And I will remember the way she fought, her skin flushed with shame while her body dragged us both deeper into the dark.
This is the truth.
This is what I’m built for.
Not tenderness. Not love.
Ruin.
I grab the edge of her pastel quilt and drag it closer, wiping it over her wet, bloodstained pussy.
Ruining the fabric, just like I ruined her.
“You’re damaged goods now, sweet girl. Broken, branded, fuckingmine.”
I slide my free hand up her limp torso to her throat, wrapping fingers around the delicate column. Not crushing, but just enough pressure to feel her pulse stutter and flutter weakly against my palm while her body arches in a helpless spasm.
She’s so small, so breakable, that faint choke drawing a mewled gasp from her lips, her shivers turning frantic as if begging for air and more all at once.
I lean over her, caging her in, unable to move, unwilling to. It’s enough for now just to feel her clutch me as though her body itself refuses to let me go.
Not obedience. Not submission.
Succumbing.
And it’s enough, for now.
“My sweet, perfect girl,” I rasp against her lips before kissing her as brutally as I just fucked her.
Her body lies limp beneath me, but her lips move against mine—desperate, urgent…eager.
I smile as she kisses me back, my cock already hardening again inside her bleeding hole.
I don’t have a choice but to fuck her again.
…Neither does she.
Chapter 34
Kai
I’ve scrubbed my skin raw, but I still feel filthy.
The bathroom mirror shows a horror movie version of myself—bloodshot eyes, hair dripping wet from my third shower since I woke up this morning, skin red and irritated from scalding water and the rough cotton washcloth.
It’s been days since that video call with Rooke, but I’m subjected to repeat after repeat every fucking minute I’m awake. Every time I close my eyes, I see his abs tightening. Hear his tortured moan. Feel the shameful echo of a pleasure I’m not supposed to crave.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist against the tile, biting down on my lip at the sharp pain. Better than the other sensations crawling through me, trying to get a rise out of me.
I woke up an hour ago with no idea when I’d passed out. First thing I did was come in here and puke out my guts.
Fuck all to do with the booze and weed I consumed again last night. It’s quickly become a wind down routine that ends with me passed out—anything to stop another replay.
Everything to do with the smell of cum that had been wafting off my body as I lay there, miserable and hungover. I know it’s mine—canonlybe mine—but it smelled like Rooke. As if he snuck in through my window in the early hours of the morning like motherfucking Nosferatu and shot his load all over me as I slept.
Every morning I wake up with cum in my boxers from a wet dream I don’t remember.
And every morning it smells like Rooke.
