Filthy Secret

Fiancee of lyra casey steps out with friends on two week anniversary of disappearance. third vigil to be held tonight at caldwell estate.

CADE

The white nightgown I bought Lyra rides up over her hips, exposing her cute little ass. I crack my palm against her smooth skin, partly because I want to, and partly because she showered without me. I’ve warned her not to do that. There’s a limited supply of hot water, at least until I get the propane heater put in.

Which won’t be anytime soon. I’ve got too many other things to tend to before winter. Like my girl, and the way her tight little ass is squeezing me this morning.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt it. A few days after we got home, her cycle started. She still has the same horrible cramps, and she was dead set on not letting me relieve them with my fingers or my cock in her pussy. It would make a mess. Like I fucking cared.

So, instead, I got her on the bed in the cuffs, and took a long, slow ride in her ass until she came twice, easing the cramps for a few hours. We did the same thing the next day, and the day after, until she finally relented and let me put down a towel and have her cunt again.

But right now, it’s her ass that needs fucked as a reminder that there are rules. Break them, and life gets rough. Especially when the seasons change and travel to and from the cabin is harder.

The bottle of lube clatters to the floor and Lyra’s back arches. She bites back a moan before trying to slap at me when my fingers dig into her hips. It’s a weak attempt, and for a second, it’s almost like she’s grabbing at me. Pulling me to her instead of pushing me away. I grab her wrists and twist them behind her back, pinning her thighs between mine and bending her further over the table. Her cunt peeks out from between her legs, and I can feel how wet she is when my balls slap against it. Pretty soon she’s gasping, holding back even as her ass tightens around me.

“I shouldn’t let you come. You’ve been a bad girl.” My palm cracks against her ass and I release her arms so I can brace on the table over her hands. Her fingers curl under my palms and she tips her hips up, trying to spread her legs so she can take more of me. As if I have any more to give.

I’m already balls deep, but my girl is greedy. Achy. Wound so tight on the edge of pleasure and I know it’s only moments before she tumbles over.

“But you can’t help it, can you? So needy. Coming all over my cock no what hole it’s in, right?” I kiss her shoulder as I lay my body over hers when she tucks her head into the table. “Don’t fight it, sweetheart. Let me

hear how good it feels to be fucked like a little slut.”

Lyra yanks her arm out and tries to slap me, but I grab her hand and shove it between her legs, holding it there as her fingers go to work on her clit. Her breath hitches and she claws at the table rocking underneath us, the legs scraping against the floor, the table making a creaking sound that mingles with her with soft, frantic breaths. I push deep and pump faster, and finally she lets out a long, breathy gasp that melts into a moan. She clenches around me, fingers working furiously, and I let the release I’ve been holding back take over. Heat bursts at the base of my spine and my balls tighten as they empty inside her. My cock throbs as I grab her shoulder for leverage, thrusting until every drop is drained and my head is spinning. It’s only when my sanity slips back that I frown down at myself. It felt fucking good, but it’s a waste.

It should all be going in her cunt.

When the haze of pleasure dissipates, I look down at Lyra on the table, the way her fingers are twisting, clutching at mine. I release her arms and slide out of her, watching as she slumps onto the table. I rip off the condom I’d hastily put on and toss it in the bin before tucking myself away, setting a hand on her waist when she tries to stand up on shaky legs. “Easy. I don’t want you to fall.”

She makes a derisive noise and shoves me away. “Your concern is heartwarming.” I fold my arms over my chest.

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

“I don’t appreciate being fucked raw three times a day!”

She launches herself at me, fists clenched, and face twisted in a snarl, but I’m ready for it. It isn’t the first time and I expect it won’t be the last. I’ve learned when to predict it. She never does it after I’ve bound her to the bed, no matter what filthy things I do or how many times I make her come. But if I fuck her without those cuffs or the tape over her mouth, on the couch or over the counter, where she could try to escape and throw me off, she loses her mind. It’s the word “should” playing inside her brain. She should be fighting me. That’s what all of those assholes back in the city would expect.

But she doesn’t want to.

It’s only been two weeks, so I’m not expecting her to confess the truth yet and admit I’m giving her everything she’s been craving. Structure. Affection. Pleasure. Even pain, because it’s real, and her entire life there was a carefully crafted facade she was thrust into for no other reason than to bolster her parents’ wealth.

Deep down she knows it. Knows she was little more than a pawn and a plaything. But she’s grown to love her cage, and me breaking it open as made her scared to fly. I can help her spread her wings, but it will take time.

Fortunately, we have plenty of it.

She manages a good few hits before I grab her arms, spinning her body so her back is against my chest. I’m braced for her to buck and kick at my shins, but she stays still, her entire body a knot of muscle that pulls tighter with every breath.

“You have to let me go,” she snarls. “They’re looking for me. There are search parties, there’s probably a reward.” Her body softens a fraction, and instead of looking over her shoulder at me her eyes turn and stare at the door. “If you took me back… I’d say you saved me. You could take the reward and-”

“Fuck the money.” I bury my face in her neck, arms tightening around her torso. “It’s nothing compared to you.”

She tenses again, then the knots unravel. Her body sinks and I’m forced to drop to one knee when her legs give out and she starts to sob, turning into my chest. She’s curled like a cat, tears soaking my shirt. I rest my head against hers, shushing softly, not to quiet her, but just to let her know I’m here. A long silence stretches between us, and eventually she sighs and lifts her head to look at me, her face wet with tears. I watch her throat bob with a swallow, then she averts her eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. Or do things like… this.”

My arms loosen around her, but I don’t let her go. I stare down at our positioning: her curled against me, both of us on her knees, my thighs framing her hips. “Do what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“This.” She gestures to her body against mine and frowns. “I don’t like it when… when you’re sweet.”

“You don’t like it when I’m sweet?” My eyes widen, and I let out a soft laugh. “I haven’t been enough of an asshole for you?”

“Oh, you’ve been enough of an asshole for three lifetimes.” She scoots away, still avoiding my gaze. “But you break up the cruelty. If you’re going to use me, just use me and get it over with.”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

I set my hands on my thighs and let out a long sigh. “I’m not using you, Lyra.”

She lets out a single, wry laugh. “No, not at all. Cuffing me to a bed. Fucking me multiple times a day. What’s the point, Cade? What’s your endgame?”

“This.” I gesture to the cabin. “I’ve told you. I want you here with me. Where you’re supposed to be. Where you would have been three fucking years ago if you’d just let me figure-”

“I was seventeen, Cade. My parents would have charged you with kidnapping. You should be charged with kidnapping now!”

I roll my eyes. “You were two months from turning eighteen and they couldn’t have done shit then.”

Her face tightens, pain flashing in her eyes when she stands and folds her arms over herself, turning her back on me. “You would have just stuck me in an apartment to fend for myself while you got shipped off and it would have been exactly the same. I’d be alone. At least in the city I had people surrounding-”

“You had people kissing your ass to get in good with your parents,” I snap. “You really think insipid assholes were your friends? That fucker you claim to love so much? You really think he loved you back?”

“I do,” she snaps, turning to face me. “He did. Are you implying he couldn’t love me?”

I glare at her. “No, sweetheart. He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.” Anger makes my muscles tense and I rake my hand through my hair, aching to grab her and hold her against me. “You’re smart, and sweet, and kind, and devoted, and he was fucking your maid of honor up the ass while his friends took-”

“What?”

Her breathless question stops my tirade, and I grimace when I look up at her face. It’s gone whiter than the nightgown she’s wearing, so pale her lips and eyes are the only thing colored. I exhale and she shakes her head, waving her hands at me like she can wipe away the words.

“What did you say?”

I press my lips together. I hadn’t wanted to tell her this. When I saw him, Blaine or whatever the fuck his name is, my first instinct had been to throat punch him. Their engagement had been in every tabloid paper, the playboy bachelor falling for the sweet small-town girl that was new to the city. It was the stuff of romance novels, but I could see on his face that it was all an act. Lyra was photographed volunteering, working at animal shelters and schools. Her fiancee was photographed at bars, taking shots out of belly buttons that didn’t belong to her, and avoiding cameras trying to follow him into private VIP areas-or club bathrooms.

But I thought he’d clean up his act for the sake of the wedding. At least for a while. But when I followed him down the hall, dressed like the other photographers flitting about, I watched him pay off the one planning to take pictures of the bridesmaids and groomsmen together. “Come back in thirty,” he’d said before through a door into a room with large windows and plants everywhere. I moved past the room, staying just out of sight and peering through an opening in the long gray curtains that shuttered the room off. Then, I watched that cocksucker lift the maid of honor’s dress and shove his cock into her ass. Another one of the bridesmaids laid beside her, and as he pumped, he shoved his fingers into her cunt, promising she’d be next. A last hurrah, one of the groomsmen said.

“For at least a week,” Blaine had replied to his friend. “Got a cherry to pop, but then it’ll be back to business.”

Lyra stares at me expectantly, but I shake my head. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just trust me, you’re better-”

“You have hurt me, Cade. You are hurting me.” Her hands ball into fists at her sides, ready to pummel the words out of me. “Tell me what you said.” “You heard what I said,” I murmur.

Silence hangs in the air, and her eyes fill with tears, her hand coming up to press against her chest. I move toward her, but she backs away, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, you had to know. It was all over in magazines-”

“I never read them,” she confesses. “I hated… I hated it. I hated the cameras following me everywhere. I felt like a circus animal.”

“That’s all you were.” I grimace again, and she shakes her head as I move forward. “Lyra. I’m telling you the truth. He was cheating on you. I saw him and your maid-”

“No.” She pushes me away, her voice cracking. “They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t! If I was unhappy, it would ruin all the deals my father set up with

Blaine’s family.”

“Did you have a prenup?”

Her breath catches as she turns to face me. “My parents… they said I didn’t need one.”

“Because it didn’t matter. You didn’t matter.” My stomach twists, chest aching at the idea of laying the truth out like this. A sickening buffet for her to try to digest when she already has a full plate. I move forward, taking her by the elbows. “As long as they got what they worked so hard for, it didn’t matter what happened to you. Your dad all but told me that when-”

“NO!”

She rips herself away from me, wiping her face furiously with her fingers. “You’re just saying this to justify what you’ve done. You’re… you’re sick like everyone said, and you’ll make up any story to convince me that you’re not!”

I narrow my eyes. “If I’m sick, you’re the only cure.” I stalk toward her, and she backs away, leaning into anger instead of despair. “I never thought about getting married or having babies or any of it until you. Until you said I made you feel safe. You’re mine, Lyra. You need me.”

“No, I don’t,” she snarls, her voice cracking as she bolts up the stairs. “Fuck you. And fuck them! Fuck all of this!”

I hear something crash, but I don’t go up to see what it was. She needs space, needs to come to grips with the truth. I didn’t steal her, and I’m not keeping her captive. That life was her cage.

And I’m her freedom.