Read FIERCED 2: A stepbrother Romance Online
Authors: Stephanie Brother
FIERCED 2: A stepbrother Romance
Fierced
Book 2
in the
STEPBROTHER RAIDER SERIES
by
Stephanie Brother
FIERCED The Stepbrother Raider Series is Complete
© 2015 Stephanie Brother
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Kindle Edition
Chapter ONE
Have you ever considered how you'd respond in the face of cold fear?
No me either. And I'd even been trained for dealing with it. But I definitely never expected this.
When the FBI first instructed me on how to handle this scenario, I was freaked. All the vile possibilities the agent ran me through in the event of my kidnapping had me buried under the bed-covers every night for weeks, shivering with anticipation. He told me that more than half of kidnap victims are never returned. The abductors found it more convenient to take the money and run. Their victims shot and disposed of on toxic waste dumps.
He wasn't supposed to give me that many details, freaking me out like that. Maybe he was trying to impress me with how bad-ass he was. Although he was the furthest from cool, nothing but a meat-head in a black suit who'd never seen any real drama. He was desperate for some action in his dull life and that I could relate to. Still, I was looking over my shoulder constantly, even in class at the academy. Every person walking past me seemed to fit the mold.
So what happened when my night sweat terror became my reality?
You think I'd be flipping out, right? Screaming, shaking, crying like every slasher movie ever made is onscreen in my head at once. Were the men that took me going to toss me in a dumpster? Maybe torture me first? If my father didn't send the ransom fast enough, or refused to deal with terrorists as was his standard response, they might cut off my fingers to send him a warning package.
But the only churning going on is the clatter of the van across rough roads, that has me shake, rattle and rolling with every bump and turn.
Not a single tear has rolled from my eyes. And I'm amazingly calm. Like, Buddhist monk calm. Maybe that's too laid back for the circumstances and I should be kicking out at my captors trying to land a bulls-eye in the groin instead of lying here in black sack darkness. The bag tied around my neck is not strangling me at least. But my arms pinned behind my back, tied at the wrists, are stopping me staying upright.
Inside the blindfold I'm in my own little world, my own movie playing on the dark screen surrounding me. Where instead of screaming and crying, I wait calmly for my chance. Like an Avenger, or Katniss in the Hunger Games. Every sense is on hyper-vigilant mode as I listen with the ears of an Eastern Europe Police State concentrating on picking up any possible clues.
Who has taken me and why? And most important, where are we going?
Because when I get my chance to escape, I'll need to know where the fuck I am. Wearing the head bag I suddenly understood the appeal of being blindfold during sex. How every sense is invigorated a hundred-fold so that all my feeling is intensified. The sensitive folds between my inner thighs tingle with the thought. Fuck, that's weird, thinking about sex when I've just been abducted. It almost seems kinky, getting a thrill from being taken.
Helpless.
It has to be the climax still lingering there that the kidnappers hijacked me out of. Just when I was ready to go over the edge into bliss, the lights went out and I was stuffed in a bag. I'll probably connect orgasm and abduction in my sexual neural pathways for the rest of my life. My husband will have to play a thousand games of pretend abduction, tying me up and bagging me before I can get off. Again my pussy jolts with need, sending pressure throughout my body so my skin pushes and tingles.
The rough jolts of the road over every rock and crevasse have stopped, as well as the hairpin bends that threw me side to side. I must have fallen asleep if you can believe it. Lulled by a gentle rocking as though I was a baby back in my mother's arms. I really was losing all sense of reality here.
The vehicle, which had to be a van as I was rolling around untethered without a proper seat, is no longer moving. Outside I hear the slamming of doors. A group of male voices shouting. In Italian. Too fast for me to understand.
Then the rear door to my prison is pulled back and powerful arms clasp around my chest yet again. I'm jostled out of the truck like a rolled up rug. With my arms pinned behind me I have no stability or even the sense of being a body. Every sense tells me my captor is a solid giant, more bear than man. The huge biceps encircle me and haul me up with almost no effort. There's no purchase against being pinned to the man's huge chest from tip to tail and again my tunnel clenches with hunger.
When the FBI guy warned me against Stockholm Syndrome he never mentioned being physically attracted to a man I couldn't even see. Falling in lust with a massive pair of arms.
My hunger reverses sharply into a bad case of nausea when the giant hoists me up to get a grip around my waist and a stench cloud envelops me. The stink arising from his body is something only an undertaker's formaldehyde could mask. Old leather, rancid oil, decades of heavy sweat, and something animalistic. Like thick hair and vicious aggression.
The smell intensifies as the sack over my head is raised, lifting the only barrier sparing my nostrils. The gag reflex shudders through my stomach and stops short as a disgusting brute of a face leers up into mine. My heart leaps and starts doing the pogo in my chest as adrenalin finally pours through every limb. The man is more closely related to neanderthals on the human chain of evolution. More hair than flesh. His eyebrows a mossy outcrop along the cliff edge of his forehead and his chin protruding far enough that the long beard dangles against my chest.
Euch.
Instinctively I pull away from the greasy tendrils caressing the tops of my breasts, thrusting up toward him courtesy of my restrained arms.
“Here's my baby girl,” he croaks with a voice like gasoline spilled on gravel. Rough and slimy all at once. His breath a cloud of beer and old socks.
I would never be his baby girl and I roil backwards from his disgusting body, bucking awkwardly as I scramble to find a secure hold behind me. Every step I take back, he advances one toward me until I hit a metal wall with my fingertips and am preventing from any further retreat.
“How's about you and me finish where you left off, cutie pop?”
“No. Please. Leave me alone,” I say, trying not to whimper too pathetically.
“Auw, come on Baby. I know you want it and daddy is feeling lonesome too. Youze and me we got a little time to kill. May as well pass it in ecstasy.” He roars as though his repulsive suggestion is funnier than the cast of Saturday Night Live and exposes the rotten molars in the back of his mouth. The thought of him putting that cesspool hole in his face on any part of my body is worse than the prospect of a bullet through my brain.
“Don't touch me, you filthy pig,” I screech, making my tone aggressive. I'd been told that making the kidnappers angry is not a good idea but that weak-chinned FBI agent hadn't mentioned the protocol in the event of being abducted by a zombie.
How the fuck had I ever been so dumb as to fantasize that that my snatcher was hot and sexy? From one instant to the next, his gnarled face changes from whiny seductive to vicious. Like a dog clamped on a bone, he's not about to let go of what he wants.
“Now you don't have to get mean, you little bitch. Think you're too good for me? Daddy's girl doesn't want to mess with some low life? I reckon you need some low life to bring you down to earth, baby.” His hand curls up around the underside of my breast and squeezes harder and harder until I gasp with pain.
A searing blade of nausea burns at my throat. My small palms press back into the metal behind me and I kick out at his shin. But all the force I can muster is like a butterfly batting at a cliff face. He seems to be relishing the fight.
“Come on baby,” he groans as his fat finger strums across my nipple. “Be nice to daddy.”
“Get off me. When my father hears about this, you're going to be in one big load of shit.”
The threats and cursing make him roar with laughter all over again, pelting my face with the stench of his hot breath. In my small boxer short Pjs I'm completely vulnerable, exposed to the filthy needs of this man who took me and is about to again.
“I think I'm in love,” he groans and fills his palm with my breast to mound it like a lump of clay. “Youze got such perfect titties.”
I open my mouth to scream and am smothered with his slobbering tongue stuffing me full. I can neither howl nor gag, his mouth sucks mine up like the Hoover dam. His iron chest presses me hard into the wall I'd backed up into, pinning my hands painfully into the solid wall. His wide leather-covered thigh shoves between mine, forcing my legs apart. His hands stop mangling my breasts long enough that groping fingers can edge down the side of my thigh, working their way toward the hem of my shorts. Every pore is set to detonate with the revulsion exploding through me and I howl into his mouth.
All my writhing seems to stimulate him to greater horny fervor. His burly fingerpads, rough at the edges, crawl across the width of my thigh and under the fabric of my shorts. He gropes toward my cleft and moans hungrily into my mouth as he finds the naked lip.
“All ready for daddy,” he grunts before covering my mouth with his huge lips again then stretches my folds open roughly, pulling my lips apart and tweaking the soft hidden triangle.
I squirm under him, ripping my trapped body this way and that to get the smallest distance away from his vile touch. But he moves his gigantic fist from squeezing one breast to rip my tank down so that both pop free.
“Hmmm.” He crushes both naked mounds under a single palm to lock my torso immobile. While the flat of his hand restrains my entire chest, his thumb and index finger tweak my nipple hard. I moan ferociously into the back of his beer and mold mouth but he seems to take that as excitement. Incited to more, the finger rubbing the length of my bare clit suddenly shoves all the way inside me.
My scream echoes in his vile chamber but his slab hands have me pinned at both ends of my torso. His thigh constraining my legs. His groin shoves into my hip so I feel his hot shaft aching to escape the confines of his tight pants.
His finger pulls back to my entrance so a second can join it and thrust all the way back inside me.
“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he groans and I scream again. This time it echoes around the metal chamber before he silences me again with his rancid lips. He saws in and out of my tunnel, not realizing or not caring that I’m only so tight because I'm bone dry. It's going to be searing agony when he gets to shoving what he really wants inside me.
I can feel my body giving up, psychically lying down to get it over with as painlessly fast as possible. Except my mind keeps fighting back. My fury won't allow me to concede defeat to this fucking animal even if he hurts me more. I can tell he's enjoying my resistance, that his power over me is making him more inflamed. He's ready now, it's obvious as he rams his fingers one last time, deep into my channel while his thumb hooks against my ravaged clit. Then his hand pulls free and reaches to unlatch his belt.
And then he's gone. Ripped away from me like a band-aid from an open wound, his fingers yank free from their suction. The relief makes me pant for the fresh air of freedom. I have to fight back now. No more zen calm, I absolutely have to take every chance to attack these bastards and prevent them having their way with my body. I will not be a victim.
From my stance bent forward to haul breath into my agonized lungs, I see my first attacker crash into the floor from the other side of the room, as though he's been tossed away like a candy wrapper. He's wiped out on the floor. Blood oozing from the side of his mouth. My heart takes a nosedive into my belly and rebounds into my throat as I realize the man who trashed my captor must be a monster in his own right, to destroy that first hulk so easily. Now a pair of chained biker boots paces across the floor, coming slowly toward me with a resounding clang of iron at every step.
Then at last I freak. Not with fear but with fury.
Like a blind whirling tornado I hurl myself full force into the man coming toward me, pounding with my shoulder and kicking my foot at his rigid body until I wear myself out. He stands there throughout, a solid wall of muscle shield as though my blows have zero impact. At least he isn't laughing at me any more.
The sensation of his aroma pervades my nose. The amber sweet musk of man, not decaying monster, pulls my sore pussy into a voracious twinge of desire. As soon as he reaches behind to tug the soft binds around my wrists free, I look up into his eyes and begin pummeling into his chest all over.