Riot (Scarred Souls 4)

The scarred male roared as the one taking me released himself within me. But in that stranger’s release, there was a dampening of the pain I was in. The release brought a brief moment of peace. I remembered closing my eyes, and as I did, the female ordered the scarred male to kill someone. She promised him that if he killed, I would be freed. Even in my drugged state I knew that her words held no truth; by the look on the scarred male’s face I could see he knew it, too. Yet he did as instructed. In his expression, I could see that he would always do as she said … because next time could be the time I was set free.

The room I’d been kept in was cold and dark, but the male agreed to anything asked of him without question. Just as the vision began to disperse, a flood of guilt, shame, and sheer sadness blistered my heart.

I snapped my eyes open as I felt something from my left prick my skin, ripping me from my memory, ripping me from unanswered sorrow. The chiri was at my side, injecting something into my arm: a clear liquid. But I didn’t fight against it. I somehow knew not to fight. Knew that this happened to me daily.

This was my life.

2

152

I felt the liquid from the needle begin to rush through my veins, and with it came lightness to my limbs. The pain and the ache in my muscles dissolved until all that was left was a heady feeling, a feeling of warmth. Then my eyelids fluttered as that warmth began to travel south between my legs. A whimper left my throat at the tension building at the apex of my thighs.

“Miss?” the chiri called gently. I slowly opened my eyes, feeling a blush on my cheeks. She stood beside me, holding out a soft, plush towel. Rising from the tub, I let her wrap me in the towel, not questioning why. I knew I never asked why. There was no explanation of anything in my life.

The chiri guided me to a chair. A large full-length mirror sat before me, and I stared at the female looking back. Blue eyes, dark hair, cheeks flushed with pink. She was slim and fairly tall. Her skin was a light olive color.

I stared and stared, numbed by the effects of the needle as the chiri fixed my waist-length hair and made up my face with powders and creams. I stood when she guided me to stand, then let her drape me in a long silken red dress, the floor-length material held together by two straps fastened with silver clasps at the shoulders. A large slit sat on either leg, showing the now glistening, fragrantly oiled skin beneath. I rocked on my feet as the ache between my legs increased. I clenched my thighs together, searching for release, but none came.

Just as I was sure I couldn’t bear this searing ache anymore, a sound came from the door behind, and the chiri guided me to stand in the center of the room. The chiri immediately backed away and slunk into the shadows, keeping out of sight. Even in the light fog clouding my mind, I registered confusion at her behavior. She appeared terrified. Desperately afraid of whoever was about to show himself.

Then a male entered the room. A domineering, mysterious male. His dark eyes immediately collided with mine, and he stopped dead. He was dressed in a clean dark suit and green tie. His black hair was pushed off his head, his strong chiseled jaw dusted in dark stubble. I noticed that he was fairly handsome. Older than me by quite a lot of years, but handsome nonetheless.

Then he smiled.

And I stilled.

Before I could do anything else, a devastating wave of need took me in its hold, and a small cry left my mouth. The male’s dark eyes flared with excitement and he walked forward, slowly and controlled.

Predatory.

The strong musky scent of his skin washed over me as he approached. I rocked on my feet as another wave of heat filled me inside, scorching my muscles. In reaction to my whimper, the male lifted his hand to my face. He towered over me in height and breadth. His large hands were smooth and soft.

“You’re even more beautiful than a Greek goddess,” he murmured, then ran his hand down over my neck. Pressure built between my legs at his touch, my body yearning for him to slip his hand lower to relieve the pressure. I gasped, unable to keep my eyes open, when another rush of heat filled me. I grew wet between my thighs. Suddenly, the male’s hand dropped and cupped my core. I snapped my eyes open, my pulse racing with need.

The male’s nostrils flared at my reaction, and he leaned in, running his nose over the tip of mine. His fingers at my core began to move toward my entrance, and I sighed at the feel, needing him to push them inside my channel. “Beautiful,” he murmured as his mouth drifted to my ear, his fingers dancing along my hot flesh. “You need me, don’t you, 152? You need Master to take away the pressure? To make you feel better? To make that pussy calm?”

I moaned in response, but I heard him. I heard his every word. This male was Master Arziani. This was the male I was meant to serve. I moaned again as his free hand twisted something on the shoulder of my dress and the fabric fell away to the floor, pooling at my feet. The cool air kissed at my naked skin.

A low, hungry groan left his throat, and in seconds, his eager mouth was on my breast. As his tongue flicked over my tight nipple, I cried out. His hands at my core worked faster, bringing me to the edge of relief. Just as the ache was about to be soothed, Master backed away and ordered, “Bed. Get on the bed. On your back.” His voice had lowered to a stern rasp. I did as instructed as Master quickly shed himself of his clothes. The muscles rippled on his stomach as he approached, his strong thick legs covered in a dusting of dark hair.

Lying back, I spread my legs, inviting him inside me. Needing him above me. But when Master reached the end of the bed, instead of covering me with his body, he dropped to his knees and took me with his mouth. An ecstatic scream left my throat as I felt him flick over my bud with the tip of his tongue. I fisted the bed linen in my hands as a wave of pleasure crashed over me. But the pressure at the bottom of my spine didn’t leave; instead, it heightened. It built and built until my body was alive with the urge to be taken: rough, raw, and filled with Master’s seed.

A light sheen of sweat covered my skin, and Master broke his mouth away from my core, crawling slowly and steadily until he was above me. My back arched, searching for more: his touch, his warmth, his hands. Our gazes collided, and he licked his lips as his hand palmed my breast.

I rolled my hips as Master placed himself between my legs, the feel of his hard length moving to wait at my entrance. I tried to push forward, but Master’s hands reached to grip my wrists over my head. His grip was too tight to fight, and I thrashed, desperately needing some relief.

Master’s face dropped to hover over mine, and he pressed kisses along my cheek. When he withdrew slightly, he said, “I knew it would be like this with you. You were born to be a High Mona. Your unrivaled looks, this body … this insatiable need for me to fuck you. Your Master.” His pupils dilated and I bit my lip as I felt the tip of his length pushing inside me.

As he thrust forward, his grip on my wrists increased until a flash of pain crashed through me, eradicating the pleasure. But as I cried out from pain, he slammed inside me in one swift move, and I screamed at the feel. Too many conflicting sensations were running through me as he began slamming into me, each thrust bringing me closer and closer to the brink.

Master groaned above me, with me moaning in reply as his hard chest brushed against my breasts. Master’s warm breath ghosted over my face. Moving his mouth closer to my ear, he growled, “I own you, mona. I own every part of you. You’re mine.”

I cried out as his grip on my wrists tightened, causing a brutal pain to override the pleasure. “Do you hear me?” he asked, suddenly pausing in his taking of me. His handsome face was stern and unyielding, staring me down.

I moaned in protest, trying to roll my hips to feel him move within me once again. But he held still, his eyes hard and crazed with the need for my response.

“Yes,” I replied breathlessly. I screamed as his grip became so hard on my wrists that I feared the bones would break. “Master,” he hissed, “Show your fucking respect, mona.”

“Yes, Master,” I corrected quickly, holding my breath immediately afterward. Master’s face softened, his anger dissipated, and his grip on my wrists slackened. “That’s better,” he praised, and released one of my wrists to place his hand on my cheek.

Ensuring I looked him in the eyes with a firm grip on my jaw, he scolded, “I won’t tolerate any disobedience from you, mona. You belong to me, as such I’ll treat you like a queen.” His mouth moved to my ear and he whispered, “But disobey me in any way, and I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”