My breathing came in pants as he refused me the release he’d built up since my eyes met his half an hour before. Since I’d strutted on stage and danced for him. Taken everything off for him.

There was something darkly erotic about stripping for the man you were screwing while a roomful of people watched. I’d been damp with desire by the end of my set.

Fucked-up, I knew, but I didn’t care.

Because Gabriel was equally fucked-up. The moment I left the stage he was there, dragging me to a barely concealed corner of the dressing room, behind a flimsy door. And with the chattering of the girls and the thump of the bass in our ears, he began ripping my clothes off, what little clothes there were, and surged into me.

He had been frantic, furious, animalistic. Brutal.

And I fucking loved it.

Without warning he pulled out of me. The emptiness and loss of him and my own release was painful.

I didn’t have time to protest as he roughly turned me, pressing my cheek into the wall, spreading my legs and plunging into me once more.

I panicked.

I couldn’t be taken like that.

Pressed facedown, being assaulted by some unknown attacker.

It hurtled me back to that night. That horrific night when my innocence was stolen while I was pressed facedown on the bed.

I’d learned to reclaim my sexuality since then, mostly by fucking a plethora of different guys I chose, taken back through sheer promiscuity.

Some therapist would love to unpack that can of worms, I was sure. But it was how I coped. Survived.

And by making sure no one took me like Gabriel was taking me now. Having me fully immobile, helpless.

I panicked because, despite the way dirt sank into my naked body with the memories that hurtled into my mind’s eye, so did arousal. It mingled in a way that had me feeling more turned on than ever before, and filthier too.

“Come,” he growled into my neck, his breath hot on my ear.

And I did. It was glorious and horrible and mind-shattering all at once.

He grunted his own release into my neck and I barely noticed it.

I barely noticed anything until I came down. Then all I saw was disgust in myself.

And I needed him out. I needed it to be gone. The grime that covered every inch of my fucking body. My insides.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered into my neck, breathing heavily.

“Untie me,” I croaked, pleaded.

He registered the panic in my voice immediately, stiffening before he did exactly as I requested.

He massaged my wrists, turning me around. He came out of me as he did so and the evidence of my depravity leaked out of me.

“Becky?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern, face painted with regret. “Fuck, did I hurt you?”

I regarded him coldly. “Get your hands off me,” I snapped.

I had to hide behind her. The bitch. She was the one protecting the little girl inside, who was sobbing in the soiled sheets.

He did so immediately and I pushed past him, gathering the remains of my clothes. Precious little, but enough to cover me up.

I heard the rustling of his belt but set to my task.

“Becky, talk to me. You’re freakin’ me the fuck out.” His voice was thick.

I luckily had the coat I’d started my routine with; otherwise, I would’ve been fucked. Thank God for trench coats. I tightened the tie and made for the door.

He stopped me. “Becky, don’t fuckin’ run.”

I started to shake, my hold on sanity tenuous. I needed out. “Let me go,” I pleaded, my voice shaking.

Again he sensed it, the desperation that came with that plea.

I didn’t look his way again. I found the door, my escape, and I ran. Ran to try and get clean.

“Dude, I’m totally with you on not talking to the rat bastard, even though I have no idea what he did,” Rosie said, her eyes on me. “I don’t need to know. I saw what state you were in when you got home.” She shivered, as did I.

State was a good word for it. I was almost fucking catatonic. It was the surprise that got me. I hadn’t expected it to hit me so hard. I thought I’d made peace with that particular demon years before, found a way to fight it. Not defeat it, that’d never happen, but keep it in its corner. Turned out I hadn’t. It had been biding its time, waiting, lurking, until the opportune moment came to tear at the shreds of innocence I had left.

It was safe to say there was nothing now.

Rosie had blanched, actually fucking paled, the moment she saw me. I was pretty sure I would have too. Naked except for a fucking trench coat, muttering about how I needed to be clean and shaking so hard I’d bitten my tongue and actually drawn blood.

Tags: Anne Malcom Sons of Templar MC Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net