Defaced: A Dark Romance Novel Read online

  And yet somehow, he did know. Perhaps it was due to the books he read—the romantic encounters of gentle touches and whispered declarations of love—but deep down he knew contact with a woman shouldn’t be like he’d experienced. Yet he couldn’t deny that his incident with the prostitute had turned him on. It had been his first and only encounter with a woman and had resulted in violence and an orgasm. How could he unwire his brain to disconnect the two things now? Another person’s pain and humiliation had resulted in his pleasure, and his young, as yet fully unformed mind had taken the two things and forever entwined them.

  When the door opened to reveal a different woman—a blonde who might have reminded him of the girl with honeyed hair who’d brought him his meals, had she not been so fake in every way. Her skin tone was too dark for the peroxide bleached color of her hair, her makeup thick around her eyes and mouth. Where the girl who’d brought him his meals had reminded him of sunshine and purity, this woman was hard and false.

  She caught sight of his face and forced a smile. “Hi, baby,” she purred. “Your daddy told me you needed taking care of.”

  Despite himself, his cock stirred in his pants.

  This was how it would be for him. Women only succumbing to his desires because of the money and power his father held over them. He was a prisoner here, living exactly how his father wanted him to. He had no choice, and would take whatever small amount of pleasure was on offer to him where he could.

  She sauntered over to him in her heels. He got the impression this one had more experience than the last, that perhaps his father had realized he’d needed to employ someone tougher. If only his father had also realized this would simply make it more of a challenge for him to break her.

  Her fingers slipped inside the top of his shirt, fiddling with his buttons. “So, your father wouldn’t tell me your name. What do you want me to call you?”

  This time, he didn’t hesitate. “You will call me Monster.”

  Her smile faltered, but she quickly straightened it. “Monster? You sure about that, baby?”

  He snatched her wrist in his large hand, halting her movement. “Yes. And if you ever call me baby again, I will make you pay for it.”

  “Oh!” The blood drained from her face. “Okay … Monster. Whatever you want.”

  Though she had lost some of her swagger, she continued to unbutton his shirt until his chest was bare. She ducked down and placed her lips against his skin, gentle kisses, nibbles and licks, darting between his nipples.

  Monster willed himself to react to her, but nothing about this fake, flirty woman got him going. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the prostitute from before. He wanted her looking up at him with her makeup smeared as tears fell down her cheeks.

  “What do you want me to do to you?” she asked between kisses.

  “It’s what I want to do to you that’s important.”

  “Oh.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, coyly, though she didn’t look directly at his face. “And what’s that?”

  “I want to hit you.”

  She started back at his reply, her body instantly tensing. “You can spank me, ba— I mean, Monster. Is that what you mean?”

  “I mean I want to hit you and see you cry.”

  She nodded, the faintest hint of a nervous smile flashing across her face. “I understand. A fantasy, right? You want me to act out that fantasy?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  She moved away from him, heading toward the bed. She pulled up the skirt she wore as she walked, exposing a naked bottom. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Without looking back at him, she bent over the bed, lifting her backside to him.

  “You can spank me. I can beg you to stop if that’s what you want.”

  Something finally stirred in his groin, that tingling of excitement, and he felt himself start to harden. His palms itched and he stalked across the room toward her.

  Monster grabbed her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. He held her firm and she sucked air in over her teeth, her body tense. He lifted his other hand and brought it down hard on one cheek of her ass.

  She gave a cry, her body jerking forward with the impact.

  “Not so hard!”

  “Shut up.”

  He raised his hand and smacked her again. She let out a squeal and red bloomed in the paleness of her skin where he had struck her. The sight excited him, and he spanked her again.

  “No, stop,” she cried.

  Was she faking it? Acting out the fantasy as they’d discussed? Having her pretend wasn’t good enough. He wanted what she felt to be real.

  He released her hip and reached out to knot her blonde hair in his fist. He gave her hair a tug, causing her head to pull back, her chin to lift, and her back to arch, pushing her bottom up toward him.

  Her squeal became a cry of pain. “No, please, that hurts!”

  “It’s supposed to,” he growled, and brought his hand down even harder, the blow smarting his palm.

  “Please.” She let out a sob, and wickedly he noticed her squeeze her eyes shut, a tear beading from the corner and running down the side of her face, leaving a track in her makeup.

  His cock throbbed.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he told her.

  “My purse,” she said, her voice shaking. “I have condoms in my purse.”

  He knew enough about sex to understand they needed to be protected. He bent to her purse, which was barely a slip of material large enough to contain a couple of condoms and a couple of foil packets of lube, and removed them both. His father had explained how condoms worked—a conversation he imagined would have been embarrassing coming from any other parent, but with him was completely matter-of-fact—so he tore open the packet with his teeth, unzipped his pants, freeing himself, and rolled the condom onto his erection.

  The prostitute remained bent over the bed, her bottom still bright red from where he had smacked her. Her body hitched, but she made no attempt to get up from the bed or tell him to stop.

  This was what she was being paid to do.

  He closed his eyes and imagined it was the girl who’d brought his meals that he was pushing into. His first time inside a woman. His heart longed for an emotional connection with the person, but she was simply a vessel.

  Still, he was a young man, and he couldn’t help his body’s reaction to the sensation of her tight heat enclosing his cock. His fingers dug into her hips and he pushed himself deeper, his mind swimming at the pleasure. His balls felt hot and tight as he pulled out of her and thrust again.

  She gave a little ‘oh,’ but he didn’t know if it was in pleasure or disgust. Right now, he didn’t care. His only focus was on reaching his peak, and taking this woman for what she’d come in here offering.

  He thrust and thrust again, pounding into her, his movements growing more frantic. He gave no thought to giving her pleasure—she’d been brought here for him, paid for him—and he drove toward his orgasm with a focus that was unwavering.

  His orgasm coiled lower in his stomach, drawing his balls higher in his body. He grew harder, and then the dam broke, releasing his orgasm into several spurts into the condom.

  He came to rest, bent over her back, his breath heaving. He began to soften and reached down to hold the condom in place as he pulled out of her body.

  She straightened and pulled her skirt back down. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned to the door.

  “Wait,” he said, suddenly filled with remorse. “Did I hurt you?”

  “It’s fine,” she said, staring at the floor. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

  The pleasure he’d experienced at being with her faded away. His stomach twisted, and nausea rushed over him in a wave.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it.” She grabbed her purse from the floor and hurried out of the room.

  He wished he could
figure out a way to connect emotionally without using violence. That was what all of this was about. He needed to feel something to arouse him, needed to be emotionally connected to the other person. All the smiles and kisses were acted, as fake as their hair, clothes, makeup, and probably their names. When he hit them, the pain they experienced was real. The tears washed away the makeup and allowed him to see the real woman beneath.

  Yeah, it was fucked up. But considering how he’d lived his life so far, how could he expect to be normal?

  Twelve

  Lily paced around the room, waiting for Monster to return.

  An hour passed before the door opened again, but her stomach dipped in disappointment when Tudor walked in.

  “Has he changed his mind?” she asked, suddenly nervous. If he decided she couldn’t be trusted to work on his face, what would become of her? She had no other use to him. If she couldn’t make a difference to his birthmark, would he just have her killed?

  Tudor shook his head. “Not at all. He’s waiting for you in the clinic.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  To her surprise, Tudor caught hold of her wrist. His blue eyes drilled into hers with an intensity she’d not seen before.

  “If you do anything to try to harm him,” the older man said, “I will see to it myself that you are killed. And don’t think for a moment it will be a death that will release you from whatever pain you’re in right now, because it won’t. It will be a long, drawn out death where you will lose your mind in the end, and you will never find release. Do you understand me?”

  Eyes wide, she nodded.

  He released her hand. “Good. Because Monster is not the monster he makes out to be. I’ve known him his entire life, and how he acts sometimes isn’t his fault. If you’d been raised how he was, you’d have some … issues, too.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to push her luck, but then asked, “Do you mean how he was kept in this room?”

  “Partly that, but also other things. His father …”

  Tudor stopped himself and shook his head. “I’ve already said too much. He is waiting for you.”

  She didn’t want to push him, but she felt like she’d learned something, and not just about Monster. Tudor cared for Monster. He was worried she’d hurt him, and she wondered if he meant in a purely physical way.

  She followed him out of the room and back down the hall. As before, she kept her eyes open for anything she might be able to use to get out of here or call for help, but the hallway was empty. Tudor turned through the door of the clinic and stepped back, holding the door open for her to walk through.

  Monster sat on the edge of the clinical bed, his head lowered.

  Her heart clenched. Something about him in that position made him seem so vulnerable. His hands were clasped together, his fingers twisting.

  He’s worried, she realized. What’s about to happen is worrying him.

  Realizing he was no longer alone, he lifted his head and schooled his face into a stern mask.

  “I’m ready. I hope you are.”

  She nodded, and they both glanced toward Tudor.

  “I’ll be right outside.” The older man bowed his head and backed out of the room.

  “If I’m going to attempt to remove your birthmark,” Lily said, forcing herself to be brave, “I have to ask you some questions.”

  His expression darkened. “I brought you here. I paid for you. You don’t get to make deals with me.”

  “It’s not a deal. It’s how I work.”

  He pressed his lips together. “How does asking me questions affect how you work?”

  “I need to have a feel for the person I’m treating. I need to know who they are so I can have a better connection with them.”

  “You should know that I don’t do personal, Flower.”

  “Maybe not, but I do. It allows me to read a patient better—when they’re in too much pain or discomfort. It also allows me to see them differently. If I get to know a person at a personal level, it lets me see where the laser has made a difference.”

  He smirked. “Sounds like prying to me.”

  She gave a nonchalant shrug, as though she didn’t care one way or the other. “Well, it’s up to you. You’ve already gone to so much trouble to bring me here. Do you want me to do my best work, or not?”

  He glowered at her, and then his shoulders dropped. “Very well. What do you want to ask me?”

  Lily dived in. “How long were you kept in that room?”

  He glanced away, and for a moment she thought he’d refused to answer. “My whole childhood,” he said, finally, “and the first few years of my adult life.”

  Her mind reeled at the thought. “Why?”

  “My father was ashamed of me. He worried that if any of his business associates saw me, they would view me as a way of getting to him. I guess I was his only weakness.”

  “Why didn’t he get you treated as a child? If he had, it could have made a real difference to you.”

  He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want anyone to see me—not even someone in the medical profession. There weren’t many people he trusted. He could hire someone to treat my face, but he couldn’t prevent his enemies from getting to that person and using them to harm either him or me.” A faint ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Perhaps he did care about me after all. Perhaps he was as frightened for me as he was for himself.”

  She didn’t want to burst his bubble, but she struggled to believe any man who truly loved his son would keep him in isolation his entire childhood.

  “But why didn’t you seek treatment for yourself as soon as you were old enough?”

  He shrugged. “For a long time, I didn’t know it was possible. No one ever told me there might be something that could be done to help.”

  Another burning question preyed on her mind. “So, you’ve never been outside of this property?”

  He shook his head again. “Not outside of the grounds, no.”

  “But how do you work?”

  “This modern world is perfect for someone who needs to be someone else to others.”

  She frowned. “What do you—”

  He lifted a hand sharply to stop her. “That’s enough. We need to start the treatment now.”

  “Okay,” she relented.

  Monster lay back on the bed.

  “I need to prepare your skin for the laser,” she told him. “Are you comfortable with me shaving the area?”

  He nodded. “I did my research. I knew it would be necessary. The razor and foam are over by the sink.”

  She left his side and went over to the washbasin. As he’d told her, an expensive looking, five-bladed razor sat on the side, together with some foam and a washcloth. She filled a small surgical kidney bowl with some warm water, and then carried everything she needed over to the stainless steel unit beside the bed.

  “Are you ready?”

  He nodded his answer.

  She wet his skin on the side of the birthmark with the water and washcloth, and then proceeded to gently smooth foam across one side of his face. With the area covered, Lily wiped off her hand on the cloth and picked up the razor blade. Starting at his forehead, she worked downward. She didn’t want any hairs to absorb the light and destroy the intensity of the laser.

  As she moved lower down, the razor grated against the coarser beard growth on his jaw, and she stopped every couple of strokes to wash off the blade in the water. She reached out with her other hand to steady his chin, and lifted his face slightly toward her.

  They locked eyes and her heart stuttered, something tightening low and deep in her stomach. This was such an intimate thing to do. How could he trust her not to hurt him? After everything he’d done to her, he should be terrified she’d slice his face open, and yet he seemed to understand the strange power he held her under.

  She dragged her gaze away and focused on finishing the job. When she had, she wiped down his skin
, and then applied a thin layer of gel. “This helps to focus the light of the laser,” she explained, trying to dispel the moment that had happened between them.

  Monster remained silent.

  Lily went to the professional laser. She switched on the machine, and then opened the cupboards and drawers of the stainless steel unit, searching for what she needed—gloves and protective glasses.

  “So,” she said, coming to stand beside him, “the laser works by finely focusing on the birthmark. It passes through the top layer of skin harmlessly, and then heats the blood vessels which are the cause of the dark pigmentation. The heat breaks down and cauterizes the small vessels, which then leave a lightened color.”

  He nodded, but she could see the tension in his jaw. “So will I see a difference after this session?”

  “Yes, a small one perhaps. But you’re going to need many treatments more before you see a real difference.”

  “I understand.”

  “You need a local anesthetic,” she said. “It’ll stop you from feeling the laser.”

  His lips pressed together, his nostrils flaring. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. The laser will hurt. Trust me on that.”

  “I don’t need any injections.”

  “Fine. An anesthetic cream then. Anything to take the edge off.”

  “No, I don’t want anything like that. I can handle the pain.”

  She glanced, frightened, toward the door. “Tudor will think I’m hurting you. He’s already told me what he’ll do to me if he thinks I’m hurting you.”

  Did she see a flicker of something—appreciation, fondness, affection—across his face?

  “Tudor knows I don’t have any pain medication in the house.”

  She hesitated, unsure of what to do next. The laser would feel like a hot knife being dragged across his skin. He had no idea how much it would hurt.