Chapter 105 The Real Julian Rossi
The Twin Arrows Casino Resort was a monument to artificiality, a beacon of neon and forced luxury carved into the high desert landscape. Amidst the plush carpet and the panoramic view of the pine forests, she didn’t have to face Cody’s accusing eyes or Ryder’s stoic disappointment. She was alone with Julian, the architect of her current nightmare.
She popped the cork on the champagne bottle the moment the room service cart was wheeled into the room. The sweet, bubbling effervescence hit the back of her throat, a cold shock that did little to melt the ice forming in her veins. She poured a second glass, then a third, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window.
Julian watched her from the center of the room, his jacket discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He looked at her not as a partner, but as a prize he had already won. His smile was slow, predatory, devoid of warmth.
"Nervous about something?" he asked, his voice a low purr that made the hair on her arms stand up.
"Just processing," she murmured, turning to face him. She held the champagne flute like a shield. "It’s been a long day."
"It’s been a necessary day," he corrected, walking toward her. He moved with that predatory grace she once found intoxicating but now found terrifying. "You did well today. You provided the blueprint."
"I just answered questions," she said, her voice tighter than she intended.
"You helped provide leverage." He stopped inches from her, his scent, expensive cologne, and something sharper, metallic, enveloping her. He took the glass from her hand and set it down on the side table. "And now, it’s time to collect."
Before she could react, his hand was in her hair, gripping the sleek blonde bob at the roots. He forced her down. The movement was sudden, brutal, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her knees hit the plush carpet with a jarring thud.
"Julian, " she gasped, looking up at him.
"Shh," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Don't talk. Just serve."
He unzipped his tailored slacks with his free hand, releasing his erection. He was harsh and aggressive. Without preamble, he forced himself into her mouth. Sierra gagged instinctively, her hands flying up to grip his thighs, not to pull him closer, but to push him away.
He ignored her resistance. With a low, guttural laugh of pure control, he thrust deep, holding the back of her head firmly, forcing himself down her throat. Her eyes watered, her throat constricted, and she fought for air. He pumped into her mouth with a rhythm that was punishing, not pleasurable, his fingers tightening in her hair with every thrust.
"That's it," he groaned, looking down at her, his face twisted in a mask of dominance. "Take it. Show me how obedient you are."
She gagged again, a reflex she couldn't suppress, tears streaming down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. He seemed to enjoy the sight of her distress, the wetness on her face, the helplessness of her position. There was no tenderness, no connection, only the raw, mechanical exertion of his power over her. He treated her body as a vessel for his gratification, using her until he was satisfied, pulling back only to watch her gasp for breath, her chest heaving.
When he finally stepped back, glaring at her as she trembled and gasped on her knees.
"On your feet," he commanded.
Sierra’s legs felt like lead. She pushed herself up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her heart hammering against her ribs. She needed to keep playing the part. She couldn't let him see the hatred burning in her gut; if he sensed her defiance, he would destroy her, her brother, the ranch, and the firm without a second thought. She forced her face into a neutral mask, though her blue eyes were wide with suppressed fear.
"Good girl," Julian murmured. He guided her to the sofa, a heavy, modern piece of furniture. He spun her around and pushed her forward, bending her over the arm of the sofa. The fabric was cool against her flushed cheek.
"I’ve always loved this side of you," he commented casually, running a hand over the curve of her backside before gripping her hips with bruising force and ripping her lace thong down to her knees.
She braced herself, but nothing prepared her for the violence of his entry. He didn't wait, didn't prepare her. He drove into her from behind in one hard, deep thrust. Sierra screamed, a sound muffled by the cushions, her fingers clawing at the upholstery.
"Please," she whimpered, the pain sharp and sudden.
"Please what?" he asked, his voice bored as he thrust again, slamming his hips against hers. "Please stop? I don't think so."
He began to ram into her, a relentless cadence of force and friction. With every thrust, his hand came down hard on her behind, a sharp crack that echoed in the quiet room. He was marking her, branding her. She felt the skin sting and swell, welts rising under his assault. She screamed again, a raw sound of agony, but her pain only seemed to fuel him. He laughed.
"You belong to me, Sierra," he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of bruising. "Remember that."
He took her with a savagery that stripped away the last illusions of their relationship. When he finally pulled out, she thought it was over, that she could crawl away and hide in the shower. But she was wrong.
She felt the blunt, unyielding pressure against her backside. Her mind screamed a warning, but her body was frozen in terror.
"No," she gasped, trying to twist away. "Julian, no!"
"Shh," he hushed her again, his voice chillingly calm. "It’s just another part of you. And it’s mine."
He pushed forward, and the pain was immediate and blinding. She had never experienced anal sex; the intrusion was violent, tearing. She screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror, and fought him. She thrashed against the sofa, her legs kicking, her hands pushing against the cushions to gain leverage.
But Julian was too strong. He pinned her down with one hand on her back, his hips crushing against her, forcing himself deeper into the tight, resistant muscle. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot searing that made her vision swim. It wasn’t sex; it was rape, a violation designed to break her spirit.
"Fight if you want. It won't change a thing."
He took her with brutal efficiency, using her until his own pleasure peaked. When he finally reached his climax, he didn't stay inside her. He pulled out abruptly, and she felt the hot, wet release spatter across her lower back and the welts on her buttocks.
He didn't offer a towel or a kind word. He simply pushed her face roughly into the sofa and left her there. She heard the casual stride of his footsteps as he walked toward the bathroom. The shower hissed to life, the sound indifferent to her suffering.
Sierra lay there, face down, her body trembling uncontrollably. The physical pain was excruciating, but the humiliation and the violation burned deeper. She sobbed into the fabric, the sound jagged and broken. She felt filthy, used, and more alone than she had ever felt in her life.
The shower stopped. A few minutes passed. Then, the sound of the bathroom door opening.
Sierra didn't move. She couldn't. She heard him walking back into the room, the sound of his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He stopped beside the sofa, looming over her broken form.
"That was a little lesson in control," Julian said, his voice was cold, businesslike. "The control is mine. You will follow my lead. Do as I say. Understood?"
Sierra squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the tsunami of hatred rising in her chest. She knew what she had to do to survive. She knew what the Scotsman had warned her about.
She nodded, her forehead pressing into the cushion.
"Good." Julian’s voice softened slightly, but only because he believed he had won. "I hope we won’t have to have this discussion again."
He walked away from her, moving toward the suite door. She heard the click of the handle.
"You will be on my jet in the morning when it leaves," he said, his back to her as he opened the door to the hallway. "Your time in Arizona is up."
He stepped through the door without looking back. It clicked shut, leaving her alone in the silence of the suite.