Taken

prologue

HE'D TAKEN HER INNOCENCE FIRST.

It'd been a Monday morning, the streets damp with the remnants of rain and lingering humidity, the windows fogged with thick, muggy air. Small, minuscule streams of water float down the street in front of Aurelia Beaumont's apartment building, and the light curtain of rain hovering above the ground, trickling into the gutters, shields her usual view of London's gorgeous city views.

Aurelia had been curled up on the white couch, a pink fleece blanket draped across her tanned legs and a worn book held in her hands, when the sound of a harsh rapping of knuckles against her front door draws her attention away from the plethora of pages in front of her.

Sighing, she stands and makes her way to the foyer in her penthouse, her face breaking into a small smile at the sight of her boyfriend, Zachary Rein, his blonde hair tousled and slicked back, his dark, sapphire blue eyes all too familiar to her heart. Pulling open the door, she inhales deeply as she's tugged into his arms, the deep, familiar scent of cedar stinging her nose. Her eyebrows furrow slightly when he stiffens at her touch.

"Zach," she murmurs. "What—"

He shakes his head quickly before his lips meet hers in a frenzied, panicked motion, and if it weren't for the muscled arms he'd wrapped tightly around her waist, she would've collapsed to the ground in surprise. His lips mold against hers, almost flawlessly, as his teeth graze her bottom lip harshly.

"Zach," she whispers when he pulls away, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Lia," he says, his voice rough. "I need you. Please, you have to let me," he whispers, the faint scent of lilies and wine caressing her cheeks.

Her eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar harshness of his fingers against her wrist as she pulls away slightly, her lungs captivated, almost as if she's forgotten to intake air. Exhaling, she brushes the fallen strands of her dark hair behind her ear, whispering, "Let you?"

"It's been too long, Lia, and I—" Zachary pushes his fingers through his tangled locks of blonde hair, muttering to himself. "It's been a long day," he murmurs. "I need you. More than anything," he begs quietly.

She nods slowly, taking in a breath of air that doesn't quite make it past her lungs and instead lingers, causing her to swallow thickly. "We can—we can watch a movie or something," she says quietly, her dark, chocolate-molten eyes searching his.

He shakes his head, his eyes dark with intent. "I'd rather do this," he whispers, then proceeds to gently push her back until she's lying flat on the white couch, her hands pinned above her head. He lowers his mouth to hers, and she releases a soft gasp.

"Zach, what are you doing?" she manages, tipping her head slightly as his mouth travels down her neck, his teeth grazing her soft skin. "Zach," she whispers as he begins to tug her thin T-shirt above her head, her heartbeat increasing in rapid beats. She turns her head, her heart frozen in an all too quick pace in her chest. She'd heard stories, reminisces, from her friends, about moments exactly like this—except, although she hates to admit it, she isn't ready for any of it. She gently places a hand against his chest, pushing him back slightly until his dark eyes meet hers. "No," she murmurs. "Stop."

He raises an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Now?" he asks, although his tone is anything but playful.

She swallows, offering a brief nod, then attempts to sit up, only to be slammed down onto the couch again, her eyes wide as Zachary's lips hover over the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder.

"Do you truly want me to stop, Lia?" he mumbles against her skin, his teeth pulling at her flesh as the scent of alcohol slams through her senses, reminding her that although this is the man she would've happily sworn her life to, there is always a sense of consciousness within the human mind, no matter how small.

She knows, truly, that if this moment hadn't been planned out in his head, pondered over while they were curled up on the couch watching movies together, or laughing at one another's milk mustaches after breakfast, it wouldn't have been happening at all.

Zachary murmurs a few unheard words as his hands roam over her body, scouring what was originally meant to be his, but now is hovering on a dangerous line of debate. He kisses her once more, his lips molding into hers in what would have been a sweet way, if it weren't for the harsh grazing of teeth against her bottom lip—the kind of eagerness she'd never seen him have.

Her heart fills with a dark piece of pain, the same kind of pain she'd felt when her mother had abandoned both her father and herself, left for an older businessman in America, left her only son and daughter behind. She releases a shaky breath as Zachary's lips continue to travel down her body, pausing just before the fabric of her bra. "Zach," she says, her voice filled with a panic she can only decipher as fear. She swallows, and in that single moment in time, as he unclasps her bra and drags a calloused hand over her overheated skin, her trust in him completely fractures—and not in a slow, eroding decay, for her trust in him completely explodes.

"How pretty." Zachary chuckles as his mouth grazes her skin, barely touching her, and yet she can't help the wave of repulsion that inflames her body.

"Zach, stop," she says firmly. She raises her palm in a clear intent to push him away, and she lets out a soft, almost silent whimper when he pins her right hand above her head, her fingers left to tangle in the strands of her hair splayed on the couch. "Stop it," she demands, her voice fading in a weak attempt of protest. She swallows again, her throat tightening with the threat of tears. "Why are you doing this?" she whispers.

He simply chuckles. "I find your body beautiful, Lia." His fingers slowly slide into the waistband of her cotton shorts, probing, as his tongue flicks at the soft, delicate skin of her neck.

Her heart crumbles into pieces at the wicked, wild intent in his eyes, and it's then, when she begins to feel her body weaken and her protests quiet, that she allows him to take control—a decision she plans to regret for the rest of her life.

And then she watches him take, and take, and take.

author's note: 

for those of you who have experienced things like this, I am truly sorry, for there is no excuse and no circumstance that should allow this behavior. I hope this book helps you along the journey of recovery, and I'm sending love to each and every one of you.