Redeeming Rhys (17 page)

Wren was crying from her father’s most recent outburst. They watched as he pushed Julianne down the flight of cellar stairs. Rhys stood at the top and watched his mother fall, bouncing from step to step as she shrieked out in discomfort. He didn’t try to help her. He didn’t care to intervene. When he witnessed his mother being humiliated by a man that she claimed to love, he couldn’t help but feel pride. He was glad that she was hurt and feeling pain. Too many times over the course of those eight years since they had been married did she sit back and sip on her church-smelling wine. A mother is supposed to protect her children. Instead, she watched as he was ostracized and treated like the plague. Rhys was never wanted, never mind the fact of him ever being loved. He wanted it, but he couldn’t stand to let himself think that he needed it. He was a boy with a plan. He would get back at them and reveal the truth, even if it left many people behind. He would point and laugh in their dishonor as heaven shunned them while hell accepted them.

“You have secrets, Wren. I know your secrets, yet I don’t tell. Do you wonder why I don’t tell anyone your secrets?” Rhys whispered, crouching down before Wren, who was still cowered in the corner, recovering from the grisly sight her father had made everyone witness to.

Wren cried, finally bringing her head up from between her legs. Her cheeks were mottled with redness and wet with tears. Her black hair was rummaged in a curly mess, and her white nightgown clung to her evolving body faultlessly. Rhys looked down at her chest, admiring the mounds of her developing breasts as wind from the open window came in, dancing over her chest and making her nipples rise to life. Her innocence was still captivating and enamoring. Rhys took a second to admire it. He didn’t comprehend why it made him hungry for something more.

“You didn’t even try to help her,” Wren cried, staring up at Rhys, bewildered at his vacancy and lack of connection as he watched his mother get beat by a man full of hatred and disdain.

“Neither did you. Now get up Wren. It’s time for a bedtime story.”

Wren’s eyes grew wide as she remembered back to a day where everything changed.

Not all angels are God’s favorite, and they certainly aren’t as blameless as they look.

The demon and angel danced until the fire burned them both.

RHYS SAT THERE,
staring at Wren’s naked body sprawled across her bed. He was displeased to see that she had shaved her private parts. She would have to be punished greatly for that. She belonged to him, and it was time she understood what that meant.

He couldn’t find any rope in her home, so he settled on heavy duty duct tape to secure her wrists above her body to the headboard. Each leg was taped at the ankle to the bottom of the footboard as her freshly shaven pussy with a faint trail of hair above her pubic bone, stared at him in the face, begging to be eaten. He restrained himself, knowing he had to have her awake and aware before he took her like he had been dreaming of for the past ten years. He worried for a few minutes as she failed to awake from her unconscious stupor, thinking that, perhaps, he could have caused a severe concussion or worse, a brain bleed.

Finally, she stared to rouse, instinctively attempting to pull her arms down to cover her body. But she couldn’t. They belonged to Rhys. He let himself smile, pulling the tape from his back pocket when he saw Wren’s mouth open for a scream. He leapt quickly on the bed, straddling her naked body, and placed his hand over her mouth, ripping the tape free with his other hand and teeth. He placed the tape over her mouth to ensure she couldn’t speak. It wasn’t the time. She would need a bit to calm down and come to the realization that her control was lost. She never had it. He always did.

Rhys stepped off the bed and decided he couldn’t help himself, dipping between her legs to have a whiff of the most delicious thing he could remember tasting. He was withholding the pleasure he so much wanted because he knew that he needed to push her just a little further, but for that, he needed her pretty little words. First, she would need to calm down. Second, he would need to break her down to nothing but the girl she used to be, huddled in their bedroom holding onto the belief of prayer, when the fact of it all was this: Rhys was the only constant in her life. Though bloody and broken, he felt something for her that no one else ever would. She thought he was vile and hellacious. She knew he would be welcomed by the fiends he often tangoed with, never did she think it would be this bad.

Rhys let his nose meet the pink flesh of her pussy lips, trimmed neatly with a small amount of hair covering her pubic bone. He breathed in sharply again through his nose, letting the earthy smell mixed with soap tickle his nares. His heart and dick were swelling to their limits, but anger was threatening to invade it all and play. Rhys couldn’t control that part of him. He needed a sweet release. He needed the love he begged for years ago, but even that kind of love was lost. He would have to make her see what they had, what they still had, before it was too late.

He laid his monstrous face on her naked leg, memorizing her folds as they painted the perfect erotic memory in his mind, burning it with its immaculateness. He climbed up her curves, knowing that if he didn’t allow himself to revel in her beauty, the meanness that befriended him would come around and steal that moment. He didn’t want that. His dangerous hands danced over her hips and across her belly, then up to her round breasts. It took every ounce of will power Rhys had (which he was certain he had none up until that point) not to bend down and suckle on it until it was red and ripe with desire. Instead, his hands learned the landscape of her body, softly caressing it with his roughened fingers.

Whispered tears continued to leave Wren’s eyes. She occasionally pulled on her ankles and wrists, soon she would come to terms with the fact that she was at his mercy. In her mind, at that moment, she was grateful he was not being rough or malicious. His hands were doting on her in ways that she had previously prayed for.

But that wasn’t exactly what she wished for. She wanted someone normal to love and adore her. It wasn’t supposed to end like that for her. Wren was sure she would end up with someone like Constantine, someone dedicated to decency. Instead, she was taped up to her bed getting groped by a man capable of terrible things. Things that she saw with her own two eyes.

Rhys’ black, painted skeleton face skulked up until it was inches before Wren’s. He bent his lips down to the barrier of tape before her lips, gently pushing them down and tangling his hands in her hair. Wren couldn’t understand why she wanted that tape off her lips. It wasn’t right. He was bad. She would forever be scarred by the things that had happened, but all she could think in that second was that fucking tape was preventing her from feeling his full, pink mouth.

No. She couldn’t feel that way. She wouldn’t allow it. She had to stay strong. Wren knew she was already fucked up from her past, often validating the way Rhys behaved one moment, only to curse him in her mind the next. It was a back and forth yo-yo of emotions. She couldn’t ever decide how to feel. She could only come up with one conclusion.

She was fucked up and she couldn’t ever be changed like those that she helped. She merely pretended for normalcy.

“If I take this tape off, will you be a good girl?” Rhys questioned, drying the tears that with his thumbs that were settling on her face.

Wren was grateful, because the chill from her small window unit air-conditioner was starting to make her ice-cold. Rhys smiled, knowing that the kindness he was bestowing wouldn’t last. It was only fair to let her enjoy it for as long as he had it.

He yanked the tape off her lips with no clemency, taking some of the skin off her lips in the process. Wren sobbed, trying once more to bring her hands to her face. Again, it was useless, yet instinctive. Rhys admired the seeping red liquid that came from her lips and immediately bent down to them to suck, taste, and feed from the woman that held the only remedy for his hunger.

Wren wanted so badly to resist him, yet the pain was soothed, both physically and emotionally, by a man that ruined her. How could that be possible? She opened her bleeding lips for him, allowing Rhys’ tongue to sweep against hers. She urged herself forward for more, but Rhys pulled away, which confused her greatly. The look in his eyes was one of a frenzied animal that was wild with rage.

His lips curled over his teeth. Wren craved to open her lips completely and let her lungs expand a blood-curdling scream, but just like years ago, she had fallen under his spell. Those blue eyes of his pierced through her, making her breathless with no choice but to submit. His hands may not have been around her throat, but they were wrapped around her heart and growing inside of her soul.

Rhys bent down to her mouth, which trembled greatly due to her insurmountable fear, and his pink tongue darted out of his mouth to lick her bleeding lips again. Wren felt a throb between her naked thighs and she hated herself. She was his. That would never change. Even when she was with another man, the incident with Constantine, she craved to be taken like Rhys had taken her. She was programmed differently. She was birthed to be a sinner, disguised as a sweet little angel.

Wren was far from innocent, and Rhys couldn’t wait until that moment was understood.

“Why is your cunt shaved, Wren?” he paused, his fingertips brushing along her oversensitive skin on her stomach. She arched into his touch. That angered Rhys. He wanted her to fight. He wanted to play the game he had become a master at. He needed to get her to a place where she saw nothing else in the world as mattering besides him. Rhys had to shove her into the darkest of corners while still keeping her alive until she broke down into nothing besides the body of who she once was.

Only then would she be his without worry of fleeing.

The bad boy was ready to play. As much as he wanted to stick his hard cock inside of her tight pussy, he had to restrain himself and think about all the glorious pain he would put her through. Discomfort is a beautiful thing if used right. It’s a tool and also something that you can hold onto to remember moments in your life.

That was exactly what Rhys wanted to accomplish. His closed fist rose high above his head and Wren tried, and failed miserably, to shy away to the side of the bed. She kept pulling at her restrained wrists, so much so that they began to bleed. Rhys’ nostrils were assaulted with the metallic-like smell that wafted heavily through the air. It was harmonious, twirling over his taste buds in the most appealing way. He let his lips turn up in a grin, one of intent and cruelty. Oh, sweet little Wren didn’t know what she was in for. He wouldn’t take it easy on her, as much as he wanted to cuddle her, fuck her, and beat her, he had to play his cards right. He had to induce aching to make her realize her place.

He had to break her and make her his.

Wren stayed mute, like his little puppet that was drunk on the idea of salvation. In a world where prayer was the center of your universe, salvation was never attainable. Prayer was a façade and made people turn into functioning lunatics, thinking that the bad can be reverted to good.

Rhys was proof that prayer did not work. But, however unconventional, he would beat the words out of her and gain the redemption that he craved. He wasn’t so sure how important it was to him any longer. As he stared into her crying eyes, mesmerized by the tears that were falling, he was beginning to think that he could have her forever.

“P-P-Pllleaassseeee!” Wren cried out loudly.

Rhys’s contemplations were lost down a tunnel of indignation, forgotten by the rage that was on the forefront of his mind. He was consumed with insanity. The need to make her understand that he was the one that owned her. That loved her. He did love her, but he wouldn’t even let himself admit that. He would only understand that she was as close to love as he would get.

He clung onto the idea of innocence and her lack of judgement. It, again, went back to the day by the swing-set. He would make her say it. The words. He needed them and his patience was growing thinner than melting ice.

His closed fist made its way down to her pretty ivory skin. Her head whipped itself to the side, splitting her skin apart and making a large open gash. Rhys’ favorite color started a steady torrent down her cheek, tempting his senses once more. He wanted so badly to drink her up, but he didn’t trust himself. He knew that if he put his mouth to her cheek to suckle on her dripping wound, he would drink the life out of her, and perhaps, have a taste of her flesh. Rhys was convinced he would enjoy that a little too much. Images flashed before his mind of his teeth gripping down with utter perfection onto her skin, the softness he would feel between his bite, and the taste. He knew she would taste supreme to anything on the planet. It made his cock throb, but it wasn’t time to claim her yet. Patience, yet again, was not his greatest virtue, and with that revelation, he became incensed further. He slapped her across the face and was surprised to hear her yelp out in pain.