Page 76 of Safe Word

Like she had done it before.

I didn’t realise I was breathing hard until the mirror fogged slightly in front of me. My hands curled into fists again.

He touched her like she was his.

I watched him lift her. His fingers sunk into her thighs, one hand gripped her neck like he had earned the fucking right.

That was mine!

My mouth twitched. Something behind my ribs uncoiled, like wire surrendering to pressure.

They drew closer, words swallowed by the static hiss of the camera. Her lips trembled, she whimpered, begged. He kept shaking his head, the refusal only making her arch harder. Then—

She fucking squeezed her thighs, dragging him in like a penitent clawing at the altar.

The instant his monstrous cock breached, pushing past the tight seal of her body, heat knifed up my spine. My breath snagged. My palms pressed so hard into the wall, I was surprised it didn’t fucking crumble.

That should have been me. That sacred resistance should have been mine to break. Instead, I watched, gut rotting, eyes burning, every pulse in my body hammering out envy and hunger like a prayer spoken to a shattered altar.

He had to try three times before her reluctant pussy finally gave in and swallowed him whole.

They were already fucking.

No warm-up. No role-play. Just heat, breath, and the raw drag of skin against skin.

I could stop it. End the session. Leave a bullet between his eyes and take her over and over until she bled – until every whimper was an apology, every tear an oath.

Mine.

My slut. My crucifix. My dirty, fucking scripture.

But I didn’t.

Because I wanted to see how far she would go with him. What she would let him do.

And then—

I’d take her back.

Piece by broken piece.

I let out a long, shaky exhale, closing my eyes and tapping at the wall to feel something solid against me.

Her moan snapped me back to attention.

It wasn’t soft. Or shy.

It was raw. Like she meant it. Unhinged.

As though he had opened something inside her that no one else had found.

My hands flattened against the glass, leaving sweat prints. I was hard – painfully, sickeningly hard – but I didn’t touch myself.

Not yet.

I wanted to burn the sight into my fucking skull, as if pain could conjure up the right formula for penance.

She bowed for him with thighs slick and lips parted in a plea for more. He had her splayed open like an offering.