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Grabbing a towel, I glanced towards my door, where the lock had been shattered and I hadn’t even thought to close it. I thought I saw movement but disregarded it as my muddled lust-filled brain playing tricks on me. I cleaned myself and Alfie up gently before pulling him against my chest and letting him ride out his emotions.
As I rode out my own.
TWENTY-FOUR
HARRIET
The betrayal cut deep as I watched.
Petros' hands skimmed Alfie's hip as he reached for him, his dick filling Alfie. My fingernails cut into my palms, my hands fisting by my sides. It wasn't even the act of them fucking that hurt. It was the way Petros breathed Alfie in like he was an elixir. Some sort of addictive salve. Healing his wounds while it tore mine apart.
I hated the way my thighs clenched at the sight of them in their passion. The way I pictured being caught up between them, being craved by them with the ferocity in which they devoured each other. It sickened me that my desire was laced with deep, ugly jealousy. In this whole mess, they'd found each other, and I'd lost Petros.
For so many years I'd taken the fact that he'd always be there for granted. Pushed him away as a maybe later option. After I've got revenge. After I'd healed. I'd pushed him for so long that I'd lost my chance for an after with him. It cut me to the quick. Yet, I didn't begrudge him the intimacy. It's all he'd ever wanted. When Alfie got out and left him, it would hurt Petros terribly, and then I'd hunt Alfie down and skin him. Turn him into a motherfucking rug for hurting my partner.
The intimacy was a lie, I reassured myself. Borne out of desperation.
Their moans grew in time with their gyrating bodies, and with heat flushing my cheeks, I pushed my hand into my underwear, feeding off the thick wave of lust that washed from them. Biting my lips to silence myself, I imagined pushing Petros’ hand aside and throwing my thigh over them so Alfie could fuck me. I'd had him inside me earlier, and I knew the intense pleasure that his dick could bring. As well as the intense pain.
Angry at myself, I thrust my fingers inside. Wishing I could feel their hot cum dripping from me. My own humiliation made me even wetter as I touched myself, driving myself to follow them over the edge.
Petros growled out, come for me, and the words unlocked my orgasm, making me use my other hand against my mouth to stifle my moan. My thighs trembled as I came with leg-quaking ferocity, Petros’ words echoing in my mind again and again. It wasn't the first time I'd heard them. No, I'd often been made to come for my abusers. As though my body's reaction absolved them of their sins. As though I was a toy that could be pressed to make them laugh. I was that toy. It should horrify me to hear him say it, but it was the sort of thing I never thought could come from him. From good, sweet Petros.
I stumbled away from the doorway, tears pricking my eyes. What a fucking mess. Petros deserved someone like Alfie, not a fuck-up like me. Not someone who craved the very acts forced upon her.
Disgusting.
Unworthy.
Pathetic.
After washing my hands, I pulled out the baking ingredients, slamming them on the counter. Was it a bit crazy to make muffins when you were stressed? Maybe. But it was something I could always fall into without thinking. I didn't need to weigh or use a recipe. I remembered the ingredients and steps by rote. My mother, my sisters and I had made the same muffins every Sunday, ready for a quick breakfast before school in the week. So many times, I'd dipped into my childhood kitchen when I was suffering the worst of my torture. One and three-quarter cups of self-raising flour. When my back was whipped until I bled. One teaspoon of baking powder. When they drove knives into me while fucking me until I came. One teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda. When they made me strangle someone else while they filled her with their cum. A half cup of butter...
By the time I scooped the batter into trays, tears blanketed my cheeks. Opening the cupboard to grab brown sugar for the topping, I paused on the bottle of poison hidden within an old mustard powder tin. My fingers grazed the yellowed tin. I could poison them both. A surge of power filled me at the thought. Making them choke and suffocate on their own blood for devouring each other's joy without me. Petros' face flashed before me, his eyes bugged and his face purple, blood seeping from his nose, mouth and ears.
Shuddering, I pushed the mustard tin away.
I sprinkled the very much regular topping onto the muffins with trembling fingers.
Would it all be worth it? The revenge. Wiping those men out had been my sole purpose for over a decade. What would drive me after? There were always more abusers to take their places.
What would I even have left?
Yes, I had my underground home, a refuge for victims and a place where I could execute the perpetrators. I had Nancy and a handful of friends who knew me for the monster I was and still didn't run. But I'd lost Petros. To my enemy.
I'd stick to the plan. Use Alfie to find out the names. Then, I'd ditch them and go on alone. As I was always meant to be.
Kill the bastards before disappearing and letting Petros move on with Alfie.
Let him have what I failed to give him.
I put the muffin tin in the oven and slammed the door closed.
Enough of the guilt and the regret.
I'm The Motherfucking Viper.
TWENTY-FIVE
