Empire of Sin: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

When I was young, I lived in a house surrounded by a forest where no one could enter or leave. It was far from other houses and I had to take trips through that forest with its tall trees and haunting sounds.

With time, I stopped thinking of the trees as ominous and embraced them. I embraced the forest and made it mystical, just like I embraced hiding in narrow places when Mom told me to.

I didn’t really like hiding, partially because I knew what would come after, but mostly because it suffocated me. However, I loved the forest. I loved having my white, witchlike hair in braids, wearing my pink dress dusted with glitter, and running throughout the green heaven.

I spoke to the trees and rocks because I thought I was in a fairy tale.

I thought I was like Wendy from Peter Pan and no one could find me, catch me, or hurt me.

It was my world and mine alone. I was hidden in Neverland and no one could touch me.

I was invincible.

Until I wasn’t.

Until the pirates found me and took me away, and Mom couldn’t come along.

That’s where I’ve been living for the past fifteen years, with the pirates, and tonight is the first time I’ve been able to escape.

Sure, I didn’t find my Peter Pan. Hell, he might as well be a devious version of Captain Hook. Sure, he probably won’t let me keep my fairy dust and will throw me back to where I came from, but at least I’m free.

I’m me.

Even if it’s for only one night.

And he said he’d fuck me. He decided it earlier when we were at the Black Moon bar. We’re not there now. We’re in a hotel, right beside the bar. It’s called Black Diamond.

That’s the most precious type of diamond and the men I live with deal in it, all around the globe. Not only is it profitable, but it also makes many others bow down in front of them.

I wonder if this British stranger would bow, too. If he’d dirty his Armani suit and mess up his perfect hair and lose his luxurious watch to the men in my life. Or maybe he’ll fight them.

The thought of him in a fight makes me shudder with a different type of arousal. I’ve been in a constant lusty haze since he sucked on my ears and neck and whispered in that hotter-than-sin voice of his.

Oh, and his accent. That’s the icing on the cake. It’s why I’m sure he’s in a different category than the men in my life. Their accent is different to his. Less sophisticated and more dangerous.

Though he might be dangerous, too, since he’s managed to do what none of the men I’ve lived around have even dreamed of.

He’s managed to have me.

Or he will soon.

The moment we step into the room, I take a deep breath to tell him this is a one-time thing, that like the no-names rule, it’ll be more thrilling if we never see each other again.

One fuck.

One moment.

And then it’s over.

But I don’t have the chance to utter any sound except for a gasp. Because the second the door closes, he whirls me around and his body pins me against it. His chest ripples against my spine and there’s something hard poking against the small of my back. Not something. It’s his erection, massive and ready, and holy shit, did it just twitch?

My breasts heave against the door and my breaths come fast and uncoordinated as I lay my heated cheek on the surface.

As if that’s not enough to send me into hyperawareness, he tangles his fingers in my hair and pushes the long strands to the side, baring my back and neck, then wraps his hand around my nape.

He grabs it in a steel-like hold, leaving me no room to move, and the knowledge of that? The fact that I’m completely at his mercy draws a shudder from deep within me. It’s long and consuming and leaves me in a daze.

I’m not supposed to surrender to this, right? To the knowledge that I might not be able to escape his clutches, even if I wished to.

It’s not in my good-girl genes to want this, but I can’t help the subconscious tremors rushing through me.

His teeth find my earlobe and he bites down. I’m drunk on the scent of his cologne, the discreet yet mystic quality to it, just like that forest from my childhood.

Logically, I should’ve stayed away from it and him, but I can’t.

I won’t.

I’m held hostage by his relentless grip and savage beauty. The type of beauty I didn’t know I was attracted to until tonight.

He’s still licking my earlobe, nibbling, assaulting it with his tongue, when he whispers, “Now, tell me, beautiful. Do you believe it’s a good idea to come with a complete stranger into a hotel room and not ask for his name?”

Shit.

Please don’t tell me he actually knows my family? Is this an attempt to lure me into a trap and expose me?

I put a halt to those thoughts before they occupy me. I’m just being paranoid.

That’s it. Paranoia and my inability to cope with it.

So I whisper, “I like it.”

“What do you like?”

“The no-strings-attached part.”

“I like that, too, but do you know what I like about it the most?”

“What?” My voice is too breathy and it has everything to do with his hold on me, with the way his thumb grazes my pulse point and pushes down as if emphasizing it.

“That I can do whatever I want.” His voice becomes raspy and it’s grabbing me in a chokehold, or maybe it’s his words.

Maybe it’s a combination of both.

Either way, I’m trapped in a state I’ve never experienced, and for the life of me, I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad.

All I know is that not knowing his name and deciding this is a one-time thing makes me lose all my inhibitions.

“You’ll let me, won’t you, beautiful?”

“Yeah…” I trail off because I wasn’t thinking when I agreed. Or maybe I haven’t been thinking during this whole night. I want to blame it on the alcohol, but who am I kidding? It’s not the vodka that’s flowing through my veins right now. It’s him.

Everything about him.

“Good.” He laps his tongue on the shell of my ear. “Now, tell me, are you a virgin?”

The sudden question freezes my limbs and causes my pulse to roar and throb in my veins, right beneath his hold.

“Why are you asking?” I speak so low, I’m surprised he can hear me.

“I don’t do virgins.”

“Why not?”

“They’re a hassle I don’t care for. Answer the question. Are you?”

“No,” I whisper and hope he takes it as if I’m too overwhelmed with sensations, not something else.

I think it works, because he’s pushing his knee between my thighs. “Open your legs.”

It’s nearly impossible to do so with his presence at my back, possessing me, holding me hostage, but I manage to shuffle my legs a little.

Still holding my nape with one hand, his other one reaches under my dress and I release a gasp when he cups my needy core.

“Fuck. You came ready.”

My nerve endings pulse at the arousal in his tone, at how absolutely sinful he sounds when he’s taken off guard.

And he’s right, I did come ready and he’s touching my bare pussy right now. When I made the decision to forgo panties, I thought I would have a quickie and go home. That’s still the plan.

But something tells me he won’t honor my plan. He’ll bulldoze through it, shred it apart, and feed it to me, won’t he? It’s that intensity of his that I feel with every brush of his skin on mine.

Intensity can’t be planned. Which is why I shouldn’t have chosen him. But I did, and I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted to.

And a deep part of me rejects that option anyway.

“Are you perhaps an escort?” He slides his fingers against my wet folds, making them wetter and more sensitive. “But you would’ve said that if you were, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I’m doing pro bono work tonight.”

I meant it as a jab, but he chuckles again. It’s unnerving, how charming he can get, even though he has sharp edges. It’s not supposed to be like this. Charming people don’t have the intensity of the men I’ve known my entire life.

And the combination of both is dangerous, terrifying even.

But my body doesn’t seem to care about that fact, because the moment he thrusts a finger inside me, I go on my tiptoes, stifling a moan.

“You have a mouth on you,” he rasps, driving his finger deeper.

“Yeah, and I’m not afraid to use it.” Not really, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Does that mean you’ll choke on my dick and let me come down that pretty throat?”

I choke, but it’s on my barely existent drool. I’m thinking of a comeback when he thrusts an additional finger and tightens his hold on my nape.

I go still, afraid to move or even breathe. Holy fucking shit. It’s full, so full that I think I’ll burst with the sensation. I’ve done this to myself before, but it’s never felt this…overwhelming.

It’s only two fingers.

His fingers that are as hard and sharp as the man himself. But what makes my arousal worse is how he grabs my neck as if he has every right to, how he presses on my pulse point, controlling my shaky, chopped breathing.

“Here’s a tip, I don’t like talkers,” he says casually as he pounds his fingers into me, scissoring and crisscrossing them in rhythm with my shaky inhales and exhales.

“T-too bad; you…g-got one…”

“Looks like I’m not doing it hard enough if you’re still able to speak.” He drives another finger inside and I shriek, the sound piercing the deafening silence of the hotel room.

If I thought I was full before, I’m bursting right now. And that sensation, the thought that he’s so deep inside me that I’m about to explode with him, is enough to make me orgasm.

It’s savage and merciless, just like him, like that expression in his eyes that I can’t look into, because I’m broken and can’t make eye contact.

But I don’t have to look to feel the pleasurable wave, to bask in every second of it, in every minuscule detail and every long, deep thrust of his fingers. They’re still driving into me, elongating the orgasm, making it ten times wilder.

It’s like I’ve never had an orgasm before. As if my body has been preparing for this type of orgasm, one that shatters my paper-like expectations and blows away my fairy tale dreams.

“You’re not talking now, are you, beautiful?” There’s a smirk in his voice and it should piss me off, but I’m too drunk on the pleasure to focus on that.

“I…can…”

“Hmm.” His fingers slip out of me and before I can make any sound, he grips me by the nape and wrenches me from the door. I gasp when he pushes me to my knees in front of him.

I stare at him for a second. It’s only a second, but it’s enough to see the dark lust in his hazel eyes. That’s their color, I now realize. Instead of being green like the mystic forest from my childhood, they’re a mixture of the color of the trees and earth.

I’m distracted from them, though, because he’s unzipping his pants and freeing his cock. That’s where my wild gaze is focused on right now.

His thick, veiny, and very hard cock. It’s so hard that it’s changed color, becoming a shade of purple.

A twinge of apprehension zaps through me at the size. He couldn’t just have a tiny cock, could he?

I was ready for this not to be satisfying. After all, it’s only a mission, and I didn’t let my hopes soar high. But just the sight of his dick is enough to make me tingly again. I just had an orgasm, but my body still demands more of him.

Of that.

“Do you know what will happen now, beautiful?” There’s a tightness in his sharp jaw and his hand flexes around his length as if he’s conjuring some form of patience.

I shake my head, still staring at his massive erection. How could it get this hard?

“You’re going to make that mouth useful and suck my cock.”

My thighs clench together at the image and I lick my lips and then bite my tongue to stop whatever is about to come out.

I’m a good girl and good girls don’t make embarrassing sounds.

Good girls don’t have one-night stands either, but this is an exception. My last indulgence before everything changes.

The British stranger digs his fingers into the back of my hair and directs his dick at my parted lips. “Open.”

Instead of doing as he asks, I wrap my lips around his crown and lick the precum. He groans at that, which means he likes it, so I inch up on my knees and take more of him inside, hollowing my cheeks so I don’t graze him with my teeth.

I’ve never been told how to do this, but I’m good at mixing the little knowledge I’ve gained through watching porn with the heat of the moment. That’s what I do right now, hoping to hell he doesn’t realize that I’m figuring this out as I go.

Using his hold on my hair, he pushes me down on his cock and all my doubts vanish. He’s deep-throating me, I think, and I can’t help my gag reflex when his dick hits the back of my throat.

I splutter, choking on his cock, and even with that, I’m unable to take him all in, unable to fit him into my mouth. I try, though. Instead of letting my gag reflex rule me, I relax my jaw, letting him thrust in a few times before I lick and suck.

Yes, I might not be as experienced as he is, but he’s not the only one who gets to wield power over someone else.

I want that, too.

I want to deepen those grunts of pleasure he releases each time he drives his cock deep in my throat, using my tongue for friction. I want to roughen them and turn him into a mess.

So I act on pure instinct and continue loosening my jaw the farthest possible and make that dreaded eye contact. But now, it’s not only about the meeting of gazes or exchanging vulnerabilities, it’s a challenge.

His lids drop as he slows the rhythm of rocking his hips. “Stop looking at me like that unless you want me to fuck your throat.”

I stop moving my mouth altogether and maintain eye contact.

Do it, I say with my eyes. Fuck my throat.

“Bloody hell. Who knew I would have a wild one on my hands?”

I like that. Being wild.

But I don’t get to think about it further, because now, he’s thrusting in—long, hard, and untamed. And my mouth is there for the taking, for his own pleasure, the same way he used his fingers for mine earlier.

And I let him.

Not only that, but I sink into his dominance, swallowing as much of him as possible despite the drool and the tears stinging my eyes.

It’s a good type of pain.

The type I didn’t think I needed until now. The type that smashes my walls open and leaves me bared and thirsty for more.

And his reaction? I could bask in it for days. I could listen to his low grunts and deep groans forever. The sound turns me on.

That’s when it dawns on me.

His pleasure turns me on.

My thoughts are confirmed when I feel that he’s close. I want to get him there, I want to make him come undone like he did to me.

And just when I think I’ll succeed, he pulls out.

His hard cock is in his hands and it’s glistening with precum and saliva. My saliva that I’m currently swallowing with his taste.

“Why…?” It’s a single word because I’ve apparently lost the ability to speak properly. Throat-fucking does that, I guess.

“As much as I love your little mouth, I’m going to empty myself inside your cunt, beautiful.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from moaning. His dirty talk is like a lash against my most sensitive part. Seriously, he shouldn’t be talking so filthy and ending it with “beautiful.” There needs to be a rule against that.

“Bed. Now.”

I scramble to my feet, the order twisting something inside me. Something so primal and raw, I can’t find a name for it.

Instead of focusing on that, though, I make the short trip to the bed. Before I can reach it, he grabs me by the thin strap of my dress and pulls down the zipper, then yanks the material down my arms, sending my butterfly pendent flying.

It’s a full yank, no mercy or softness whatsoever. The way his hand skims over my skin is nothing short of dominant.

He’s a man who knows what he wants and won’t hesitate to go after it.

Just like the men from my life.

He’s probably as dangerous as they are, too.

But that doesn’t matter.

No one will be able to find me once I disappear.

I’m standing naked in front of him since I didn’t wear a bra either, and it’s a vulnerable position, one I never allowed myself to be in before. I don’t let self-doubt creep in, though.

Tonight is about my body. Only that.

Without turning me around, he grabs a nipple in his fingers and twists, then squeezes, then twists again.

My toes curl in my heels—the only thing I’m wearing right now aside from my birthday suit.

Then he does something else—while still behind me, he wraps his hand around my neck, but he’s not crushing my windpipe. His fingers squeeze on the sides until I’m a bit lightheaded and completely at his command. Then he keeps teasing my nipples. They’re so tight, it hurts and sends jolts of pleasure to my pussy. Or maybe it’s his hold on my throat that causes it.

Either way, I’m so stimulated, it takes effort to suppress my voice and stop releasing the little noises.

“For a talker, you’re so quiet right now,” he muses. “Are you biting your tongue?”

I jam my teeth harder until I’m sure I’ll break the skin.

“It’s useless to hide your voice from me, beautiful.” His lips meet my ear again. “You’ll scream.”

I’m about to say no, that good girls like me don’t scream, but then he gives me another order I can’t resist. “On your knees.”

I fall.

Just like that.

There’s something about the way he issues orders, a command that needs to be obeyed, or else it’ll wreak havoc.

“I want those tits on the mattress, legs wide apart and your ass in the air.”

My cheeks go up in flames at the image, but they nearly explode when I’m in position.

I hear the ripping of something and turn sideways to find him rolling a condom onto his cock. Jeez. I never thought I would find this of all things hot, but on him, it’s so much of a turn-on that I gulp.

“Eyes ahead, beautiful.” He lowers himself behind me and I stare at the hotel’s wallpaper, my ears heating.

I’m the one who’s supposed to be against any type of eye contact, but I forgot about my own rule just now.

He grabs both of my wrists and holds them at the small of my back, then something soft wraps around them. That’s when I catch a glimpse of his tie from my peripheral vision.

For some reason, it feels as if I’m completely at his mercy now and he proves that when he digs his strong fingers into my hip and thrusts in.

I was ready for it, soaking wet even, but it feels so sudden that my whole body jolts forward.

It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would, though. There’s a sharp sting, but it quickly vanishes, probably because I’m so aroused that I’m about to burst, or maybe it’s because he’s so entangled with my body that there’s no room for me to feel the extent of the pain.

He pulls out a little, then stops.

Has he figured it out?

Of course he did. The British stranger will know I lied to him and he’ll stop and this night will end. My trip to Neverland will finish before it even starts.

But apparently, that’s not the case, because the only reason he pulls out is to thrust in again. An electric shock paralyzes my whole body and I wish there was something I could hold on to. My bound wrists forbid me from latching onto anything, and somehow that sends tingles down my spine where my wrists are bound.

He wraps my hair around his fist and my head angles up, even though my chest stays on the mattress which adds friction to my sensitive nipples. The motion is so possessive, drool forms in my mouth.

And it’s not only because of the position. It’s his mad rhythm. He thrusts deeper, harder, rougher. The pace is so crazy and out of control that only the slaps of flesh against flesh echo in the air. Oh, and the sloppy sounds of my arousal.

I should be ashamed, but I’m not, not even a little.

I’m completely at a stranger’s mercy as he fucks me like he hates me. He fucks me like he owns every part of me while still having a vendetta against me, and yet I love it.

I love it more than I should.

It should be demented—handing so much control to a man I just met, but it’s a fantasy, right?

And fantasies don’t have limits.

Fantasies don’t have shame.

Fantasies are just like me when I was a little girl and pretended to be Wendy and had the whole forest as my audience.

My thoughts are scattered when he pulls on my hair harder and then a burning sensation explodes in my neck. He’s biting it, I realize. His teeth are so deep in my skin, I can feel it right between my legs.

Drool gathers in my mouth and just when I’m about to shriek, he sucks on the skin with an intensity that leaves me gasping.

What the hell is he doing to me?

I don’t get the answer to my question, because he does it again on another mouthful of flesh, then again and again, until I’m in a constant state of bewilderment and arousal.

“Your pussy is tight as fuck, it’s strangling me, beautiful.”

“Not like my mouth?” I don’t know how I speak—it’s shaky, like my breasts against the mattress.

“Even better. And that mouth will do another thing for me now.”

“What…?”

He slaps my ass and pulls on my hair. “Scream.”

My shriek echoes in the air. I can’t even bite my tongue, because if I do, I’ll just cut it off.

The wild orgasm hits me like a hurricane and I’m helpless in its hold.

In his hold.

So I scream, and for the first time tonight, I wish I knew his name because I want to scream it right now, I want him to hear how much he corrupted a good girl.

How much he made a good girl go bad.

A deep grunt echoes in the air as he fucks me even harder and faster, his ferocious pace intensifying by the second. I’m glad he’s holding me in place or I would’ve collapsed to the side a long time ago.

Then he stills inside me and I feel warmth through the condom.

That’s the last thing I sense as a smile grazes my lips and my eyes droop.

I’m not supposed to sleep. I should leave, but my mind has another idea and I can’t open my eyes.

“Are you okay?” His strong voice barges through my haze.

“Yeah, I just need to sleep a little. Give me five.”

There’s a pause, a shuffle of his body behind mine before he unties my wrists.

A soft moan leaves me, but it’s interrupted when I hear his demanding voice near my ear. “What’s your name?”

Jane is my fake name, so I say that, or I try to as I whisper, “Anastasia.”

When I wake up, I’m on a bed and I’m not alone.

Oh, God.

Please tell me I didn’t stay.

I stare to the side and blink rapidly when I see the man from last night sprawled on the bed, the sheet barely covering his cock.

He’s naked. All of him.

I didn’t see him naked when we had sex.

No, not sex.

That was definitely fucking. Harsh, raw, and primitive fucking.

My core still tingles in remembrance. It feels tender, too, just like my neck that’s bruised from all the marks he left behind, but I don’t focus on that. My attention is stolen by something far more important.

Tattoos.

He has a lot of them.

On his upper shoulder and bicep, there’s a full, angry-looking samurai as if he’s about to go to battle. The details on the warrior’s face are striking, haunting even.

And I can’t stop staring at him, at the darkened look in his eyes, as if he, too, doesn’t like eye contact.

For some reason, I didn’t think someone as put-together as this British stranger would have tattoos, but seeing that he does adds even more mystery to him.

Businessmen don’t usually have tattoos—not the ones I know, anyway. Unless his background is different from what I’ve been picturing.

I shake my head.

I really, really shouldn’t be curious about him. It was a one-time thing and it’s now over.

The clock on the wall ticks half past three in the morning. I can drive back before sunrise and sneak back into my room.

Slowly, I shift from under the covers and wince. I’m so sore, it hurts to budge an inch.

He must’ve cleaned me since there’s nothing between my thighs. Not even my own stickiness. He covered me, too, which is a kind gesture I wouldn’t have expected from this stranger. He seemed like the “fuck them then leave them” type of man.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

I carefully put on my torn dress, grimacing every few seconds when my core throbs. It takes me some time to work around the ruined dress.

The brute stranger must’ve ripped it when he was removing it.

It’s not only a slight rip. There’s a long gash on the side that extends to my hipbone. I can’t possibly walk outside like this.

So I grab his jacket and put it on. It swallows me and the dress, but it’s better than nothing. His scent fills my nostrils and I try not to think of that or what happened a few hours ago.

It’ll just make this complicated.

And I don’t need complicated.

“I’m sure you have many of these, so you won’t mind if I take it,” I whisper. “If you do mind, you shouldn’t have ripped my only red dress.”

He doesn’t even stir and I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I shouldn’t be.

I’m subconsciously reaching for him—or, my hand is. I just want to touch his hair once, see if it’s as soft as it looks.

He shifts and I quickly retract my hand.

What the hell was I thinking?

I can’t touch him. I have to completely erase him from my memories.

Not only for my own good, but also for his.

If my family finds out about what we’ve done, they’ll kill him. No questions asked.

It’s why I stayed a virgin until twenty.

But I’m not anymore.

And soon, I’ll be free.

“Thank you for crossing this off my list,” I murmur. “I hope we never meet again.”

And with that, I grab my heels and silently step out of the room.