Owning Arabella (5 page)

Chapter Eight

 

Darth frowned, feeling haunted and edgy. His hooded gaze never leaving Arabella as she fidgeted on the other side of his bedchamber, pretending great interest in the things on top of his armoire.

Chicery had come and gone, bringing food and a bath, while Arabella closeted herself in his adjoining dressing closet. When she had exited at his command to come partake of the food, she had been wearing one of his white silk shirts. He had not yet, commanded her to remove it. Instead he sat in the brass tub of hot water, with one of his hairy calves propped over the edge as he brooded. Fighting his lust was a more accurate description, as he watched Arabella trying valiantly to pretend that he was not present. Perhaps she thought, if she bided her time quietly enough, he would vanish from the chamber on some important morning duty. Alas, that would not be the case.

Instead, he sat in his bath contemplating his lust . . . or rather, his rigid and fully aroused cock with its obese head poking out of the water. Finally, unable to live with the torment one second longer, he grasped the ample root of his manhood into his hand.

An embracing stroke, up the shaft, brought his head back to lean against the rim of the brass tub, but his gaze never left Arabella. The outline of her rounded ass beneath the silk of his white shirt became a focal point for his gaze.

Darth stroked his cock slowly with a tight grip, lifting the angry red head out of the water with each pull. His gaze contemplated the rich, reddish-brown hue of Arabella's long mane of tangled hair and the way the very ends of it curled over her rounded buttocks. The water splashed as he tormented himself with his hand, feeling his balls on the downward stroke. The pleasure making his thighs stretch open wider. He was an expert at this manipulation . . . A fool, who's only lovers had been his hand for the past ten years.

His mood was lifting in a sublime way and the irritating concerns about a man named Nicholas, where Arabella came from, her family, and Crom with a knife over her, melted away. They ceased to exist. "Arabella, come here now and help me with my bath." His voice was deep with command and there was no question in its tenor.

Arabella turned slowly to the command of Darth's voice. The decision she had been dreading was at hand. Whether she should struggle or surrender. Should she fight with all the will that she possessed over the inevitable or should she simply submit? Both options frightened her. The fact that she had no choice did not escape her as she walked hesitantly toward Darth sitting in his large brass tub.

Her father had owned a modestly sized sugar cane plantation in Jamaica. Upon his death though, which he had not adequately prepared for, there had been the immediate threat of losing the plantation. All because the law stated that a woman alone, could not be the rightful heir and instead of losing the plantation, Arabella's mother had quickly looked for a new husband. She'd had some small amount of time, so it had not been a completely desperate act of just picking any rapscallion who came along.

Unfortunately, all the thought in the world had not prepared her for a con man like Victor Crom. He had presented himself to Jamaican society as a respectable English gentleman, with numerous properties of his own back in England. None of which was true, and then a week before the terrible fire, her mother had contracted an island fever and nothing she or Lady Serena had done had served to save her. It had been excruciating to stand by so helpless, watching her mother dying.

A week later the cane fields had caught fire and no amount of effort had been able to stop it from taking the house. Victor had been beside himself, ranting that the natives had started the fire and nothing Arabella could say would make him think otherwise. That was when Victor said they were leaving, going to England, and although she had protested vehemently, she'd had no choice but to follow his rule. At least until she turned of age, and then perhaps she could break his hold but that would not help Nicholas.

Arabella cast a veiled glance at Darth from beneath her thick eyelashes. She had not been in the room when he had entered the tub. Since then she had tried to keep her gaze everywhere, but on the coppery colored tub, which was set before the marbled fireplace. Darth was literally sprawled into the tub with his long legs hanging out the sides. She had never seen the front of a naked man before. Arabella peeked beneath her eyelashes at Darth's broad chest, carved in muscle, and then along the ropes of sinew that flexed over his powerful shoulders and arms when he moved. Her gaze glanced over the black hair curling over Darth's chest and covering his powerful legs. She had heard the word masculine before, but never truly understood it until now.

"Arabella, come wash my hair."

"Yes, master," she quipped through her trembling lips. To her surprise, it appeared it would be a combination of both fighting and submitting. "Oh!" she yelped suddenly as Darth grabbed her wrist and tugged her sharply to the side of the brass tub. She had moved too close to him, and he was quicker than his large body betrayed.

"You will call me Darth," he uttered with fierceness.

Arabella cowered, tugging on the wrist Darth held captured, as she cried. "You are hurting me." It was a desperate lie, yet Darth's hand let go so fast that she had to clutch the rim of the brass tub to keep from falling.

"And, you will remove that shirt that you have stolen from me!"

Behind her, Darth leaped out of the tub, with so powerful of a motion that the water came with him, drenching them both as he caught her from behind. One of his muscled forearms, clamped over her waist, dragging her backward, then lifting her upward against his chest.

"You are a beast!" She cried senselessly.

She struggled within his grasp with long strands of her wet hair slapping his bare chest as her head twisted with her struggle. Darth merely laughed at her, and the sound of it outraged her further as she screeched and tried to scratch his forearm. She was outraged and frightened, but more, she could feel the bare-skinned impression of Darth's considerable male organ pressing into the crease of her bottom. He held her feet dangling off the floor, while he laughed at her again. Arabella could feel the uselessness of her struggle beneath the power of his strong masculine body, yet his laugh infuriated her beyond common sense.

Then suddenly she was free as her feet touched the ground and Darth's forearm lifted from its imprisoning hold around her waist. Her panicked instinct was to flee as she bolted forward away from him, but he was holding onto the collar of the shirt that she wore. She had not realized his hold was there, until she heard the ripping sound and the fragile silk shirt was torn from her body. She squealed in shock, fear, and surprise at being left completely nude again so quickly. In desperation she kept going forward, running to the door as she grabbed for the doorknob. Of course it was locked, as she knew it would be, even as she tugged uselessly on the brass knob.

It felt as if she could not get enough air into her lungs, when she finally stopped her futile efforts, and she leaned limply against the door. Tingling goose bumps rose anxiously on her buttocks and up her spine, and it was not entirely from her wet and nude flesh. It was from the silence behind her and the certain knowledge that Darth's dark gray eyes must be gazing at her nudity with singular intensity.

The silence was deafening, as she clutched her bare breasts and between her thighs turning slightly to look back into the room behind her. She was shocked at the charcoal gray darkness of Darth's eyes as he regarded her intently, while he sat sprawled in a brocade wing chair by the fireplace. His absolute nudity was overpowering, but more keenly disturbing was the way he held his own male organ in his hand, stroking it. A male organ that dwarfed even his large hand with its size.

Darth's long legs were bent at the knees and fallen open, Arabella could see his hips rising and lowering subtlety with each stroke that he took. His powerful thighs with black hair covering them had stretched tendons of sinew, and his chest was broad, hairy, and muscular. His darkly shadowed face was flushed and the scarring stood out against his exotic dusky features. The contrast of his darkly shadowed powerful body, against the fleshy red coloring of his male organ was vivid. Her breath caught as the rosy bulbous head bounced in a salute to her with a seemingly vigorous stroke that Darth took. There was wetness in a small tender crease in the helmeted head.

A small moan of unknown origins escaped her throat, and Darth's deep gray eyes rose from looking at her buttocks to her face. "Turn around," he rasped. The intense torment in his dark eyes drew her around, until her back was pressed up against the door. She could see the haunted craving in his gray irises. "Watch me with my lover, Arabella. The only companion I have had in ten long years," Darth hissed.

Then she watched in awe as he used his free hand to fondle the ruddy colored sacks hanging below his male organ. His thighs stretched open wider as his tall body slouched more into the chair, and the hand he used to pump his rigid organ began a faster stroke. A sound like hushed slapping filled the room as his cheeks drew leaner and his lips grew fuller, while his eyelids drooped to half open. Without realizing it, she dropped her arm trying to cover her breasts, until both her hands were between her thighs, clutching her sex.

He groaned then, with a harsh expelling sound as her nipples goose-pimpled and the tips puckered into small fat buds. She had trouble breathing and the strain of it lifted and lowered her naked breasts, as humid dampness seeped from her sex and wet her fingers.

Darth's nostrils flared as his hand moved more swiftly along the rigid column of his organ, making louder and more rapid slapping sounds. "Let me see your pussy," he hissed and the sound of his voice was a tenor plea.

Instinctively, she knew what he wanted to see, even though the word was foreign to her. But nothing could move her shaken limbs as she stood watching Darth, wholly transfixed on the overwhelming sexual energy expanding from him. Then a moment later, it seemed not to matter as his head fell back and the strong tendons in his neck stretched. His eyes closed and watching him, her breathing became erratic, nearly panting. His hips began to raise and lower with the swift pumping of his hand, and she could see the bottom curves of his buttocks over the edge of the chair.

She could not stop trembling as her body continued to sink, until she lay on her side on the floor. It was as though a great force of energy had rushed through her body and it left her helplessly exhausted. Her eyelids blinked, then lowered, and she knew her failing weakness was complete.

Darth slouched in the chair with his limp cock held in his hand for thirty minutes or more. At first he was aware of nothing, but a haunted and deflated feeling, caused by the temporary release of his edgy lust. It had been like this for the past several years, he never gained satisfaction anymore by his own hand. He felt a second or two of agony that he could not call pleasure, then the release of tension in his body, followed by deflated and debase feelings. It was disgust with himself and his sexuality that did not allow him to attain the overpowering and lingering pleasure he knew could be gained. This time was no different, more humiliating perhaps, because he had done it in front of a beautiful young woman. He had allowed Arabella to see his depravity, by fondling himself shamefully. Never able, until the last second, to take his gaze off her.

An annoyed sound erupted from his throat at his weakness as he denounced himself severely. What did it matter, what Arabella thought or saw? He owned her. His intention was to master her completely, sating his lust and haunted conscience on her body. He would have to continue to force her, he was no fool believing otherwise. Yet eventually, she would submit with compliancy, and perhaps find some measure of enjoyment . . . if she kept her eyes closed.

 

Chapter Nine

 

Stirring from his lethargy, Darth unwound his large frame from the chair and stood with his gaze immediately searching for Arabella. He was surprised to see her lying naked on the floor in front of the door. He had expected to find her hidden once again in his clothing closet or shivering beneath the bed linens. When he crouched next to her, and then lifted her into his arms, she merely mumbled in her sleep and cuddled closer to the warmth coming from his bare chest. It was a hidden moment in time, when Arabella was completely unaware of her reaction to his nearness.

He savored it like a rich sumptuous meal, burying his face into her jasmine scented hair as a tightness of intense longing constricted his chest. For all his morose and depraved thoughts, he had been a simple man, before the attack marring his face. A man who had dreamed of love, a wife, and children, someday. Yet that had been so long ago, he had not thought of it in years, until this moment holding Arabella in his arms. She was soft and shapely, so small compared to his girth. She curled around his larger frame like a downy blanket, and where he was hard and unyielding, she was soft and pliable.

When he laid her on the bed, he kept his hands on her, around her small waist, shaping her curving hips. Her flesh was resilient with creamy delicate textures, and his thumb pads learned the exact outline of her small hip bones, while his fingers pursued the rounded curves of her buttocks. His hands explored her waist, encircling it with his long fingers, which were dark against her apricot tinted flesh. Then he stroked back down her hips, holding them as she murmured soft sounds, unconsciously rolling her hips within his hands.

She was still asleep, yet subtly aware of his slow petting of her smooth downy flesh, and he lifted her hips and shaped them again with his large hands. The hair above her pussy was perfect. It was an interweaving of lush auburn curls, darker than the coloring of her lengthy mane of hair. It lay on the dainty mound of her pubis in a perfect cup shape, just below the delicate kiss of her belly button. He rolled her hips again, stroking down to the front and back of her thighs, then returning up over her rounded hips to circle her waist.

Unconsciously, she was enjoying his caresses as she moved with his hands and the tips of her nipples drew outward into swollen buds. The sight of her fully aroused nipples lifted his already aroused cock further. He had not seen nipple points like Arabella's before. They became circular and tightly fat when aroused, not spiked and thin. They were amazing, like miniature cherries topping the impressive mounding of her breasts and the areolas in their centers had tiny raised goose bumps in the peachy colored flesh.

Both of her breasts shivered with tiny goose bumps as he traced his thumb over her slender rib cage, and his fingers, holding her from behind, followed the shapely curve of her spine. She murmured, soft feminine sounds as his thumbs explored the crease of flesh where her breasts blossomed from her chest. He held her spine with his fingers, while his thumbs stroked the bottom curves of her breasts with a side to side motion. The pliancy of her breasts was creamy and soft, very fragile against his thumb pads and his stroking raised a warm flowery scent.

At his intimate caressing, she lifted her chest, raising her young breasts toward his chin as he crouched over her. He caressed her again, tracing his thumbs in a half circle from side to side, and she lifted her breasts upward, further supplicating her nipples before his mouth. If she had been aware, her body would be rigid and anxious, not flowing and supple like it was. He was enthralled, perhaps overcome by his unbidden fondling as he lowered his lips to one tightly swollen cherry-shaped nipple tip.

Arabella's sudden waking sound of sharp denial startled him with the tender cherry-top of her nipple between his lips, and her fingers digging and pushing at his shoulders. "No," she gasped, and he imagined that she was shocked to wake in this fashion. He quickly caught her squirming hips into his hands, holding them still, as he left the prize in his mouth behind to raise his head.

"Close your eyes," he commanded, and she darted a glance at him, then away again, as her eyes remained open. He unlatched a hand from her curving hip and brought it up to cover her eyes, making her puff a startled breath. "You will keep your eyes closed, until I give you permission to open them again. Is that understood?"

"But I cannot," she cried, turning her head in restless denial beneath his hand covering her eyes. "If you are going to rape me, then you will have to look at me!" she blurted, in a higher pitched voice.

Darth hissed with fury, jerking his hand away from Arabella's eyes as he lifted his body to stand beside the bed. He used his finger to point at her as he emphasized his next words. "You will stay there and not move."

"You own me! I am your slave," she cried. "It will be rape!"

Arabella wondered at the sanity of her mind for defying Darth, even as her body ached so uncontrollably to have him touch her again. Her sex was wet with desire for his invading fingers, her breasts and nipples were taut with yearning. She did not understand it and it frightened her. The torment inside her was free now. It was thriving and burning out of her control, forcing her to gaze at Darth's rigid male organ. An organ that she craved so fantastically to have inside her. Her body hungered for its unbending power and thickness. Darth's long male organ enthralled her, tormenting her thighs to separate and expose her sex before its command. Her body shook with the effort that she used not to obey its enslavement as Darth glared down at her with sharp gray eyes.

Darth finally spoke and his words were growled from the base of his throat. "If rape is all that I am allowed, then I will take it," he hissed. Then he turned his face away and uttered. "But you will not have to see the beast that ravishes you."

Then suddenly his powerful body coiled and he leaped toward her. She screamed as he landed in a crouch on his hands and knees over her, like a great predatory black panther. His knees imprisoned her legs, and his hands braced on the bed, caged her shoulders as she screamed again and rolled her body within the confines that he held her in, to cower on her belly. Uselessly, her hands clutched her face as though without sight she could make Darth disappear from above her.

Blinded by her hands covering her face as she shook, Arabella heard a ripping sound above her head that jerked her head upward away from her hands. Instantly there was a cloth dropped over her eyes making her gasp and lift her hands to try and remove it. But Darth was stronger and faster as he tied the blindfold in a secure knot at the back of her head. Just as she was reaching to tug it upward, he grabbed her wrist together in one hand stretching her arms straight above her head.

"No!" she cried. "Let me go!" Her thighs struggled between the tight pressure of Darth's knees and when she raised hips upward, trying to struggle free, she felt Darth's sizable male organ along the crease of her bottom. "No," she cried again, dropping her hips quickly away from its searing presence. But then, without warning, Darth rolled her onto her back, repositioning his hand around her wrists as he kept her arms stretched over her head. His other hand groped between her thighs, cupping her sex as she screamed again. But this time she screamed not in denial, but in desire, as she raised the mound of her sex upward into the heat of his palm as his middle finger separated the swollen slit of her sex.

"Now, I will rape you with my finger," Darth's voice rasped above her.

Arabella whimpered without control at the threat . . . or at the dark promise. Darth's finger pressed and the puffy slit of her sex yielded wetly. She gasped. He touched her deeper. She moaned, tossing her head and twisting her wrists beneath the grasp of his hand. He hissed deep in his chest an answer to the uncontrollable sounds of need she made, then his finger flicked up and down and her knees lifted outward.

"Yes," he rasped, as she whimpered needy sounds.

Darth's finger rubbing between the lips of her sex was relentless, tormenting, and exciting. Then he shifted his body and she felt one of his knees pressing between her knees. They separated and he pushed one knee, then the other, until her inner thighs were forced apart. His finger still flicked in the tender quivering flesh of her sex with deeper access now. She moaned, arching her back, struggling, but not struggling at the same moment.

Arabella cried out at the touch of Darth's fingers spreading the lips of her sex open wider, until cool air rush over the inner flesh. "And this tender bud is mine, Arabella," he rasped.

When the roughened tip of Darth's finger touched her sex bud, Arabella screamed, bending her knees and clamping them along his hips. She never realized that he'd released her wrists as newer sensations caused her to arch her back and cry out at the sharp plucking of her left nipple, while Darth's finger thrust into the opening of her sex. Still, he used the flat of his thumb to rub her sex bud as his finger withdrew, and then thrust forward again. She panted and moaned senselessly, riding his finger with each thrust that grew harder and came more swiftly. Her body rocked as he used his finger with force on her at the same time he pinched her nipples.

"Is it rape, Arabella?" Darth's mouth came down over hers, and he thrust his tongue between her panting lips. Deeper and deeper, he pushed his tongue, until it filled her mouth, choking off her scream as she climaxed.

Moments later as Arabella tried to find her even breathing, Darth licked her lips slowly, thoroughly, and she let him. Denying him nothing. The taste of him was warm and strong. His finger was still embedded deep inside her, and his thumb still pressed to the beat of her sex bud. She lay with her arms above her head and her knees still gripping his muscular hips. The sensations without her sight were twofold, surprising because she never knew when or where Darth's touch would come.

He licked the shell of her ear, wetting it as though he would devour it, then he murmured. "Men and women spend hours or whole days and nights together in bed, little dove." Then, he barely whispered. "Did you know?"

"No," she breathed, and the tip of his tongue touched hers, startling her as it left as quickly as it came. His words, their meaning tightened her belly, bringing excitement. Then his tongue licked her jawline down the side of her throat to circle a hollow there.

A moment later he murmured, "I want to rape you again, Arabella." His finger moved deep inside her and her inner muscles clutched it tight. Her inner sex already so wet, dribbled more and she could feel the heat of it. "I want to rape your soft sweet pussy with my mouth, Arabella. I want to lick the lips, suck on your tender bud, and taste this nectar that wets my fingers."

"Darth," she gasped, and in her uncertainty, her hands instinctively reached for the blindfold.

"No," Darth hissed on a sharp note, and the bed shifted beneath them as his hands grasped her wrists and pressured them above her head again. "The blindfold stays," he said. "I would allow you nearly anything but this," he finished.

Arabella sucked in a tight breath at the meaning of Darth's words, and she heard him curse. She knew that he had not meant to say it. He could not have meant for those words to spill from his lips, but he had . . . and now was her chance. She would not let him take them back. Let him wonder at her choice.

"Clothes," she gasped. "I beg you for some clothes."

Darth answer was a harsh unintelligible sound of denial, but the sound of his voice was sneering when he said, "Clothes then, Arabella. I am a fool and fools must always pay the price."

The bed shifted and Arabella knew that Darth had left her side. She should be relieved, but her only thought was that if she had clothes, it would be her first step to getting Nicolas back. She'd had no hope before without clothes, but now . . .