The Filthy Series: The Complete Dark Erotic Serial Novel (15 page)

Taylor’s open palm slammed into the side of my face hard, making the throbbing pain in my head quadruple. “Like you belong to
him.
But you belong to me, don’t you?”

I don’t. I would never belong to any man.
“I’m yours. No one else’s.”

“You didn’t fuck anyone while you were with your friend and her mom?”

“No. No one but you. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

He slapped me again sending my head reeling in the other direction. “Then why did you leave me?” His voice was hoarse, as if it physically hurt him to say the words.

I looked up into his eyes. They were so blue. Blue eyes I’d stared into hundreds of times. “Because I was afraid.” The truth.

“I had to punish you.” He ran a comforting hand against my cheek while he trailed the other one down my body. “You had been so bad.” When he reached my pussy he delved his fingers in, not bothering to linger. It would have hurt if I wasn’t wet. But I was. I was fucking wet. It was disgusting and I wished it wasn’t true. I wished I was dried up and unwilling but I wasn’t. Taylor had some kind of control on my body. Even though he had hurt me. In fact, every time he had hurt me I had still had an orgasm. Even when I was gushing blood, the dark red liquid sliding down my thighs he had still made me cum. Made me crave him in spite of the horrible things he had done.

“I had to do those things. You had to understand,” he grunted, sliding his fingers deeper inside me. His cock kicked between us. “You had to know who you belonged to.”

I should have been filled with revulsion, but I wasn’t. Something pushed at my mind, threatening my sanity.
Why am I really back here? Is it because of the drugs?
It was. But there was something more. Something dark and sick that lived inside me, that craved this. This twisted relationship. The fact that he had what I needed only gave me more of a reason to be here. The thought scared me. I didn’t want this. Not really. But I couldn’t deny the wetness between my legs. The way his fingers curled to caress the sweet spot inside me. I moaned and arched into him. My hands gripping his shoulders.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. Lips I knew better than my own. He kissed me hard while he played with my pussy, his tongue, twirling, dueling with mine. And he kept kissing me until my body shook, the orgasm slicing through me like a dirty knife.

I came down from the high quickly. Taylor jerked me off the couch and forced my body down onto the floor. The movement was so quick it shocked me and I slammed my head hard against the side of the couch on the way down. If I hadn’t already had a headache and felt so weak from withdrawals the hit wouldn’t have hurt me at all. But as it was, I was stunned, my head spinning.

“Tay—”

“That’s not what you call me,” he growled. “You liked that didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Spit hit my face as I gazed up at him, dazed. “Remember when I gave you that every day, Faye baby? Remember when I made you cum over and over?” He dug his hands into my hair and jerked my head up to his, twisting my body awkwardly. “But you had to ruin that. You took it all away and for what?”

“I haven’t been with anyone else.” I knew now that he didn’t know. The look on his face said it all. He was angry, but he wanted to believe me. He had to believe me if I was ever going to get any cocaine. “Only you, Taylor. Only you.” A tear leaked out of one of my eyes.

A sneer covered his face. “You’re mine. Only mine.” He said the words right against my face before releasing me. My head hit the carpet with a thud. Seconds later he was slamming into me, his big cock spearing me. But he was thrusting too hard, going to deep. His cock seemed to rip through me, and I tried to scramble back on my elbows. He stayed my weak movements with his big hands. “You’re never going to run from me again. Ever!” He shouted the words as he fucked me hard, slamming his dick inside as far as he could go, demanding I take more.

“Taylor, you’re hurting me.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Daddy,” I screeched. “Daddy, you’re hurting me.”

The plea seemed to spark something in him, he slowed down his pace and reached behind him. His hand came back with something silver. A blade clicked into place just as panic kicked me in the gut. I tried to scramble backward, but again he stopped me.

“Do you remember this, Faye baby?” He kept thrusting his hips as he held the knife to my face.

I did. I remembered all of it. He used the blade on me after Rhett left, on my stomach particularly. He would slice my skin, making shallow, painful cuts. Cuts that wouldn’t scar so there would be no lasting evidence. But the pain was there. Always there in the back of my mind.

“Do you remember how good it was with the knife?”

“I—” The slice of the blade on the skin just below my left breast ended the words in my throat and made me cry out in pain. He tossed the knife away and pressed his fingers against the wound, still moving his hips.

“Look how pretty it is.” He lifted his fingers up for me to see. They were dark with my blood. He swiped one finger across my closed lips. “It’s so red. So pretty.” More tears pressed at the back of my eyes. He moved his hips faster and fingered the cut again. “Don’t you like it?” He rubbed his fingers together, smearing the crimson. I watched the movement in slow motion. It was never-ending. Until it did end. He pressed his hand to the cut harder, squeezing it, coaxing more blood out. He snaked his damp fingertips between our bodies and rubbed the moisture on my throbbing clit.

I moaned and he fucked me harder. It hurt, the way he stabbed into me roughly, but something sweet bloomed from the pain. Even though I had just cum, even though not even ten minutes had passed, the orgasm surprised me. Sneaking up on me. I was too weak to fight it. I let it take me. I let it swallow me whole while he fucked me harder, while blood dripped from my superficial wound. Just as it was ending he pulled out of me, fisting his cock a few times before groaning and hot liquid spurted onto my stomach.

I lay there on the pristine white carpet, my body limp and achy. “Please.” The word slipped from my lips of its own accord. I needed the coke. I needed it now. I couldn’t wait any longer. I felt like mush. Like complete and utter shit. I’d cum, sure. But all of it left me feeling worse than before, which I didn’t think was possible. “Please…”

“Please, what?” he chuckled over me, sucking his bloody, cum covered fingertips into his mouth.

“Please, daddy. I need a bump. Please.” I hated how I sounded.

He leaned in and pressed his palm to the side of my face. His eyes searching mine. “Not yet, Faye baby.” He smiled. “Not yet.”

FIVE

One month later.

I didn’t know how long I’d been there. In his house. In his bed. It had been weeks. Days. Maybe even months. I wasn’t sure because time all ran together. I spent my days sleeping in his bed. The big bed he used to share with my mother. It was the only place he hadn’t fucked me while my mother was alive. But now that she was gone he seemed hell bent on fucking me there every chance he got.

I wasn’t a prisoner. At least that was what he said. But I was. He made me a prisoner with the drugs. He held them over my head. He kept me weak and desperate for them so I wouldn’t run again. When he left for work I didn’t try to run away. I could have. I could have ran and gone back to my home. To Shauna and the drugs. But I didn’t want to. The cocaine Jorge sold me was nothing compared to what Taylor had. He had the best and I knew I wouldn’t be able to function on anything else now.

And what was the point really? Why go back when what I needed was here? I had tried to run away from Taylor. I had managed to stay away for years. But he was right, it looked like fate would always send me back here. I would always end up in his arms, no matter how much I hated it. And now he knew I hated it.

He could make me cum, he could fuck me. But he knew I didn’t love him, even though he made me say it. He knew that the little girl who would have died for him was gone and in her place someone else. Someone broken, fractured beyond repair. Instead of trying to fix me, he chose to break me even more. And I let him. I let him rip me apart with his hands. With the knife. It was reminiscent of those times I hated so much, only now he had no audience. My mother wasn’t here to cheer him on. She was dead. And every day I spent with Taylor was a day that I envied her. She was free. And I was here, desperate and clinging to the sickness that made me run away in the first place.

I sat up and rubbed my face when I heard the front door slam. I only wore a shirt, a big over-sized one that Taylor had given me to wear. I’d worn nothing else since the first day I got here and he undressed me. I hadn’t worn underwear or a bra. Not even once. I hadn’t left the house either. I’d hardly even left this room, especially in the last week.

I’d become weaker, somehow. Desperate and crazy. So weak that once I got a bump, I was still a pathetic lump that barely even got up to eat. I would just lay in bed and revel in the high. Taylor would fuck me right after. He would make my body tremble with pleasure. Those were the only moments I looked forward to. Even when he was abusing me, when he was cutting at my skin with his knife and licking up my blood while he fucked me. He still always made me cum. Always. And those were the best times. When I was reveling in the short-lived high or orgasming around his cock. They were my only moments free from the torment. The only moments when I would splinter apart and become nothing, nothing but fractured pieces of hateful ecstasy.

“Faye baby.” He came into the room and set down his briefcase. “I missed you,” he said as he approached me. It was the same as always. Each day when he came home he acted like he loved me. He was gentle. He would cook me dinner, sometimes even hand feed me. But after that, that’s when the torture began.

There had been one or two nights where he had fucked me sweetly like he used to. But I hated those nights the most. I cried after he fell asleep on those days. When there was pain I could deal with it. I could accept how fucked up everything was. But when there wasn’t any I didn’t know how to cope with it. I didn’t know how to accept the reality of everything.

I hadn’t seen Rhett since the day I left his apartment. He had called one time—that I knew of—to check on me. Taylor had made me suck his dick the whole time he talked on the phone. Forcing his cock down my throat over and over, making me choke on it. It was almost as if he wanted Rhett to hear. Wanted him to know what he was doing. Rhett didn’t know though and when their conversation was over, Taylor face fucked me until he came, squirting his load down my throat. This was nothing that hadn’t happened to me before. But it was a little different knowing that Rhett was just on the other end of the line. So close and so far away.

I thought about him a lot between the sex and the pain. I wondered if he missed me. But then I knew he didn’t. He had probably just got done fucking Sarah before he called. Hell he was probably fucking her while they talked on the phone. Like father, like son, right?

I wondered what he would think if he knew what I was doing now. If he knew just how far I had fallen even since the last time I saw him. I had become some slave junkie. Who knew there was something worse than what I already was?

“I’ve got something for you.” Taylor stood to his full height and dug in his pocket. He pulled out a little white packet. I stared at with a slack mouth. He’d given me a bump two days ago. It was too soon for him to give me more. He had withheld the sweet stuff for over a day when I first got there. He had fucked me nine times that day. Nine times. I had been a sore achy mess at the end of it. After that he gave it to me every hour for I didn’t know how long. I had lived in a state of perpetual bliss until he took it away. And by then I needed it even more than before. I had to have it. And he knew that. Now he waited until I was a drooling pathetic mess before he gave me any.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “You’ve been a good girl lately.” He smiled down at me. “Take your shirt off.”

I complied immediately, whipping the material over my head. He laid the little baggie down on the nightstand and pushed me back on the bed. He ran his hands over the marks on my skin. There were so many now. More than I could count. Hundreds. He had painted me in my own blood. Made me a canvas for his sick twisted mind and I let him. I let him twirl the dark liquid around my nipples, on my neck. All over.

“I want you to fuck me this time.” He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his smooth, flawless torso.

The very idea made me want to roll over and go back to sleep. I didn’t have the energy or the strength to do any such thing.

I think he knew this because he picked the baggie back up and shook a little bit out onto the little plateau between his thumb and pointer finger. “You can have a bump first.”

I stared at the white powder. My fucking salvation. I rubbed my nose and leaned in, hardly believing this was happening. It was so close, so perfect. I was giddy, excited. I wanted to fall to my knees and thank Taylor for this. For giving it to me early. It was like a gift from God.