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“To fuck you, Melody. I need your consent to fuck you like you want me to. I want you to smile when you see me naked between your legs. Your screams when I send you over the edge, and your vision blurs with how hard I pound into your tight cunt, but I don’t want to take if you don’t want me to.”
She leans over my legs, and my cock hardens painfully inside my jeans. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I want to fuck her so bad, but I can’t.
Her eyes fall to the piercing on my lip. The one she looks at like a snack she wants to try. I flick my tongue over it. My cock is wet. My balls ache. Desire runs like fire inside my veins. My fingers clench my thighs.
“Melody,” I whisper.
She looks between my legs. It’s dark, but she can tell by my voice that I’m on the edge. My eyes almost roll to the back of my head. I love her hair. It’s a different shade than my own, and I like how soft and shiny it looks. I want to feel the tips on my skin while she rides me.
“I don’t want to fuck you, Valen.” Her words stab me in the chest. “I don’t want to have sex.”
Is this how it feels to die?
She steps over my legs. Her ass brushing past my face.
She reaches for the door handle and then opens it. I look out the window, and we are at the hardware store.
The door slams shut, and I watch her run to her car. The driver knows to wait until she starts her car and safely drives off.
The piece of shit Mazda looks like it’s fighting to breathe when it makes a noise after she places it in drive. The yellow lights glare past us like two flashlights when she turns on the road.
I place my cell phone over my ear. “Follow her.”
My driver looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Where to, sir?”
“Home.”
I want to follow her myself, but that would scare the shit out of her. She’s resisting me, and it’s something I’m not used to. It’s refreshing but gutting me from the inside.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe without having her near me.
I swipe my hand down my face. I’m losing my fucking mind. Porn doesn’t do it for me anymore. I’m trying to hold back and not play with her head. She is the only woman who gives me the control I’ve wanted since I was a teenager and knew the feeling of what it was like to come. Since I’ve laid eyes on her now that she is an adult, all I can think about is her.
The SUV pulls through the gate of my father’s estate. The darkness my father prefers is like a velvet cloak, smothering most of the light coming from the trees in the red spotlights.
The path to the house is a flickering dance of light and shadow, with fire torches lining the way, casting long, twisting shapes against the backdrop of ancient trees. At the heart of the driveway, a grand fire blazes like a beacon for some arcane ritual. My father has always been drawn to the flame, claiming it mirrors the fire within us all—that primal force fueled by desire and disdain, capable of making our blood sing with heat. And now, as I think of Melody, I understand those words with a clarity that pierces through the darkness. My desire for her is a relentless flame, an insatiable fire that courses through me, demanding attention and action.
I walk inside and don’t miss my father sitting in the huge wingback chair with two women sucking his cock. They both look up, their mouths glistening. Something I’ve gotten used to since my mother died.
My mother was the first Prey married into the Order. The love of my father’s life. She died giving birth to my brother, which is a silent testament to the life my mother once carried. Disowned and disparaged, he's a living reminder of the loss that broke him. He is three years younger than me, and my father banished him because of his hatred. My father forbids him from leading a life of privilege and hates his existence. He blames my little brother for my mother’s death, and no one can speak of him. It’s like he’s a bastard child with no rights. No luxuries. No college education. No money or chauffeurs.
My little brother exists because of me.
He eats because of me.
Through it all, my brother loves me. I’m god in his eyes. If he only knew, he is the best thing in my life, and I feel guilty that I can’t do more.
“Did you come from seeing the maggot?” he says, his voice dripping in disdain as he adjusts his pants.
The women scurry out of the living room.
After my mother died, Vance Vikiar turned into a womanizer. His only love is in a grave. No one speaks about it. No one mentions it. Everyone acts like my parents are both alive and well. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. My father taught me not to love a woman. He warned me that losing her would ruin me forever.
My father didn’t set foot in a church after my mother died. Not a real one anyway. The church in Kenyan is not a real church. As the sun sets, evil unites, turning the cross upside down.
“No,” I reply, sidestepping the question.
