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“Christ.”
I came in ribbons of lacerating pleasure.
Strings of cum shot free, painting the tiles in white before washing away.
I let myself go as the erection that’d haunted me for hours finally deflated.
I’d wanked for self-preservation. For self-control. I told myself all manner of things.
But I knew.
I knew how close I was to snapping and honestly didn’t know how much longer I’d survive.
My hands shook. My heart ached. My head pounded.
The orgasm left me hollow and utterly unsatisfied.
But…it also gave me clarity.
A crack in the storm. The barest sliver of light.
I might want to step into this world. I might wish I’d been born in a different time or that someone could fix me, but…those were pointless wishes.
I had the chance to be better.
I had the opportunity to prove to myself and my brother that I was worthy, regardless of my inherited sickness.
All I had to do was pretend.
Pretend to be the sadist.
Pretend to be a beast.
Pretend to be someone else until I figured out how to bring Victor down.
The prize I would earn was worth it.
Worth more than her.
More than pleasure.
The prize was happiness.
Belonging.
Family.
And whatever happened at breakfast, I wasn’t going to fuck that up.
Chapter Twelve
………………………….
Ily
I FUMBLED AT THE SHEER dressing gown Peter had given me when I’d stepped out of the colossal bath, drawing it tighter around myself. Despite the strange connection that’d formed between us and the contradictory awkward-ease I found being naked around him, I didn’t feel well.
I flushed with nausea as he brushed my hair, dried my neck where the collar trapped water, and then handed me a berry smoothie that was delightfully thick and heavenly sweet.
