Veltana's writing

Imagine you're on your knees in the grass, checking on something, or talking to your flowers and suddenly he comes up behind you.

"Don't mind me, angel."

And he pulls your shorts and underwear down and pushes inside, and you have to keep quiet to not disturb the neighbors.

"You look so pretty with your ass in the air. I couldn't resist."

Angst "Just… don't look at me like I've already become a stranger."

"Were you trying to spare me, or yourself?"

"You only came back because there was nowhere else left to go, didn't you?"

"Everyone knew except me."

"Are you alone out here?"

Fluff "You know you talk in your sleep, right?"

"I asked you to help, not start a flour war."

"You've memorized my order?"

"You’re standing really close."

"You're adorable."

Smut

"You think you’re in control here? That’s cute."

"Tell me to stop."

"You're mine now. Say it."

"God, you feel so good."

For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper. If there was one thing Lloyd knew, it was that the king needed to get laid and to have someone to care about. Despite being the ruthless king of the demon realm, Lloyd had been there when the king and his betrothed were together, and the king showed a softer side, and a more even temper, back then.

But another problem was also that, since the betrayal, the king had refused to consider an alliance with any of the other factions that inhabited the demon realm. So Lloyd had done the only thing he could, and looked to other realms, close to the demon one.

No demon alive today had been there when the veil between the realms had been thin enough to pass through regularly, but many attributed that to the demon's humanoid bodies. The fact that humans and demons could mate and produce viable offspring both Lloyd and the demon king were living proof of.

And as such, the demon Lloyd looked to the human world. And he found you.

You stand still just inside the door to the apartment you share with two other people. The air is suffocatingly hot outside, and you looked forward to the cool air inside as you walked home. Except your roommates are having a party, with the windows wide open for people to smoke from. It's as hot inside as outside. You're already sweating through your shirt, blazer, and skirt, and you want to take a long, cool shower, but not when there are twenty other people in the apartment.

You make your way through the throng towards your door, happy that you locked it before going to work. Some of your things have started to disappear lately. Inside, with the door locked once again, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a tad cooler in your room with the blinds pulled and the window closed. You turn on the fan and stand in the breeze while taking off your clothes and throwing them in the hamper. No reusing those for another day. You need to do laundry too, if you want to have something to wear to work at the end of the week. Exhausted, you lay on the bed in just your underwear, limbs spread, waiting for the fan to cool your heated skin.

Everything seems to crash into you all at once. Your shitty work day, your stealing roommates, the never-ending tirade of chores, the unbearable heat you won’t be able to escape until winter, and then the apartment will be freezing cold instead. Tears run down the side of your face. Also, there is a gaping hole in your chest from feeling lonely. There are only so many romance books a girl can read before starting to long for that kind of connection of her own, and you really want a connection like that. You just want someone who cares about you and wants you, despite all your flaws. “Is that really too much to ask?” you say out loud to no one in particular.

“Of course it’s not,” a voice answers, startling you up from your bed. Standing by your desk is a man, dressed smartly in well-fitting clothes with a mustache that could be from an eighties porno, with his hair combed back. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy your roommates would hang out with.

“Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling with fear, throwing your arms up to cover your exposed chest as you back as far away from him as you can, but in the small room, you don’t get far. You’re sure you locked the door behind you. The man must have been in your room before you entered, hiding somewhere, and now he’s going to rape and kill you. The music is blaring from the party. No one is going to hear you scream. You eye the door, but you have to pass him to get to it. The window is not a quick escape since it’s closed.

“I’m Lloyd,” the man answers, and you realize just then how tall he is, a good bit over two meters. “And I’m here to take you somewhere better.” You’re frozen stiff. “No,” you manage to press out. “I can assure you that no harm will come to you, if that eases your mind,” he says, and you notice that his eyes seem to be unnaturally blue, almost glowing. “What?” “You will not be harmed, you have my word.” “I don’t understand,” you say, more tears are running down your face now. The man is clearly insane.

“There is no need to cry, you will have a much better life than whatever this is,” he says, looking around your room with clear distaste. “I guess humans like their earthly belongings, so if it makes you feel any better, we can take all of it with us.” Then he holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go.” But you don’t move, you can’t, fear is gripping your chest so hard you can barely breathe.

When he takes a step closer to you, your body suddenly switches to flight mode. With a burst of adrenaline, you go for the door, needing to try at least to save yourself. You feel an arm band around your waist, and the world turns upside down and somehow also inside out. It’s like you're on a roller coaster for zero point one second, screaming as you drop down into nothing, before you’re suddenly in a room again, except it’s completely different from before.

“What in the actual fuck,” you say, before throwing up.

Demon king Curtis stalks through the winding corridors of the ever-changing castle on his way back to his room. He needs a drink and to not see anyone else for a good long while. All day, he’s spent dealing with emissaries from the nearby realms, trying to negotiate trade deals so his people can continue to thrive, but all their offers involve some kind of marriage, and he is not doing that. He shouldn’t even be in those meetings. It’s Lloyd’s task to manage that, but Lloyd claimed he was busy. Whatever the fuck that means.

Think of the demon, and he shall appear, Curtis thinks as he nears his room, because waiting outside is Lloyd, with one of those shit-eating grins that can only mean trouble. “What have you done now?” Curtis asks, irritation thick in his tone. “Only what I deemed necessary.” “That can’t be good, then.” “We’ll see,” Lloyd’s smile widens, and then continues, “There is a present waiting for you in your room, and I hope it will bring you much joy.”

After staring at Lloyd a moment longer, Curtis opens the door with some trepidation. A present from Lloyd could mean anything, literally, and he isn’t sure he would like any of it. To his surprise, he finds a woman standing in the middle of the floor. A red band covers your eyes, while a soft robe drapes your body, tied at the waist. Curtis can feel the nervousness radiating off of you, and you jump when he closes the door.

Walking up to you, he takes you in more carefully, noticing that without a doubt, you are human. It’s an odd present coming from Lloyd. A human woman. But he also can’t help but notice how the robe hangs off your voluptuous body in a way that makes his mouth water. Even if it’s Lloyd’s doing, Curtis is king for a reason, and a present never comes without an ulterior motive.

“Who are you?” Curtis asks, and you jump again, before stuttering out your name. “What are you doing here?” is his next question. “Your… friend, Lloyd, was in my apartment. He brought me here. He said you needed a… companion.” “And what’s in it for you, human?” You swallow. “I don’t know. No work? No chores? I won’t be lonely anymore.” Curtis can sense no lies in your words. “And Lloyd said that… that you’d bring me pleasure.” Curtis can’t help but give a small laugh. “And what if I just kill you instead, human?”

You stiffen even more, if possible. “Lloyd said I wouldn’t be harmed,” you manage to answer, voice tight with fear. “Did he now. You’re under his protection?” Curtis glances back at the door, and for a second, thinks of calling for the other demon to make him explain, but if he knows Lloyd right, the demon is already gone. “I guess,” you confirm.

Curtis muses on that for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hurt you or kill you, but he is big even by demon standards, taller than Lloyd, and his touch could break your bones. “He gave me a ring,” you hold up your hand and show Curtis a black band around your middle finger. “He said it would protect my body, make it strong enough to withstand whatever you’d want to do with me.”

Now, the faint smell of arousal rises from you. You clearly don’t know what's good for you, but that only makes Curtis want you more. “And what else did Lloyd tell you about me?” “That you’re the demon king, ruler over this realm, and that you’ve been alone for a very long time. And that you won’t hurt me.” Curtis hums and reaches for your face, dragging his finger over your cheek, but you don’t flinch or pull back. The fear coming from you actually lessens. “No, I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “Remove your robe for me, my sacrificial lamb.”

With surprisingly steady fingers, you undo the knot and let the robe fall open, revealing your body that he’d only guessed at, and it’s far from disappointing. As the robe floats to the floor, Curtis takes you in, now only covered in a bra and underwear. Your breasts will fit perfectly in his hands, he knows right away, and his face will fit just as well between your plush thighs. With all your soft curves on display, there is no keeping Curtis’s cock from hardening.

That a human would undo him is hard to believe, but you seem to be removed from the politics of the demon realm, and therefore, he decides to take a chance and accept the offering given to him. You’re here because you don’t want to be lonely, and Curtis is quite fed up with that himself. It’s been a long time since he felt lust as he does now.

He lets his finger go up to your blindfold. “Let’s get this off so you can see what the king of the demon realm looks like, before I take you to bed, lamb.” He slips it off your face, but your eyes are squeezed shut. “Are you sure my face won’t melt off when I see you?” Curtis chuckles, “I’m quite sure.”

The light in the room is not bright, but your eyes still take some time to adjust from being closed. When you finally see the demon king, you have a hard time taking it all in.

He looks human-ish, except for his height and the horns on his head. They sprout from his forehead, curving back over his skull and the short buzz, before curving back up and slightly forward again, sharp points pointing upwards. It just adds to his height, and he is the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and you thought Lloyd was big. He is best described as massive, with thick, broad shoulders and a wide torso left bare to reveal hard muscle beneath a scattering of dark hair.

After you took a bath and got new clothes, Lloyd had been kind enough to conjure a picture of the demon king while he explained everything, and you thought Curtis looked good then. But up close, he's gorgeous, and so big your knees feel weak from both nerves and arousal. So what if the majority of your romance books on the shelves had monsters in them?

“Hi,” you manage to croak out. He smiles, and you're relieved that he doesn't have sharp teeth; neither does he have claws or cloven hoofs. “Hello, my sacrificial lamb,” he reaches out his hand, and you take it. His skin is much warmer than a human's, but not uncomfortably. With a yank, he pulls you into his body, right into his bare upper body.

You look up into his face, and his eyes glow with the same eerie blue that Lloyd’s did. Power and strength radiate from him, but you're not afraid. This whole thing is crazy and fucked up, but if you don't take it at its word, you're going to drive yourself insane.

Therefore, to calm your mind, you place a chaste kiss against Curtis' skin and tell yourself it's going to be alright. Strong hands close around your waist, and you're suddenly lifted. A shriek escapes you because you've never been lifted before. Sure, some dudes have tried, but it mostly ended with them grunting with failure and you feeling miserable. Curtis does it effortlessly. He only says, “Come up here and do that instead,” with a wicked grin.

As you're face-to-face with him, you realize he is even more gorgeous up close. You wrap your legs around his body, and he holds you with one hand on your ass, while the other grips the back of your neck. A low rumble seems to come from Curtis' chest. “Your ass fits perfectly in my hand, it's like you were made for me, my lamb.”

You stroke your hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard, making his rumble louder, which you think means he likes it. The grip on your neck hardens, and a second later, he's pressing your mouth against his.

He's not shy about kissing you in any way; he knows what he wants, and he takes it, opening your mouth, exploring with his tongue, which is human-like, if a bit more pointed. You wind your arms around his neck, holding on as he starts walking towards a bed that is bigger than any you’ve seen before. But you're not surprised since Curtis is so big. He sits down on the edge with you in his lap, straddling him, and the unmistakable feeling of his bulge presses right into your cunt.

You want to blame the fact that it's been a long time since a man touched you, and that's the reason why you're already so horny and wet. But it's not. It's everything about Curtis. The way he feels, smells, and tastes. And the way he handles you like you weigh nothing.

Experimentally, you grind down, and when Curtis moans into the kiss, the whole room seems to vibrate with it. You find you need to ask an important question, though, before this goes any further.

“How…,” but you feel a little embarrassed at asking. He raises an eyebrow. “How is it gonna fit?“ A slow smile creeps up his face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Don't worry, my lamb. I will make it fit.” That shouldn't turn you on even more, but it does. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a moan unbidden falls from your lips. With a growl, Curtis flips you onto the bed, then tears the bra and panties from your body, leaving you naked and exposed.

“Does my lamb like that idea?” he asks as he kneels between your spread legs. But he's not looking at your cunt, he's keeping eye contact with you as he picks up your foot, kissing your ankle. You have a hard time forming words, even thoughts, so you just nod as he moves higher up your leg with kisses and licks. “Do you want me to force my demon cock into your human cunt? Want me to watch as you struggle to take it?” Ashamed, you hide your face in your hands before nodding again. “I'll have to thank Lloyd for finding the filthiest little lamb in the human realm for me,” he chuckles. His kisses stop in the middle of your thigh, and you peek from your fingers to see why.

Now his gaze is glued to your exposed cunt, his chest heaving heavily, the grip on your leg hardening. Without looking away, he commands, “Clench.” For a second, you're confused, and then you do what he wants, clenching the muscles in your vagina. As you do, more wetness leaks out. “I'm going to enjoy ruining that wet cunt after I've feasted on it,” he says, letting go of your leg and lying down on the bed.

His massive hands spread you open, but he's not hurting you; he's careful with his touch, you can tell that, despite your mind being overrun by lust. The moment his mouth lands on you, all thoughts go out of your head, though. There is only the feel of his tongue and lips, exploring all the most sensitive parts of you. His eyes are closed, and there is a content, constant hum coming from him. You try to keep your eyes on him, because he looks divine nestled between your full thighs, but he's doing things you've longed for, and it's hard not to sink back into the bed and just let him do what he wants until you break.

He suckles on your clit, using his tongue to play with it, before sliding his mouth down and pressing his thick, long tongue into your channel, over and over again, driving you insane with pleasure.

You're scrambling for something to hold onto. The sheets on the bed aren't enough, and you want to touch him, but you're not sure you're allowed to touch his horns, and you're not coherent enough to ask. But still, your hands creep down your body, itching to feel him, and before you know it, your hands close around the ribbed surface of the horns, right as he does something devilish with his mouth, and you use the grip to pull him even closer and grind against his mouth.

He looks up at you, and your eyes meet for a second. Your chest rises and falls, but he doesn't look mad. “It feels so good,” you say, almost pleading, even though he's giving you everything. He hums in response, because he can't talk with his mouth so closely pressed to you, before continuing like before.

When a thick finger slides into you, searching, then finding, there is no way for you to hinder the orgasm crashing into you. With a strangled cry, you come around Curtis' finger and against his mouth. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure envelopes you until the only thing you feel is the point of contact, where his finger is still working you over, and his tongue plays with your bundle of sensitive nerves. And he doesn't stop, even when it starts to become too much, and you whimper instead. When you try to push at his head and move away, he simply pulls you back.

For every orgasm after that he pulls from you; you get more delirious, but something is missing. Even with two fingers in you now, fucking you in times with his tongue, you want more. “Curtis,” you plead, again, “I need more!“ He pulls back, kissing your cunt one last time, before sitting back on his knees. His mouth and chin are wet with you, and he licks his lips as he undoes his pants.

Curtis’ cock is, well, it's a monster, bigger than anything you've had before, bigger than your toys, and fucking gorgeous. You're scared and aroused at the same time. His massive hand closes around it, stroking it a few times, and precum leaks freely from the tip. At least it's one; you've read books where the main male characters have had two, and you're not ready for that yet.

“The ring will protect you,” Curtis says, his voice tight, clearly holding himself back. “It will only be good for you. Now turn over, on your knees, head down.” You do as he says, nervous energy fluttering in your chest despite your previous orgasms. Curtis places a steadying hand on your ass, and you take a deep breath as you feel the nudge of the big cockhead against your opening.

The ring might protect you from splitting in two, but it doesn't take away the feel of the delicious stretch as Curtis pushes into you. Your body somehow gives, and there is no pain, only pleasure. He takes his time. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you, and if you look over your shoulder, his eyes are fixed at the point of connection, watching your body swallow inch after inch of his cock, until he bottoms out with an almost painful groan.

He leans forward and grabs one of your hands, guiding it in under your body and pressing it up against your soft stomach, until you feel what he wants you to feel—the bulge of him. “It fits perfectly, my lamb. You're filled to the brim with me now.”

“I- I love it!” you confess, and you keep your hand there as he starts fucking you, feeling the bulge in your belly over and over again. His heavy balls slap against your exposed cunt with every thrust, and it's so sensitive from previous orgasms that you're quickly on the brink of another again.

“I feel you, lamb, pulsing around me. Are you going to come with a demon's cock in your tight cunt?” “Yes, Curtis!” you answer with a moan. Suddenly, you hear him spit, and cool saliva hits your skin, right against your asshole. A moment later, Curtis' big thumb enters you there, too.

It's simply too much for you. You come like you've never come before, cursing and screaming, losing all strength in your body. Your arms and upper body lie limply against the sheets, drool seeps from your mouth, as Curtis continues to fuck you. It's a miracle you can stay on your knees, but you do it for him, because it continues even after, the pleasure he brings you over and over again never stops. It could be the fact that you're in a whole other realm, or it could be because of Curtis, or maybe both. He's unstoppable, pulling many more orgasms from you, until your head is empty of any other thoughts than that of his touch. But finally, it's his time too.

The walls of the chamber rattle and shake the louder his moans get, things fall from shelves, and you hear glass breaking somewhere. With an inhuman growl, he flips you onto your back, and then he comes inside you with a roar until it overflows, and he pulls out to continue coming over your stomach and tits, painting you and marking you with his seed. “Mine,” he says, over and over again.

Curtis' eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't want to sleep. Even though you're already snoring softly in his arms, he doesn't want to look away from you, his lamb. His chest has felt so hollow for such a long time, so it's a strange feeling to now have it filled with contentment and a bit of happiness.

He's always been the good guy. Putting others before him, saving lives, saving the universe and sometimes he just has this urge to take, keep and claim.

You've both agreed to wait with kids, to have fun for a while first. But Steve is deep down scared that he won't be enough and you'll leave, and he can't have that.

He's made sure you're out of it, pulled several orgasms from you with his mouth, before flipping you onto your stomach.

He takes the condom, opens it, pretends.

"Steve that feels so good!" You moan when he presses inside. And fuck it's the best feeling ever. Steve fuck you hard, deep, feeling the precum leak heavily into you.

And you don't know.

You beg for more. Press your cunt back onto Steve's dick.

He pulls you up onto your knees, pressing your head into the pillow.

Fuck, he's so deep.

"Are you gonna come, sweetheart? Are you gonna come around my cock before I fill you up with my cum."

You moan louder, clawing at the sheets, you pussy pulsing around him.

You think it's just dirty talk.

"I'm gonna breed you until it takes, have you filled with my cum day and night."

"Steve! Cum in me, fill me up, I want it so bad!"

"That's a good little cum-dump."

Steve takes your arms and puts them behind your back, giving him extra leverage to slam into you.

You're shaking, wailing and then you come hard enough for Steve to fucking lose it.

With an animalistic growl, he grabs your hips instead, and with a few hard thrusts he comes harder than he's ever done in his life, cum overflowing from your hole and dripping onto the bed.

After some trial and error, you find the door to Steve Rogers' study. It’s open, and you go right in, but stop as soon as you’re inside, not because of the opulence of the room or because Steve is looking at you from where he’s sitting behind his desk. It’s because of the man standing next to Steve. “I recognize you,” you point at him. “I’ve seen you outside my building and at the grocery store. I thought you were a new neighbour!” The man next to Steve chuckles and shrugs as Steve answers. “I needed to know who you were before taking you here-,” “Kidnapping me, you mean?” you interrupt. That makes the other man snort in amusement, but Steve only sighs and continues. “So Bucky’s been keeping tabs on you for some weeks now.” The man named Bucky pats Steve on the shoulder and says, “I’ll leave the Muse in your capable hands, boss.” When he passes you on his way out, he stops shortly to say, “It was nice meeting you properly.” You can’t find any words to answer before he’s gone, and then the first ones that come to your mouth are, “Muse?” you say and look at Steve, probably looking as confused as you feel. He doesn’t answer your question; instead, he says, “Close the door, will you?” As you do, he walks over to a seating area, sinking down in a chair, and continues, “Bucky is my right-hand man, if you need something and I’m not around, you can always go to him.” You walk further into the room, closer to him, but you’re cautious, “You had me followed?”

He never takes his gaze off you, and there is an intensity in it that makes heat simmer in your stomach, as you stop beside the chair opposite to his. “In my line of work, it’s important to know who you’re dealing with.” “And what kind of work is that if I may ask?” You’re not really ready to sit down just yet. There is still adrenaline in your veins, and your system is ready for flight if you need to. Steve smirks, “It’s the kind that the law might frown upon sometimes.”

Gears turn in your head, piecing the few things you know together. “Wait… are you the mob?” you ask, in a whisper. “Clever little Muse,” Steve whispers back. “Now, please sit.” You do as if on autopilot, while dealing with yet another shock to your system. The fact that your ex-husband has tried to mess with the mob is another confirmation of how incredibly blinded by love you must have been to not see this possible side of him. To distract your spiraling thoughts, you ask again. “Why do you keep calling me that? Muse?”

“We needed to have a code name for you, it’s always safest that way, and Muse just seemed appropriate.”

It feels as if there is something he’s not telling you, but you don’t have the capacity to figure it out right now, and with Steve in front of you, sitting in the chair, leaning back with his legs slightly spread and oozing with power, it’s hard to think straight. You have to confess to yourself that you’re attracted to him, there’s no other way around it.

Since you split with Chad, there hasn’t been anyone else. Not even a one-night stand. The burn from the betrayal was so bad, you decided to quit men all in all and just be happy with the toys in your bedside drawer, and up until now, that had not been a problem. That you had to be kidnapped by a mob boss for all those old mechanics to start working again should be a red flag, but instead, you decide to embrace it. This thing you’re caught up in is weird and could be taken directly from a novel, but you’re not gonna fight it, it’s easier to just let it play out and hope you come out of the experience intact. “Okay, so,” you shake your head in an effort to clear it. “This whole thing is bizarre, but as you said, the sooner we get started, the sooner this can all be over.” “Great that we’re on the same page, Muse. Tell me about Chad, and why you fell for him in the first place?”

The question catches you off guard, and a great big lump of nausea forms in your throat. You’ve done your best to forget about him, but thoughts inevitably pop up from time to time, though it has happened less frequently over the years. But as you begin to tell Steve, you dredge up every little detail about his charm and his smile and how he made himself out to be something he was clearly not. You tell Steve about the gaslighting that began as soon as you were married, and that you just waved it off at first, but that after a while you started to believe the things he told you, that it was your fault, that it was you who was to blame when he fucked up, when he lost his job, when he cheated. There were things you didn’t write in your book that were too personal to tell even through fiction, but for some reason, you tell Steve about it. Pouring your heart out to this unknown person is freeing in a whole different way than talking to all the therapists you’ve seen through the years.

Steve looks like he’s on the verge of a rampage, his hands clamped so tightly around the chair that his knuckles have gone white. When Chad looked like that, you were scared, and even though this isn’t him, there’s still an undercurrent of fear running through you, but at the same time, you know that Steve’s anger is not directed at you. “And since then, I haven’t seen him,” you end. Your pulse is racing, your breath is high in your chest, you feel like you’ve run a marathon but are also just about to head out the gates in a life-determining race. “Muse,” Steve says, teeth clenched tight. “Come here.” “What?” “I said, come here. Now.” Two of his fingers make a hither motion, and as if you’re a puppet on strings, you rise and go to him. A gasp leaves your mouth as he pulls you down in his lap, then he grabs your chin, stares into your eyes, and holds you firmly. “Listen to me, my Muse. When we find him, I’m going to kill him.” “Steve,” your voice trembles, but your pulse calms, and oxygen properly reaches your lungs again. “I would have done that either way, but now, after all this, I want you to know that his death will be slow and painful.” Suddenly, you’re not on the brink of a panic attack anymore.

“Why?” you find yourself asking. “Because no one should be treated like that, but mainly because he did it to you, Muse.” “I don’t want you to torture someone for my sake, Steve.” “Sorry, but you don’t decide that, I do,” he explains. “Now, say ‘Thank you’.” You swallow hard, but not because you’re nervous; a different kind of pulse quickening feeling is now residing in your body. “Thank you.”

He releases your chin, but doesn’t let you up from his lap, instead time stands still as he holds your gaze, and you’re not interested in being released from it. You want to sink deeper, explore it more. You drift closer to him, his face, his mouth. “Now, now, Muse, don’t get too ahead of yourself and do something you’ll regret,” Steve says in a low voice, breaking you out of the spell he’s put on you, making you pull back and realize what you're doing. Kissing a mob boss might lead you down a path you’re not quite ready for.

When you don’t say anything, Steve takes the lead again. “Even though I hate to talk about that sorry piece of human garbage, we need more information about him. We have most of his connections mapped out, a trace on his phone, and my underlings know to keep their eyes open. But every time we think we have him, he slips away. What is it that we’re missing?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “I have no reason to lie to you about this,” you continue hurriedly. The last thing you want is for Steve to think you’re hiding something and subject you to some kind of torture. There might be a spark between the two of you, but you hold no illusions that he will spare you if he thinks you have information. He must see the worry in your eyes, “You don’t have to reassure me, Muse, you have no reason to protect him, I believe you.” “If I think of anything, I’ll tell you, I promise.” “I know you will,” he smiles softly. “Now, tell me about you. Bucky says you always buy yourself a treat when you run errands? What do you like best, food or things?

Before you can begin, there is a rap of knuckles on the door, and Bucky steps inside again. He doesn’t seem fazed that you’re in Steve’s lap, he only says, “Sorry, Steve. It’s urgent, we need you.” You quickly get up when Steve sighs, but he doesn’t rush out after Bucky right away, instead he stays with you for a few moments. “Get something to eat, it’s almost lunch.” “What?” you look around for a clock somewhere on the walls. “How long did I sleep?” “Twelve hours or so, it’s always a little tricky to get the dosage right, but I didn’t want to risk you waking up in the car,” Steve says casually with a shrug. “What the fuck! You drugged me?” Instantly, you’re once again outraged about the liberties he’s taken with your body. “Yes, my Muse, it was for your own good.” His hand comes to rest on your cheek, and some of the anger fades away. “You can ask me all about it over dinner tonight. But right now I have to go.” “Dinner?” confusion replaces the remaining anger. “Yes, dinner with me. I’ll find you a dress to wear.” At that, you’re reminded that you’re still in your pajamas from last night. Thank god it’s not the height of summer and you went to bed naked! “Steve, you don’t know my size,” you point out. “Wrong,” he pulls back his hand, and you immediately miss the warmth. “I know almost everything about you. See you tonight.” And then he’s off.

After standing in Steve’s office, stunned for some time, you realize you actually do feel hungry and decide to do as he suggested and locate the kitchen. At first, you’re hesitant to bother all the people there, but when one catches sight of you, they welcome you and sit you down at the island counter before serving you lunch. They go about their business as usual while you eat, and a few other people come in to get plates of food before leaving again. Everyone greets you, and doesn't seem surprised at seeing you there. It’s a little creepy not to know how much Steve has told them about you.

Once you’re done, you wander around, trying to find something to do, but you’re in an unfamiliar place, kind of nervous, and also not sure if there are some areas you should avoid. Mostly, you’re scared you’re going to stumble over something bloody you can’t unsee. After jumping at the sound of a door closing yet again, you retreat to Steve’s study.

Aside from the trauma of being drugged and kidnapped, this whole thing has certainly been good for your imagination. Your fingers are itching to write, and after months and months of treading water, you feel like you have an idea to run with. But without your computer, and not even your phone, you’re forced to do it the old-fashioned way, and you poke around in Steve’s desk to find a pen and paper. At first, you feel bad, but then you decide that if Steve didn’t want you to snoop about, he should have locked the drawers.

It’s freeing to dive into the writing, to plot a story and imagine the characters. If the main male character happens to resemble a certain mob boss, it’s not by accident. The attraction you feel towards Steve is new and terrifying, not only because of who he is, but because you have a hard time trusting your own instincts. What if you’re as wrong about him as you were about Chad? You know deep down that you shouldn’t be attracted to a man who has no trouble killing and torturing people, but the way he takes charge, telling you exactly what he wants and needs, that is so freeing after being with Chad, who was all about playing games and setting you up to fail.

You pen stills as your mind replays what happened in the chair, in Steve’s lap. He was warm and smelled so nice. You laugh at yourself and wonder if you’re so starved for touch and attention that you start romanticising your kidnapper, just because he happens to be nice to you one time. Okay, despite the kidnapping, he’s been calm and surprisingly gentle. It would have been easy for him to exploit your vulnerable state earlier, but he stopped it and then invited you to dinner. So, you’re going to have an evening dinner with a mob boss, and you have nothing to wear, except the clothes you slept in. Great. When the light in the windows starts to dim, you go back to your room with your stack of papers, and you’re not even surprised to find a dress in your favorite color waiting on the bed.

Gingerly, you pick it up, noticing how nice the fabric feels under your fingertips and that it still has the price tag on with a sum you’re sure can’t be right, but at least he’s not making you reuse the same dress as the last woman he kidnapped. For some reason, the thought of Steve and other women makes jealousy flare up in your chest, before you quickly tamp it down. “Idiot,” you tell yourself. “He’s a mob boss. There is a new woman for him every day. You’re not special.”

In the bathroom, you find your own skincare and makeup, which means someone went back to your apartment and got your stuff. Staring at it, you wonder what Steve expects from you. After considering, you do enough to make yourself look good, but you don’t want Steve to think you put in too much effort. This whole thing is hard to balance when you have no idea how the scales will tip.

Just as you’re done putting on the dress, there is a knock on the door, and you turn with a flutter in your chest, thinking it’s Steve. But it’s not. A man, clearly one of the staff in the house, comes into your room with a shoebox from your favorite brand. He leaves it on the bed with the words “I’ll wait outside to take you to the dining room once you’re done.” Unsurprisingly, the shoes fit. Two conflicting feelings fight in your body, one that it’s creepy as fuck that Steve actually knows what kind of shoes you prefer to wear, but also that it’s kind of nice that he actually cares that you’re comfortable at dinner.

Instead of examining those feelings too closely, you go out to where the man is waiting. He takes you to a dining room lit with candles and set for two people to dine. Unlike in movies, you’re not placed at opposite ends of a long table. Instead, you’re seated next to each other on the corner of a table, and it looks really… intimate. Steve is nowhere in sight, though. “Mr. Rogers is running a bit late, unfortunately.” The man explains after seating you.

While you wait, you’re served champagne, and after having slowly sipped it for some time, the starter is brought out and served with another explanation that Steve will be a while longer. You stop holding out hope for him to show up at all after you get the main course, and you enjoy the food by yourself, taking your time to savor the delicious meal.

After, you’re taken back to your room, and while you get undone you wonder where Steve is and if he is okay. Thoughts about whether he’s been shot and is in the hospital start floating around, and you wonder what will happen to you if Steve doesn’t come back. Who will take over? Will you be seen as a liability? Nervousness eats you up, feeling as if you’re on your way to another panic attack, but just then, another knock sounds at your door, and you don’t have time to call out before Steve steps into your room.

Relief floods you, but then you notice that his suit is wrinkled and even torn in places, with messy hair, and it’s impossible not to notice the dried blood on his knuckles. “Muse,” he says, “I’m sorry I missed dinner.” “Fuck dinner, are you okay?” He laughs a dry, mirthless laugh, “Some people just don’t know when to quit.” You go to him and take his hand in yours, turning it over to look at the damage. “I wanted you to know that I didn’t ignore you,” he says softly, “That I really wanted to have dinner with you.” Smiling at him, you suggest, “How about breakfast instead?” Steve cups your cheek, but doesn’t respond to the question; instead says, “I need to kiss you.” “Kiss me? Why?” “Because it’s what I planned to do after dinner tonight, and I can’t get the thought out of my head,” he explains. “Oh. Well, then I want you to kiss me, Steve.”

He does without hesitation, pulling you by your face towards him, and when you open your mouth with a moan, he’s quickly there with his tongue, exploring. You cling to his shoulders for dear life, feeling a relentless throb erupt in your whole body. You’ve never been kissed like this before. When Steve retreats, you whine, and he answers with a chuckle. “I’m in no state to take you to bed properly, my Muse, but tomorrow I’ve made sure I have you for myself the whole day. See you at breakfast.” He gives you one last kiss before he leaves you aching, drenched, and wired.

As a writer, you had experienced writer’s block before, but never anything this bad. It probably had something to do with the last book you wrote: a story about a relationship doomed to end badly and a woman who just couldn’t see where it was headed until it was too late. It was inspired by true events from your life, though the book had a much better, happier ending than the one that had happened to you.

That book had really taken something out of you. It was like therapy, but also like baring your soul for the whole world to see, if they wanted to look. And it was so different from your previous romance books that you weren’t sure if your fanbase would like it. As a human, you were flawed, but you had never seen yourself as stupid. Stupid enough to fall for the lies, stupid enough not to see the signs, stupid enough not to get out in time.

With the publishing, you felt free of him, as much as you could be. Some scars would never heal properly, but that was life in a way. You would learn to cope. Still, your ex-husband’s bad decisions came back to bite you in the ass. Because you didn’t wake up in your own bed after that night. No, you woke in an unfamiliar room with no idea how you had gotten there.

As anyone would, you panic. The first thing you do is check your body. The same clothes you went to bed in are still on, there is some tenderness on your upper arms, but otherwise no pain. The room has no windows, but a skylight in the ceiling lets natural light in, and it is bright enough not to be dusk or dawn, even if you cannot see the sun.

The door is made of wood, but it is locked and does not budge when you try to shove it open. “What the fuck!” you scream. “Is anyone there? Let me the fuck out!” You hammer on the door until you think you might break your hand, and then you turn back to the rest of the room.

It is nicely furnished with a big bed and artwork on the walls. You check behind every painting for some secret passageway out, but there is only wallpaper. You check under the rugs for the same thing, but you also turn up nothing. Next is the bathroom. It has only a toilet and a sink, and there is nothing behind the mirror.

There is also a table with two chairs, and just as you are examining them, there is a knock on the door. Heart racing, you pick up one of the chairs and hold it out in front of you, backing into the furthest corner from the door.

It opens slowly, and then a man steps through. He is easily over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and legs that speak of power. There are tattoos on his hands and knuckles, but none on his face. Despite the situation, you notice he is handsome, with a nice beard and blue eyes that match his blue suit, his hair swept back from his face.

“Good morning,” he says casually, but he stays where he is. “I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I didn't have any other choices left.” “Who are you?” Your voice trembles terribly from the adrenaline in your veins. “Why am I here?” “My name is Steve Rogers. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“So you'll kidnap me and then claim you won't hurt me? How do I know you didn’t already rape me?” At that, his face turns hard and his eyes dark with disdain. “I would never do that. You are here because I need you to help me. It would be stupid of me to do something that barbaric.” The statement almost makes you drop the chair, your only protection. “Me? Why the fuck would I help you?” “Because we have a common acquaintance. Chad.” At the mention of your ex-husband's name, you actually do drop the chair. Three years later, and that fucker is still messing your life up.

“I haven't seen him since I signed the divorce papers. I don't know where he is.” “The thing is, neither do I, and he owes me a lot of money.” “If you're lending money to someone like him, that's your problem, not mine.” “That is true, and I've already made sure it won't happen again, but as it is now, I need that money back, so I need to find Chad.” “But I don't know where he is!”

“You were married to him for five years. You know him and where he'd go to hide.” “I'm sorry, what? He lied to me during our whole relationship. I thought I knew him, but I never did! I wrote a whole book about it.” “I know. I read it,” Steve says with a smirk. “Didn't give me any clues. Though the later chapters were enlightening in other ways.”

It takes a few moments for your brain to connect the dots, and when it does, you feel your eyes widen. He is talking about the parts with sex scenes. “Okay,” is all you can say in response.

“I'm going to go now, and I'll leave the door unlocked. Don't try to run, because you won't make it to the gates before my men catch you, and don't destroy my property, because then I'll have to keep you locked up in here, and we wouldn't want that, do we?” “No,” you whisper. “The sooner we get started, the sooner you can go home. But take all the time you need. I'll be in my office downstairs.”

“Jack,” you plead as you lie naked on the bed.

“Just one more, and then I'll fuck that sweet cunt of yours,” Jack promise.

“One more, sweetheart, just give me one more,” Jack responds and lets his tongue swipe over your sensitive clit. Your soft thighs are quivering beside his head, but his fingers have a sturdy grip, in case you get any idea of trying to escape. He could feast between your legs day in and day out. The softness of your cunt against his tongue brings him peace of mind in a way therapy hasn't come close to.

“I can't,” you whimper.

“I can sit by myself, you know,” you tease when he pulls you down in his lap after getting dressed. “The couch is big enough.”

And when he does, it's with you pressed close. Every inch of your soft body against his. He keeps going until there's nothing left in either of you. Afterwards, when you shower together, his soapy hands caress your soft flesh and it's almost enough to get him going again.

“My lap is also big enough,” Jack counters.

Every shift, with broken bones, blood, guts, cries and screams, your body didn't have time to feel it, but as soon as it was done, it hit you full force. How it would feel to grab onto his hair while he ate you out. How his strong arms would wrap around you and hold you tight as he fucked you. God, those arms. How were they legal? How was he legal?

This particular night though, was looking to be the worst of them all. Not because there had been a large accident or anything, but because there was too little to do. You had time to chat between patients. To joke. To look. You looked too much, often finding yourself spacing out as you watched him.

And then, he caught you. As he was chatting with a patient before seeing them off, you admired him in all his glory… and thought of swallowing his dick down your throat until he was breathless.

Too late, you registered that he was done and was heading towards you. Quickly, you righted yourself and looked down at your tablet. He stopped just to the side of you and leaned in to murmur in your ear, “If you keep looking at me like that, you're going to have to come home with me after the shift and do something about it.”

The smallest whimper left you, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

The breath comes out of your chest with a huff as he pushes you up against the wall. He grips your face hard enough to bruise as he growl, "Shut the fuck up!"

"Make me, you fucking pig," you hiss back and are about to slap his stupid face for daring to touch you when he surges in and presses his mouth hard to yours.

It's not a nice soft kiss. It's teeth as much as it's lips and at first you're caught off guard but you quickly recover and try to bite him. When he pulls back you take the opportunity to slap him this time.

His head snaps to the side but when he slowly turns it back towards you, his eyes are filled with a different fire than usual. It burns right through your body, making your insides light up.

Then he's kissing you again and you start clawing at each other's clothes. Fabric rips as skin is revealed.

He hoists you up, your back scraping against hard wall, before he spits in his hand, using it to slick himself up.

The spit is unnecessary since you're already soaked, but you'll never admit that.

A moan is forced out of you when he slams inside. Not letting you get used to him he just starts fucking you at a ruthless pace.

You bite your lip hard to hide all the noises that threatens to come out from how good it feels. The two of you just stare at each other, never breaking eye contact.

"I like you better like this, quiet and full of my cock," he grunts as he pounds into you.

"This doesn't mean anything," you point out through cleanched teeth.