Runaway Ch. 03

One evening when she was barely eighteen, Anabelle walked home alone. She was blissfully unaware of how appealing her body was in her simple school uniform of a tartan skirt, black hose and white blouse. Her mind was far more occupied with other things.

She had spent the afternoon at the local park not far from her school. It was easier that way, to lay in the sun and do her homework, and spend the rest of the daylight hours reading Oscar Wilde. But when the light began to wane she knew she would have to leave. She took the long way home, dawdling through the maze that was suburbia as twilight slowly turned to night. She didn't want to go home. Her mother would be at least halfway through a bottle of gin by this time of night, and she was often cruel in her intoxication. She had taken to the bottle two years ago when Anabelle's father had passed away from long-battled stomach cancer. Since then it seemed her life had spiralled downward.

As her mother had turned to the bottle, Anabelle had turned inward. She had had few friends to begin with, shy and quiet as she was. But they had become floating spectres, seemingly only on the edge of her consciousness when her father died. She had taken to books, to her imagination. She allowed herself to be spirited away into fantasy worlds, in order to escape the harshness of her new reality, which, day by day was becoming a worse and worse nightmare.

Her mother was no longer the woman she had known as a child. She was different; selfish and broken. She had stopped being able to function a long time ago, not even for the sake of her child.

As Anabelle wandered home she was thinking about The Picture of Dorian Gray and pretending she was Sibyl. Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a tall gentleman in her path.

Anabelle quickly ducked her head and traipsed past him.

"Excuse me, my lady?"

Anabelle smiled slightly before she turned around. He spoke like the chivalrous men she had read about.

When she faced him, he inclined his head and removed the hat that shaded his face. Anabelle stared at his almost unnatural beauty; his hair was as dark as his skin was white, and a pair of deep blue orbs glittered under the harsh light of the street lamp.

"Would you tell me your name?"

The little voice in Anabelle's head that still paid attention to her surroundings piped up. It told her to run, and run fast.

She paused, head tilting to one side. The apparent danger this stranger represented was slightly exhilarating.

"Why would you like to know my name?" she asked.

"Well, my lady," he began, taking a step towards her, "When I see a creature -- such as a bird -- of exceptional beauty, I like to know by what name to call it. It is my way of making sure it is real. With animals it is easy -- all the information I could possibly need is in any local library. You, however, are a different matter. I fear I must impose on you to divulge this information to me."

"Are you likening me to an animal?" she asked sharply, slightly offended at how he catalogued her.

"On the contrary, my lady. If you had been listening, you would realise that I am likening you to a creature of exceptional beauty."

Anabelle paused a moment longer, and then her survival instinct kicked in. She knew then that to give him her name would be a very unwise decision. Almost as though she would be giving him some kind of power over her.

"I believe it best if you pretend I was not real," she said, and ran all the way home.

The next night she took a different route home, and encountered a different man. This one was not so polite, though. She was walking through the park near her house, straying from the path like a foolish child in a fairy tale. It was already quite late; she had been lingering on the streets for hours. The stars were twinkling above her through the canopy of the trees. She heard a rustling noise less than a moment before she was accosted from behind.

Shocked, she could only gasp as strong hands closed around her waist and then pushed her back against the hard bark of a tree, the shirtless body of her assailant pressing close against her.

A tan hand stroked her cheek, the thumb running over her lower lip,

"Byron was right," a low, husky voice said.

Anabelle let out a squeal of protest when he pressed his lips to her's. He held her firmly between him and the tree; one hand at her hip, the other holding her face to the mercy of his mouth and tongue.

She squeaked when he ran his tongue over her lower lip, and he used the moment of surprise to slip into her mouth. The warm, slippery invasion stoked an unfamiliar, intimate fire in the pit of Anabelle's belly. She was frightened, not knowing what this stranger intended to do to her. But warring with the fear was the desire to surrender completely to him and his intimate touches.

The fear won, as it usually did in any battle of logistics. She began to struggle beneath him, even as he pressed his hips into her's. She tore her mouth free,

"Let me go!" she cried.

Her assailant chuckled a little, and let the innocent little minx slip from his arms.

Anabelle's feet pelted on the hard pavement as she sprinted home. When she reached her front door she tore it open and ran straight up the stairs to her room, barely affording a glance for her mother, passed out on the couch yet again.

She kicked off her shoes and collapsed on her back into the soft mattress of her bed, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow. She touched her fingers to her lips. She had never kissed a man before tonight. She had thought you only felt kisses on your lips. But his hand on her hip had felt like he was burning her with pleasure. And there had been a strange heat pooling between her thighs that was only now beginning to wane.

Anabelle rolled over and buried her head beneath her pillow, thoroughly confused. She resolved to come straight home tomorrow and every afternoon thereafter. Even if it meant dealing with her mother. Better that than to risk being forced into those strange sensations again.

Such she did, and she didn't see either of the strange men for some weeks. Instead of lingering at the park each afternoon she simply withdrew to her room and locked the door. She lit candles to read by, burnt incense and played the soft, classical tunes of Bach and Debussy to distract her from her mother's drunken ravings. She didn't dare linger on the streets any longer; she had encountered two strangers in as many nights and had no intention of meeting any more!

One night she foolishly left her window open. She couldn't help it; the night was so beautiful. She left her blanket off, dressed in only a singlet and panties, letting the night air wash over her as she fell asleep gazing at the moon.

She awoke in the middle of the night to find a man standing at the foot of her bed. She knew it was the first of the strange men she had encountered; there was the unmistakable scent of his cologne in the air, mixed with the spicy, male scent that was uniquely him.

She opened her mouth to yell for help, but he beat her to it,

"Shh, sweetling. There is no one about to hear you scream. Your mother is in such an alcoholic reverie I wouldn't be surprised if she never came out of it," he said softly.

"W-what are you doing here?" she stuttered, no knowing whether to try to fight him, or simply run as fast as she could.

"You ran away so rudely when we last spoke, my lady. And you refused even to answer my simple question. I visit you now to ask you again, for your name. It would be a simple matter to find this out from one of your many books or papers," he said, gesturing to the array of bound and loose paper all over her floor, "But I want it from your lips."

"Why?" she asked, exasperation seeping through her fear.

"Because of this," he said, and moved swiftly so that he was on top of her in her bed.

He pressed his lips against hers in a dominating kiss, hands anchoring her by the waist to the bed beneath him. He kissed her insistently, even as she struggled.

"What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Tell me your name, my little temptress," he said in a gravelly voice against her lips.

One hand moved up from her waist to pull her singlet down until one pert breast sprung forth to his attentions. His hand encapsulated it, massaging the soft flesh as his thumb traced the pink nub of her nipple as it slowly hardened beneath his touch.

She sighed in relief when his hand left her breast. The place between her thighs was absolutely on fire from his caresses, and she had no idea how to stop it.

But Byron had no intention of letting her arousal abate. His hand slipped downwards, to the thin scrap that protected her center. Her stroked her softly, teasingly through the damp material of her panties, making her body arch.

"Oh! Oh, stop it!" she moaned, squirming beneath his powerful stature.

"Tell me your name and I will stop," he promised.

She drew in a dizzying breath,

"A-Anabelle," she gasped.

To her relief, his hand stilled.

"A-na-belle," he repeated, drawing out every syllable, seeming to taste her name on his lips. She shivered.

He gave her one last stroke that left her writhing, before withdrawing his hand from her and himself from her bed. He paused at her window, looking at her as she rose up on her elbows, to stare at him, her beautiful tresses spilled across her pillow, long bare legs so lithe and appealing.

"I am disappointed that Nathaniel claimed your first kiss," he said, almost as an afterthought, "But rest assured, it will be I that takes you to the heights of pleasure for the first time."

With that, he leapt from her window, seeming to disappear into the night. Anabelle jumped up from her bed and slammed the window shut, locking it and drawing the curtains closed. She then pulled the blankets over herself and curled into a tight ball. She was so confused at the sensations he wrought in her body, heady with a need that she didn't know how to fulfil. It took her some time before she fell into a restless sleep.

*

Anabelle slowly rose through the layers of sleep to consciousness. The sheets she slept in were so soft, the pillows like clouds. Her thoughts were blurry, she couldn't remember how she came to sleep in such a heavenly bed. She hadn't slept in sheets so soft in almost a year...

She moaned against her cloud-pillow, realisation and dread hitting her and pulling her into consciousness. She wanted to float back into sleep, but the horror of her situation made her unable to deny the circumstances.

She sat up in the enormous four-poster bed that had haunted her dreams. Her auburn curls tumbled down her bare back. Looking down, she noticed her only attire was a charcoal-grey silk negligee, provocative and slippery around the curves of her young body.

The bed was situated in an equally enormous, regal chamber. It was beautifully decorated, and very masculine. Dark, polished wood furniture populated the room, with heavy green drapes and rugs.

She knew this chamber very well, knew that there was a washroom behind a door off to her left. She also knew the large wooden doors in front of her would be locked tight.

She touched the small wound on her neck tenderly, wincing slightly. Byron had been far from gentle in his blood-drinking. She looked down at her forearms; tiny white scars populating them, barely conceivable to the naked eye. A year ago she had more bites all over her body than she could count.

She gasped a little in spite of herself when she spotted Nathaniel, lounged in an armchair a few feet from the bed in his usual, minimalist attire. Those green eyes burned a hole through her as he stared.

"Welcome home, Ana," he said in a dangerous voice.

Anabelle sighed, a year's worth of tears of frustration, anger and fear welling once more in her big blue eyes.

"I should have killed myself," she said despondently, "Better that than to spend my life running from you."

Nathaniel rose from his armchair with frightening speed and grace,

"I have no intention of letting you do either," he said as he stalked towards her. Suddenly Anabelle felt very vulnerable as she sat, half-naked and defenceless in his bed.

"Why won't you let me go?" she whispered as he drew closer.

"Because you belong to us," he replied, sitting on the bed next to her and brushing a strand of hair from her face even as she flinched away from him, "You have belonged to us from the moment we first saw you."

She turned away from him in defiance, showing him her back. In a moment she felt butterfly kisses being planted all over her shoulders. She shivered.

"Don't touch me!" she squirmed away from his kisses, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, ignoring her heart as it fluttered in anticipation.

Nathaniel wasn't having any of that, and spun her around, gripping her firmly by the shoulders.

"I believe we have played this game many times before, Ana," he said to her teary eyes, "We both know how it ends."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he brought his mouth down upon hers, pushing her body down beneath his on the mattress, changing his grip so he held her firmly by her tiny waist, nearly eclipsing it between his large hands. He couldn't control the possessive growl that rose up in his throat. It had been far too long since he held her soft body in his arms.

Beneath his muscular body, in his bed, Anabelle felt trapped and helpless to his lusts. She squirmed and struggled beneath him, but he held her firm. She refused to be seduced by his touch; not this time, not any more.

Nathaniel was relentless; she was unyielding as yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He had held every square inch of her exquisite body in his hands at one time or another, and he knew exactly how to arouse it to the point of no return. Once he had had his fill of her lips, he moved his kisses to her neck and collarbone, delighting in the soft, creamy white flesh that graced his mouth. He moved one hand from her waist to travel up her chest to the thin straps of the negligee he had thoughtfully dressed her in. He began tugging down on the flimsy silk so he could better access the delightful mounds beneath.

"No!" she gasped, but he could hear the unmistakable tone of lust behind her words that he knew so well.

He chuckled, and in one quick motion, ripped the silk away, letting her full breasts spring forth as she writhed and her body arched beneath his.

He reached out and plucked one rosy pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger; her porcelain skin such a contrast to his own deep tan. He latched his mouth onto the pink nub, his hand moving to her other breast to mould and cup it.

She hammered at his powerful chest, but Nathaniel could tell she was slowly loosing her inner battle with her body. He reached a hand down between her thighs to confirm his suspicions only to find them locked tightly together, even as she writhed beneath him.

When Anabelle felt his hand slide down to her thighs she pressed them even more firmly together, refusing to allow him access to her center, knowing it would be her undoing. Even now as he toyed with her body she fought the sensations he so expertly aroused in her.

She heard him chuckle against her breast moments before he bit down hard on her nipple. Not enough to draw blood, but so much that she screeched, her thighs jumping apart in surprise.

Of course, he took advantage of that and slid his knee between them before she had a chance to lock them closed again. He rose up on his knees, one hand at her chest pinning her to the bed. The other travelled slowly, teasingly up her inner thigh even as she squirmed, his piercing eyes gazing down at her with lustful knowing.

When he reached her nether lips, he used one finger to slowly draw them apart, discovering the slick heat as it coated his digit. She moaned as he teased her entrance, and then cried out, her body arching as he pushed a finger inside of her. She was tight, so tight, sheathed around the single digit like a vice. He worked his finger in and out of her, delighting in the mewls of pleasure that escaped her unwilling lips.

Wanting to torture her even further, he adjusted his hand so that his thumb could access her pink, swollen pleasure nub. He stroked her once, twice, and she gasped and moaned in need. He used his hand to expertly draw out her body's responses. He brought her to within a breadth of her peak, only to remove his hand as she cried out in protest.

"Do you still deny me?" he asked, gazing down at her delightful, creamy flesh, flush from pleasure. She could only stare at him with passion-glazed eyes, her body and her mind still warring with one another.

He chuckled again, but could not ignore his own body's urges. His cock throbbed with need, aching to be buried inside her again after so long. His tongue burned for her sweet blood. Quickly, he shed his breeches, and positioned himself above her. He tore what was left of the silken grey slip from her body before settling between her thighs

Anabelle couldn't move for her own traitorous body's passion-driven urges. She resisted the urge to cry out as Nathaniel shed his sparse clothing, delighting in the lean, tan musculature of his chest, and the sight of his now freed member, arousing in its intimidating size.

He positioned himself above her, his black hair falling in her face as he brought his lips down for another lustful kiss. She couldn't help but delight in the hot touch of his skin on her's, especially when he tore her negligee from her body. His hands gripped her hips and the tip of him pressed against the slick entrance between her spread thighs.

He lifted his lips from hers and stared into her eyes as he surged into her, making her cry out in long-denied pleasure. He filled her to the hilt, stretching her pleasurably around his invading force. He began to move inside of her, slowly and gently at first, drawing moans of impatience from her lips. She could tell he was delighting in torturing her with pleasure as he continued to move slowly in and out of her.

He sensed her need, and drew out of her until until only the tip of him rested against her entrance. Then, with a growl, he drove back into her, hard and fast. He began to piston in and out of her heat, hands gripping her hips like a vice. His own self-control was shattered as he roughly took his pleasure of her.

She moaned louder and louder as she felt the exquisite heat between her thighs building to greater and greater intensity until she felt it would certainly consume her. Just as she thought she couldn't take any more, she felt his lips at her neck, and gasped in surprise, cursing herself for forgetting. She screamed as she felt his incisors tear into her throat, the moment of pain almost instantaneously eclipsed by pleasure. It sent her over the edge, and she exploded, spasming around his cock while simultaneously feeling his seed fill her in spurts as he grunted and moaned against her neck, taking his fill of her blood.

He collapsed on top of her as they both gasped for breath, a light sheen of sweat covering their bodies. Nathaniel licked the wound clean, savouring every drop, then slowly slid out of her and turned on his side, drawing her spent body into the circle of his arms.

"You will never escape us again, sweet Anabelle," he promised, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the usual tumult of regret, anger and fear surging within her after a session of lovemaking with one of her captors. She tried to put some distance between them in the bed, but he held her firmly in his arms.

"Why do you do this to me?" she muttered bitterly.

"I do nothing to you, Anabelle, but arouse your body's own natural passions," he said against her shoulder, "You might continue to war against us with that beautiful mind of yours, but never has your body resisted in giving us what is ours by right. Now, go to sleep. I have missed sleeping with you in my arms."