In Consequence

EIGHTEEN


Restraining himself like this was taxing, to say the least. God, she was right there. It wouldn’t take much to get her naked, to have her underneath him. He could strip her easily. Just hold her down with one hand, and with the other….

No. He couldn’t do that to her. He wasn’t a rapist. He was not a fucking rapist.

But if she’s your slave, it isn’t really rape, is it?

True. Those slaves he'd fucked while staying with Freed... they were slaves in every sense of the word. They weren't people, they were property. It wasn't rape with them. It was just part of their training. The situation was completely different with Jack.

Or was he just making excuses? Wasn't she his slave?

Exactly. So whatever you do, it's not rape.

Riddick closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. His hand traced her breast, indulging in its warm softness. His indecision faded away as he wrapped himself in his own slave. Her scent filled the air, the feel of her tense body in his arms commanded his attention, and her tears were exquisite.

He buried his face in her hair as his hand traveled down across the smooth expanse of her belly. The cloth of her shirt made him grit his teeth impatiently. Why the hell had he agreed to allow her to wear clothes again? His hand clenched at the material. It was so tempting to just rip it off.

He felt her breath hitch in her throat, and with great effort he released her shirt. Instead he slid his hand down even further, until it just touched the V where her legs met through the jeans. She whimpered. It was delicious.

He cupped a hand around her throat again, and felt her swallow convulsively. He lowered his head to her ear. “Who do you belong to?”

She didn’t answer.

He tightened his grip on her throat. “Answer me. Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“Why…?”

“I want to hear you say it!”

He watched her lick her lips. “You,” she whispered, more tears slipping down her cheeks to wet the bedspread beneath them.

“Louder.”

Jack tried to turn her head to look at him, her eyes pleading. He just stared back, hand never releasing her throat, though he had loosened his grip to give her room to turn.

“You, Riddick. I belong to you.” Her voice broke, and a silent sob shook her chest. She turned her head away and rested it on the mattress.

Victory. Riddick growled, “Good. Now roll over.”

Her trembling increased tenfold. She began inching her body over, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. He wanted to see her face now.

When he grasped her torso and rolled her over in one quick motion, Jack let out a small scream. Immediately she cowered, ducking her head down and saying hurriedly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

He wrapped a hand in her hair and tilted her head back, so that their eyes met. A thousand things were racing in her green gaze, but he knew that his were as unreadable as ever.

Fuck it. Enough holding back. He used her hair to steer her, and brought their faces together. This was no romantic kiss… this was going to be vicious and carnal. He wanted her lips on his. He wanted his tongue in her mouth. He wanted to own her completely.

It worked. Her lips resisted, but an extra twist on her hair parted them quickly enough. Her mouth was soft and warm, but she wasn’t doing anything. She was no longer resisting, but she wasn’t participating, either. He broke contact long enough to growl, “Kiss me back.”

She complied hesitantly, and he rolled on top of her. His tongue battled with hers, seeking her submission and finding it. Her body was so hard, so tense. He broke the kiss and stared at her. “Shirt off.”

“Riddick, please—”

“Don’t fucking argue.”

Reluctantly she peeled it off of her body.

“Unless you want me to rip it off, the bra goes too,” he demanded.

The bra followed the shirt.

~*~

She was terrified.

There were no other words to describe it. Absolutely terrified. This was it. He was going to rape her. He really was going to rape her. There was nothing she could do.

He lowered his body on top of hers, and his flesh pressed against hers. Her breasts were pressed between them, and his weight on her body rendered her completely immobile. He was so heavy that it was almost difficult to breathe.

He grasped her arms and brought them above her head, using one hand to clamp her wrists together. There was no need. She wouldn’t fight him anymore. She wouldn’t resist. Anything he wanted.

He sniffed at her hair like an animal… like the animal he was. My God, this can’t be happening.

But it was. It really was. He made his way down her neck and shoulders, occasionally giving a quick bite to her flesh. She didn’t think he broke the skin, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had.

He used his other hand to unfasten her jeans. Her useless jeans. Remotely, she remembered thinking that she was protected from him because of her clothes. What a laugh.

No, not what a laugh. Laughter didn't exist anymore.

~*~

The first thing he noticed was the way she was just lying there. She was still tense, still trembling like crazy, but other than that, there was no motion whatsoever. Her eyes were focused somewhere on the ceiling. Her tears had dried up, leaving sticky trails on each ashen cheek.

Riddick looked down at himself, at what he was doing to her. One hand held her arms above her head, forcing her chest up erotically. The other hand had her pants halfway down her thighs. She was bone-dry.

I am not a rapist. What am I doing?

But she was just a slave.

Riddick growled, "Fuck." He released her wrists. They remained where they were. He saw finger-shaped indentions already beginning to turn puffy and red. There would definitely be hand-size bruises the next day.

His cock was throbbing angrily, and his libido snarled along with his monster. No, he was a monster. He was still a monster.

He stared down at her and said, voice harsher than he intended, “Jack.”

No response. Her eyes flicked toward him, but that was all.

“Jack. Look at me.” Her eyes remained trained on goggles, but that was all. No other motion whatsoever. “Jack. Put your arms down.”

Slowly, she complied. Her arms settled first across her chest, but in an instant she snapped them down to rest by her sides.

He took another look at the picture beneath him. What he saw disgusted him. He loved her fear, he loved owning her, he loved controlling her, but he was not a fucking rapist.

He pushed himself up and off the bed.