Page 52 of Red Rabbit
I recognized the Stockholm Syndrome but the dark part of my soul just didn’t care.
I would rather have the devil I knew, than the devil I didn’t.
And tomorrow I would have to go back to a devil I didn’t know.
I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over me and before I knew it, I was asleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I was on my stomach when my legs were pulled gently apart and Kraven slid inside me.
I moaned but didn’t open my eyes or move besides to clench around him in pleasure. In my half asleep state, he kissed me lightly along my neck and shoulders as he drove slowly into me until I was soaking wet around his dick. I never really woke up as he came, slow and deep and afterwards I heard the most satisfied sigh of peace from him.
When I woke up the next morning, I wondered if I dreamed it all, until I felt his cum between my legs. Today was the day he was leaving. I tried not to cry.
We fucked once more in the bathroom when he bent me over the counter and then took me into the shower where he finished. Afterwards, he knelt down on his knees and buried his face between my legs. He made me come over and over again until I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. I came down from the high and tears slid down my cheeks, hidden by the shower—I knew it would be my last time with him.
“Why do you come here?” I asked him.
I knelt at the end of the bed where I was watching him pack. He rolled his suitcase over and pulled on his coat. It was a black peacoat which made my mouth water because he looked straight out of a magazine—if the models were also dark crime lords. Not sure when I started thinking he was so hot but he reached a dark part inside me no one touched before.
“Networking,” he said.
I scoffed. “Seems a little expensive.”
He shrugged. “The men let their guard down here.”
“Okay, but you obviously enjoy this—” I gestured between us. “So what is that?”
He let his gaze lazily sweep over my body in appreciation and then he met my gaze again.
“I like the control.”
“Why not just be a dom to someone?”
“I like the psychological mind fuck is what I mean,” he said. He reached out a hand and smoothed a curl over my ear. “Your mind tells you you’re not supposed to like what’s happening. It’s saying it’s rape. You didn’t consent to anything here. But then your body is telling you something entirely different. Your body is listening to instinct.”
He stood up and came to stand in front of me at the edge of the bed. He dragged his fingers along my jaw and tilted my chin up.
“It’s that war between instinct and logic. Fantasy and reality. Your mind and your body fighting against each other for what’s right. It’s the manipulation of the breakdown.”
“Another form of torture?”
His eyes flashed and he smirked at me.
“Another form of torture,” he echoed.
We stared at each other for a long moment in silence. He dipped his head to kiss me and I knew exactly what he was talking about. He didn’t ask for consent for anything he had done to me. He’d taken what he wanted and I’d been forced to give it to him. Except, somewhere along the way, my mind stopped thinking it was bad. He enjoyed the Stockholm Syndrome effect where he could manipulate someone into betraying their own mind’s decision to say no.
It was definitely fucked up.
But he never did anything to me that was sadistic or cruel. He pushed me and was rough and demanding. He extracted what he wanted. He raped me.
But he’d also taken care of me and forced more pleasure from me than I’d ever experienced before and for the life of me, I couldn’t quite condemn him for that. I’m sure that made me justas sick and twisted as him but again, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
My hands entwined in his hair at the back of his neck and pulled him closer to me as we kissed. He rumbled his approval against my lips and stepped closer, his arms going around me and up into my hair, tilting my head back as his kiss turned more intense. We came apart breathless and I blinked. He smirked at me again and ran his thumb over my cheek.
“That’s why I come here,” he said. “No other kind of interaction will give me the thrill of forcing someone to fight within themselves.”
“I can’t decide if that makes you a villain or just a really sick man,” I said.
