grinned.

  What an asshole.

  “Jesus. You’re one fucked up chick.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “One fucked up chick who likes to fight. So come here.”

  “Shit.” He stooped and grabbed my bag. Then he turned. Ran. His footsteps banging around the walls like bullets.

  Jesus? Really?

  Had he bought my spin?

  It seemed he had.

  “Hey, come back here,” I yelled then swallowed, the fluid in my mouth was thick with fear. I’d lost my bag, bummer, but I was still in one piece, the relief of that was a potent drug.

  Suddenly more deep voices accompanied by footsteps and banging, came from behind me.

  Men. All men,

  Drunk. Angry. Wound up. Looking for a fight.

  I had to get the hell out of there.

  Suddenly I noticed a golden light shining from the huge keyhole of the large arched door. Someone was in there.

  What was it? Not a home.

  I ducked from the openness of the street. I might have had the luck of the devil getting rid of one loser, but a gang of them. I didn’t fancy my chances.

  There was a sign, next to the door.

  St Peter’s. Holy Cross Parish. Father R Duncan. All Welcome.

  Fuck. It was a church.

  I banged on the door with the side of my hand. “Let me in.”

  It opened instantly. Before my fist was able to whack down a second time.

  The man that stood before me seemed surprised to have a visitor.

  “Can I come in?” I asked, looking over my shoulder. “It’s dangerous out here. I need to shelter.”

  “Er…” He glanced behind himself, and clutched a black rucksack to his chest.

  “Please.”

  He wore a white collar, he was a priest or vicar. He appeared to have had a rough day, too. His dark hair was mussed up and he had a thick layer of stubble.

  The tinkle of glass breaking made me jump. The men were throwing bottles.

  “Quick.” I took control of the situation and pushed past the man before me and into the warmth of the church.

  “But?” He frowned.

  “I’m not going to survive if I stay out there.” I pointed at the door. “I’ve just fought off one attacker. There’s more. Quick, shut it. I’m not sure if even you’d be okay.”

  He glanced at the dark alley.

  “Hurry,” I said, shifting from one foot to the other, and twisting my hands together.

  To my relief he pressed his hand on the dark polished wood and clicked the door shut. As he slid two heavy wrought iron bolts into place I noticed he had tattoos over his knuckles, I couldn’t read what they said from where I stood.

  The keyhole dragged my attention from his unorthodox body art, and I glanced around wondering where the key was. I couldn’t see it on the nearby shiny table stacked with church leaflets, nor was it on the first pew of a row of several to my right.

  “You can’t stay here.” He frowned.

  “Father, please. I need to. Just for a while.” What the hell? Wasn’t a church supposed to be a place of refuge?

  “It’s not safe,” he said, scanning me head to toe and apparently taking in my long boots and short red skirt. “In here.”

  So he was a priest, he hadn’t corrected my assumption.

  “I’m better off in here than out there. I’ve already had my bag stolen and fought off a murdering rapist, I’d like to keep hold of my life.” I spotted a box of Kleenex tissues. “We need to block up that keyhole. It’s how I knew you were in here. The light.”

  Quickly, I grabbed a few of the tissues. I squeezed them into a tube shape then stepped past the priest. I set about shoving them into the gap. As I did so sharp, snapping sounds, like firecrackers, rattled around the street outside. There was more shouting, banging, hysterical, manic jeering and laughing. Another bottle broke, I wondered if it were more petrol bombs.

  I tried to stay calm even though my hands were shaking. Thank God I’d made it in here.

  Once my task was complete I turned to him.

  He stood there, stock-still, clutching his rucksack. There were several large cream candles lit on the shelf by the door, and the light from their flames shivered over his black robes and caught in his dark hair.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  His wide shoulders appeared tense and a small tendon flexed and un-flexed in his jaw.

  “Hopefully they’ll keep moving,” I said quietly. “But there will be more. It’s crazy out there. The police have lost all control.”

  “I know.” He glanced over his shoulder.

  I followed his line of sight toward the altar. A large, golden colored Jesus Christ hung from a cross, his head lowered and wearing a thorny crown. Behind him was a small round, stained-glass window. Before the effigy of Jesus a plinth, draped in white material, held more candles and what I guessed was a Bible on a book holder shaped like an eagle.