Page 5 of Entrapped
He began to move, his pace steady and controlled, his hands gripping my hips as he thrust into me. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on my breathing, trying to block out the sensation, the humiliation. This was my life now, my reality. And there was no escape.
Chapter 3
I was utterly exhausted by the time we boarded Colson’s private plane. The wedding had been a blur of forced smiles and carefully curated moments, but it had been what followed that drained me the most.
During the ceremony, while I was pledging vows I didn't mean, the staff had packed all my belongings and moved them into Colson’s room. That night, my new husband made sure that once was not enough for him, leaving me sore and shaken. His size was something I would need time to get used to, both physically and emotionally.
I sank into the plush leather seat, trying to ignore the lingering ache between my legs. The plane’s interior was breathtaking—elegant, luxurious, a world far removed from anything I’d ever known.
Two attendants stood by, ready to cater to our every whim. I could feel their eyes on us, on me, as if they were assessing how well I fit into this world. I closed my eyes, hoping to snatch a few moments of sleep, desperate to escape the reality of my situation, even if only in my dreams.
Colson’s voice cut through my thoughts. “If you’re tired, you can use the bedroom. In fact, I’d prefer it,” he said, his tone laced with something that made my skin crawl. His eyes roved over me, and he licked his lips in a way that was anything but subtle.
“I’m comfortable here,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady, soft enough that it didn’t provoke him but firm enough to express my reluctance.
His grip tightened around my hand as the plane taxied down the runway. The pressure of his touch was both possessive and invasive, reminding me that I was no longer my own person. Once we were in the air, he unbuckled my seatbelt with a swift, decisive motion and scooped me into his arms.
“Colson, the bedroom is not necessary,” I protested, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to keep calm.
He pressed a kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering in a way that felt more like a claim than an act of affection. “I want you there,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Of course you do, I thought bitterly. The better to fuck me.
He carried me down the narrow aisle, the attendants’ eyes discreetly following our every move. I felt like a prize he was parading around, a possession he had every intention of enjoying to the fullest. When we reached the bedroom, he laid me gently on the bed, as if the softness of his actions could somehow erase the underlying intent.
Colson removed his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair. His fingers moved to loosen his tie, and he began to undress me as well, starting with my heels. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, too exhausted to resist but too tenseto relax. He took off his shoes and stretched out next to me, his body warm and solid against mine.
He wasted no time, his mouth finding mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His hands roamed over my body with a hunger that both frightened and thrilled me. I could feel the power he held in his touch, the dominance that made it clear this was not a partnership—it was ownership.
I kissed him back, my movements automatic, driven more by the need to survive this moment than by any real desire. My mind raced, searching for ways to keep myself detached, to protect whatever was left of me that Colson hadn’t yet claimed. But with each kiss, each caress, I felt those walls crumbling, leaving me vulnerable to the man who now had the power to destroy me completely.
As his hands continued their exploration, I braced myself for what was to come. This was the choice I had made, the price I had agreed to pay. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
“Relax,” he whispered against my lips, as if he could sense my fear. His voice was soothing, but it only served to heighten my anxiety.
But how could I relax when I knew exactly what he wanted, what he expected? The bed beneath me felt like a trap, and I was the prey caught in its snare. There was no escape, no turning back. All I could do was endure and hope that, somehow, I would survive with a piece of myself still intact.
“Colson, I’m sore,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice as his hand slipped into my panties.
He paused, but only for a moment. “I can soothe it for you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt.
Last night’s memories flashed through my mind—blood smeared across his cock and trimmed pubic hair, the sharp sting of pain each time he entered me, and the way I bit my lips raw to keep from crying out. He hadn’t stopped after the first time, nor the second. By the third, my body was a battlefield of bruised tenderness. I didn’t want him down there again. I needed time to heal, to process, to breathe.
“Please, let me rest,” I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper, each word laced with exhaustion.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he removed his tie with deliberate slowness, followed by his shirt, as if he hadn’t heard a word I said. My heart sank as he peeled my panties off, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. He discarded the small scrap of lace onto the growing pile of clothing on the chair, a casual gesture that felt like the final stripping away of my defenses.
He nudged my legs open, and I obeyed, knowing resistance would only lead to more pain, more arguments. His tongue began its work, a gentle, methodical cleansing that made me shiver. The soreness began to fade under his skilled ministrations, but the emotional wounds remained, raw and gaping.
As he sucked my clit, I arched my back involuntarily, my body betraying the turmoil inside me. I had shared an orgasm with him the night before, but it had been more about survival than pleasure. The experience could have been gentler, more tender, but Colson wasn’t interested in tenderness. He spread me wider,his hands firm on my thighs, and I prayed silently that he wouldn’t push a finger inside me. I couldn’t bear that right now.
“I love how good you taste, Joey,” he said, his voice dark and possessive, his breath hot against my skin.
What was I supposed to say to that? I bit my lip, remaining silent as his tongue continued its relentless journey from my opening to my clit. His hands found my breasts, kneading them as he worked, his dark head still buried between my legs.
“Colson,” I cried out as the tension within me snapped, sending me spiraling into an orgasm that left me breathless and trembling. My body betrayed me again, succumbing to the pleasure even as my mind recoiled.
He licked me through the waves of my orgasm, his tongue never slowing until I lay there, boneless and sated, a marionette with its strings cut. When he finally sat up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
