#midnight star

Unfamiliar colors and patterns swam around her, including on the arm clamped around her like a band of iron. Tattoos. The House Master did not have tattoos like that. Neither did Łukasz, the man who bought her after Hana and the bear. The dark hues of the decor around her did not belong to the House Master’s bedroom, nor to any room she could remember in Łukasz’s manor in the French countryside. Where was she, then?

Disjointed images flashed through her mind. Broken glass. Broken bodies. The ocean. Knives. Cameras. America. Grinning skulls.

Cromeans.

A whimper very nearly left her as the memory of the past few days (week? weeks, plural? how long had it been? she already couldn’t remember) returned. She’d run halfway across the world just to find herself trapped in another House, under another man, and she was certainly going to die here if she didn’t find another opportunity to flee, and soon. It had taken her a year to get herself free of Łukasz. Five times that to escape the House Master. She didn’t imagine she had anywhere near that amount of time here, not with a man who wore his violence so openly, so proudly.

She was so tired. The bed was so warm.

Too warm, in fact. Cromeans’ body radiated heat like a bonfire, and any attempt to put space between them just pressed another part of her body closer to another part of his. She felt his face nuzzle against her hair, his chest rise and fall in what she imagined was a contented sigh. His hands were strong. She could feel the power in them, even when they weren’t squeezing the life from her. Not the soft hands of the pampered elite, nor the rough hands of a working man. Long fingers. Slightly callused, just enough to cause a light rasp of friction when he trailed them over her skin.

Those fingers had been buried in her cunt up to the last knuckle, and yet she felt them far more keenly now as they continued their gentle dance along her body. Flickers of sensation radiated outward like ripples in a pond as his touch moved over her waist, her belly. Lower, to tease the sensitive skin just above her mound, along the ticklish lines where thigh met hip, then upward to cup her breast, flicking and circling the nipple with his thumb until the pink bud was tight and erect.

It felt… good. She didn’t want to feel good. The longer he touched her, the betterworse it was. He studiously avoided her pussy, but she still felt the ghost of him there. A new affliction, one that pulsed instead of tearing and had her clenching her thighs to avoid a touch that wasn’t even forthcoming. Marena knew what arousal was. Obviously she knew. But it wasn’t something that happened to her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, notched her teeth against the bones of her own fingers.

A body smolders.

Cromeans’ cock was hard and insistent against the back of her thigh, though he seemed content to ignore it for the moment. His legs caged hers, one hand spreading against her abdomen while the other moved to give attention to her other nipple. Fingers splayed wide, nearly spanning pelvis to sternum, pressing her to him until she could feel his heartbeat through her shoulder blades. A shift, a gentle scrape of teeth against her shoulder. She had her face buried in both hands now.

(Once, she’d told Hana that it was worse when the men pretended they loved you. The two had been curled together under the blankets in Hana’s room, a storm raging outside and Hana holding a lump of ice wrapped in a cloth against Marena’s swollen lip. It was easier when they just hit you, Marena had said. Hana hadn’t understood. But then, no one had ever had to pretend to love Hana. She wasn’t built wrong like Marena was. She didn’t have that broken thing in her that made people hate her on sight.)

A body trembles.

In a single swift movement, she was flipped over, her hands pulled away. The hair was brushed from her face, and before her vision could focus, a crooked mouth latched onto hers. It was surprisingly soft. It was warm. It was hungry. She tried to turn away, but a firm grip on the nape of her neck kept her in place. Attempting to push Cromeans back didn’t work either; that unyielding arm returned and pulled her close again, pinning her to him. Solid planes of muscle shifted under her hands. Some clever motion of his lips parted hers, and his tongue swept into her mouth in a movement she felt down to her toes. Heat spread through her like a rush of warm water, and Marena went limp in his arms.

A body… relents?

Marena had been kissed before, but never like this - like her mouth was made of honey and Cromeans would happily give up breathing if it meant getting another taste. His tongue flicked against a ticklish spot in her mouth, did it again when she twitched and shivered. It was like the floor dropping out from under her, her whole being pinned to a glowing filament that threaded from her mouth, down through the pit of her stomach to her cunt, which couldn’t decide how exactly it wanted to ache. A thin strand of spit connected their lips when Cromeans pulled briefly back, and he licked it away before resuming his assault on her mouth. Close-mouthed kisses, short and deep and white-hot with desire. Teeth dragging over her lower lip. Breath entangled and tongues intertwined.

She was helpless to resist. She could not stop the way her mouth danced in tandem with his while snakes coiled in her belly. She could not stop him from taking her wrist and moving her hand to his cock.

Her fingers couldn’t even wrap all the way around it, this thing that had split her open twice already. A fervid, throbbing pillar of flesh. Cromeans’ hand clamped down over hers, and he slowly drew both their fists up the shaft. Sticky wetness streaked across her palm as he rolled their joined hands over the head of his cock, then slid back down for another languid stroke.

Cromeans pressed his forehead to hers, breaths coming sharp and heavy. The last thing she wanted to do was make eye contact with the man while he masturbated with her hand, so she kept her gaze fixed on his torso. He had scars there: the familiar pink circle of a gunshot wound, a thin slice of keloid below that (no no don’t look lower eyes up). A single tattoo adorned the center of his chest, a grinning skull with two huge, serrated knives crossed underneath it like a pirate flag. She watched it move with each heave of his chest.

This was not good enough for him, apparently, because he grabbed the back of her head and wrenched her mouth back to his. Sloppy, open-mouthed, teeth clicking hard enough to hurt. Devouring. There was no air in the room, no space for her chest to expand when she was crushed to him like this. Her nose filled with the growing scent of sweat and sex.

She shuddered when she felt the head of his cock press against the apex of her thighs, right over her clit. Wanted to kick, but that would mean parting her legs, which were squeezed together so tightly she could feel the bones of her knees grinding against each other. Another nudge, more insistent. Her free hand braced against his abdomen like she had any hope in hell of stopping him. But Cromeans would not be denied, and her inner thighs were curiously slick, and it only took one more push to break through her paltry resistance.

He did not enter her, but she could feel the length of him nestled and twitching between her folds. The hand that had been forcing her to grip his cock was now palming her ass, holding her in place as he thrust slowly between her thighs. The hot slide of his shaft along her pussy was unreal, hypersensitive. Occasionally, the ridge of the head caught against her entrance and made her flinch like a jumpy virgin who’d never been fucked. He laughed every time she did it, planting kisses on her cheeks and chin and forehead and always, always her mouth while her hands fluttered uselessly between them.

It all happened in a blur of movement: flip, shuffle, pull, and Cromeans was sitting with his back to the headboard, Marena straddling his lap, his legs bent to brace her against his thighs and gravity pulling her down until she was so full of cock she felt sick. She gasped, writhing in his grip. Reached back to plant her hands on his knees, toes digging into the bed as she tried to push herself off of him, but his hands around her waist were unshakeable anchors and her struggling just seemed to excite him more, every flex of his hips pushing him that much deeper inside her.

A low keen slipped between her teeth before she could bite it back. Cromeans pulled her a little further down and she gagged at the feeling of fullness, the relentless pressure against parts that were already sensitive and hurting. Maybe if she threw up on him, he’d shove her off. And then probably beat her to a bloody pulp, but it might be worth it at this point.

Because he hated her and wanted her to die a slow and torturous death, Cromeans chose that instant to lean forward and lave his tongue over her left nipple. The zing of sensation ping-ponged through her nervous system and left her shaking. Cromeans circled her goosebumped areola with the very tip of his tongue before closing his mouth around her, seemingly trying to suck as much of her breast into his mouth as possible. Teeth scraped over the tender flesh. He retreated until only her nipple was caught between his teeth, pulling painfully taut before finally releasing with a playful flick of his tongue.

Her undoing started as a quiver in her thighs, muscles threatening to give way as Cromeans lavished the same unwanted attention on her other breast. It spread down to her calves, a cramp in the arches of her feet. A crawling, tingling, burning heat suffused her skin, much like holding one’s hands to a fire after spending hours in the snowy cold. The shaking of her legs worsened and her arms grew weak. Pressure was building inside of her like a sense of impending doom. Her core tightened as her body fought to stay upright, sending a bolt of lightning up her spine.

The rough swipe of a thumb over her clit hurled her over the edge.

It was less an orgasm and more a full body convulsion. Every nerve screamed in concert, and Marena couldn’t tell if she was feeling pleasure or pain or both. An animalistic sound - part grunt, part growl, part cry - burst free against her will; no part of her body was under her control. There was just an endless feedback loop of too much as every clench of her cunt set off another round of tremors. Something inside her softened and gave way, and she slid down the last inch of Cromeans’ cock, hips coming to rest against his, before she collapsed against his chest.

If she looked up, she would have seen the triumphant smirk on Cromeans’ face as he took in the sweaty, crumpled heap of girl in his lap. If she looked down, she would have seen the slow drip of cum seeping out to join the wet mess between their legs. But her head was buzzing, and her lungs were trying to figure out how to work again, so she didn’t look anywhere.

Fresh air chilled the nape of her neck as her hair was pulled back and away, locks peeling free from where they’d stuck to flushed skin and the curling edges of the bandages’ tape. Tension in her scalp, and she was pulled upright and back by the hair until she was once again propped against Cromeans’ muscular thighs. A finger traced her lips, slow and soft. He took her hand in his, brushed a kiss over her knuckles, then turned it over and pressed another to the palm.

Marena wondered if this was going to become a thing - him wrecking her to the point of immobility and then following it up with a tender little gesture straight from a mawkish romance novel. She desperately hoped not. It was sickening.

Cromeans was tracing something on her hand. Her head dipped, and he tapped her firmly on the cheek with two fingers until she forced her bleary eyes open. He held her hand up between them emphatically, then shot her a meaningful look.

Pay attention.

He made the shape on her palm again. It reminded her of a fish hook. Then he raised his hand and drew the same hook shape in the air with his little finger.

She didn’t understand.

He drew the hook shape on her palm a third time, this time adding a cross bar to the top. Marena frowned, comprehension flickering at the edges of her porridge-slop brain. Cromeans drew the shape two more times, and it clicked. It was a letter.

He obviously saw the clarity dawning on her face, because he raised his brows and gave her an encouraging little head tilt. And the answer is…?

“J?” she said. God, her voice was a wreck. It sounded like she’d been throat fucked with sandpaper.

Cromeans nodded enthusiastically. He made the “j” shape in the air again with his little finger, then lifted her hand. Folded her fingers in until only the pinky stuck out and twisted her wrist so she was copying his movement. Wrote the J on her hand, drew it in the air with his own. Looked at her expectantly. When Marena hesitantly made the J sign on her own, he broke into an incongruously joyful grin.

A kinder person would have called it boyish. Marena was not kind.

A second letter: one vertical line and three horizontal. Thumb folded across the palm and fingers bent at the second knuckle so the fingertips rested against the thumb. E.

A double curve and a fist, thumb on the outside. S.

Cromeans returned to the first sign, then the second. Then the third, twice, and the second again.

J-E-S-S-E.

Marena’s brow furrowed. She mouthed the letters silently to herself, trying to imagine them written out on a piece of paper.

“Jess…?” she ventured.

Cromeans held up the E sign again, then made two staccato little movements with his hand.

Two parts.

“Jess-e.”

A smooth, sweeping hand motion.

All together now.

“Jesse.”

The cock that still split her wide twitched now in violent excitement while something akin to despair lanced through her chest. She didn’t want to know this. She didn’t want to know this. Something about a name made it all feel real in a way it hadn’t before. Not a thing happening to her, like a dream, but a man. Doing this to her. Cromeans - Jesse - (god help her she didn’t want to know this!) - gave her no quarter. Was already drawing the next letter out on her damp palm.

Four slanted lines. Another fist, thumb poking out between the ring and little fingers. M.

Three straight lines at opposing angles. Fingers pressed flat to the palm, thumb upright alongside the index finger. A.

Line, curve, line. Thumb, ring, and pinky fingers folded down, middle and index crossed like a wish, like a broken promise. R.

Of course he already had her name. It would honestly have been more surprising for him not to have it, with all the money and resources evidently at his disposal. But dread still twisted her stomach as she watched him form the E again, the N, the second A, copying him with shaking fingers like a good little pupil.

Like she’d imitated the House Master’s hands on his cock, learning where to stroke, where to squeeze–

Jesse was watching her, waiting. When she didn’t open her mouth, he signed through the letters again.

M-A-R-E-N-A.

He stared at her, hard. For a fucker with only one eye, he had an intense gaze. Like the power of two eyes had been condensed into one and was boring straight into her. He already knew. Why did she have to say it out loud?

The hand that wasn’t still clenched in that final A slid over her body. From their stickywet joining to her abdomen, up the stomach, between the breasts, over her chest to rest firmly on her throat, where his thumb dragged a straight line up the length of her windpipe in an obvious demand.

“Marena,” she croaked.

That fucking grin again, like sunshine beaming out of his fucked up fucking face. His thumb toyed with her lower lip; he pinched her chin and tugged slightly.

Again.

“Marena.”

Barely audible, but he licked his lips like she’d fed him something delicious. Pieces of a soul must go down easy, with the way everyone clamored for them. Still gripping her chin, he pulled her forward and kissed her. His other arm looped around her hips and forced her into a slow, dirty grind atop him. Marena suspected that, were he able, he’d be whispering her own name back into her mouth. She felt like dying.

Jesse and Marena. Marena and Jesse. Sick, sick, sick.

Pulling back to look her deeply in the eye, Jesse began to spell out another letter on her skin. The one arm was still wrapped around her, pulling, rocking, and both of Marena’s hands were pressed against his chest, fingernails digging into his pecs, so he drew it on her throat. Two vertical lines, one horizontal. Hand tilted, index and middle fingers pressed together to point to the side.

H.

A.

N-

“No!”

Marena slapped Jesse’s hand down the way she’d clap a hand over someone’s mouth to stop them speaking. Cock be damned, she felt gutted. Hollow. Felt the horror showing stark on her face.

He shouldn’t know. Couldn’t know. How did he know? She must have said something, in her sleep or in the early days when she was drugged and concussed, but why? Why would she do that? Hana was everything good in the world. Marena’s only good thing. This rapist, this sadist, this man… he didn’t get to have her. It simply was not allowed.

Marena was shaking her head, a steady stream of “no”s falling from her mouth.

“Not yours. She’s not yours, you don’t-” she took a huge, shuddering breath, “-don’t get her, you don’t get to have her. She’s not for you, you can’t-”

A darkness she hadn’t realized was missing fell back over Jesse’s gaze. With another dizzying flip, she found herself on her back with Jesse looming over her. With a vicious snap of his hips, he thrust into her, so forcefully and with such stabbing pain that she felt certain he’d punctured something. The fast, wet sound of skin slapping skin was pornographic, somehow more explicit than the actual feeling of his cock moving inside her, his hipbones digging against her ass. He pinned her to the bed with both hands around her throat, every pump driving the message home clear as day.