We glare down at the sleeping figures in the bed.
Just kill him and be done with it.
No. Val would never forgive us.
He would. He'd find someone else to love.
I don’t think that’s how it works.
We bite our tongue to stop from laughing out loud.
As if we know anything about love.
We have a good point.
Besides,we coax ourselves,is it really Val that we’re concerned might not forgive us for murdering Roman?
Our eyes narrow in the darkness.
No, it’s not.
So what the fuck are we still doing in this room, pussy? This isn’t why we came here tonight.
No, you're right. It's not.
Then let’s get to it.
Our footsteps are silent as we make our way out of the bedroom that Roman shares with our brother. Quietly, we cross the length of the massive Nikitin mansion, until we get to the wing that housesherroom.
The actual reason we're here tonight.
She sleeps in a princess bed.
A pink, four-poster, curtain-draped princess bed.
Because of course she does.
She doesn’t stir as we come to a stop right next to it and quietly pull back the gauzy pink curtains. Moonlight illuminates her gentle, innocent face—the delicate brow, the soft, full lips, the button nose and the rosy cheeks.
We should decorate it with our cum like a fucking Jackson Pollock.
We grit our teeth, groaning as our cock thickens, lurid images of pumping hot cum all over her sleeping face making our balls tighten.
Somehow, we restrain ourselves.
Pussy.
Shut up.
Make us, pussy.
We ignore that part of ourselves—or rather, momentarilyforgetabout that part of ourselves—as we look down at her sleeping form.
She’s beautiful. Gorgeous, really, in such an innocent, dainty, princess way.
A work of art.
So let the world know what a masterpiece she is by painting that pretty face like a motherfucking Pollock, you cunt.
