Page 46 of His Wicked Revenge

Ten minutes later, Rachel had brought up the spare key. After a brief talk about the date that I sucked myself into, she let me be and went back downstairs. I’m glad she didn’t ask to come inside with me because, as I said before, I don’t even know if Veronica has plants.

Twisting the key inside of the doorknob, it unlocks, and I push it open. Her apartment has the same layout as mine, but hers is less decorated. I close the door softly behind me and step into the kitchen. As my eyes scan the area, I realize she doesn’t have much.

There are a few dish towels, one hanging from the dishwasher and another on the oven. They are a deep red with no designs on them. Rounding the island, I become curious and start opening drawers.

The drawer next to her sink holds all her utensils. Again, she doesn’t have many, probably because she is the only person who lives here and never has people over. I wonder how many times Chloe visited—or if she ever visited, for that matter.

She is using Chloe to get to you. She wanted to make both of you look like fools. Show her you’re not someone to mess with.

Anger fills within me as I think about how Veronica betrayed me. How she hurt me. Lied to me. Lied to Chloe.

Taking the tray holding the cutlery out of the drawer, I flip it upside down. Metal clanks against the hardwood, and I don’t bother placing the tray back into the drawer. I merely fling it onto the counter.

Most other drawers are empty except for a wine opener and some cooking plastic spatulas. The cabinets have a few plates and bowls that shatter to pieces when they meet the floor. I find coffee mugs that immediately drop from my hand to meet the same doom as her plates.

My eyes scan the rest of the kitchen, stopping when I see a wooden block filled with knives. Stepping over to it, I lightly brush my fingers over the handles. Does she use these to cook, or are they only here for protection?

Dropping my hand to my side, I turn to head to the next room but decide to open a drawer again. I grab the wine opener and fist it in my palm. This will be going home with me.

With the tool in my hand, I walk into her living room. A white couch sits against one wall, and a TV is hung on the opposite.

A dark wooden coffee table with one coaster and a candle is between them. I pick the candle up, inhale the scent of coconut, and shut my eyes. The smell reminds me of Veronica and the shampoo she used in the asylum.

Clenching my jaw, I allow the candle to fall from my hold. The sound of glass breaking echoes around the small living space. I stare down at what’s left of the candle before lifting my eyes.

A burnt orange blanket is draped over the back of the sofa. I run my hand over the fabric, humming at its softness. At the far end of the couch, a pillow is positioned neatly in the corner.

I walk over and pick it up. My eyes dance between the pillow and the wine opener in my hand. Bringing the sharp edge to the pillow, I poke the tip into the fabric and drag the opener down. It leaves a nice slice, and cotton starts to spill out of the open seam.

Tossing the pillow back onto the couch, I glance around the space. Given nothing else is crucial in the living room, I head for the next spot.

When I open the door to her bedroom, I find there isn’t much in here either. Veronica’s bed has an emerald green comforter spread across the mattress, neatly tucked under the sides. I can’t hold my smile at the color—the same hue as the tiles in my shower at the asylum. All the memories of fucking her in there try to flood my mind, but I quickly brush them away.

On the right side of her bed is a chair, the color a shade lighter than the bedding. On the other is a nightstand. I chew the inside of my cheek, tightening my hold on the wine opener as I approach it. Sliding the drawer open, I find it only holds two things.

A vibrator with a bulbous head.

And the silicone dildo she used on herself in that video.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of it, knowing it was inside her—a place I used to be.

I’ve never been jealous of a toy, but the green monster claws at my back as I peer down. Unable to stop myself, I take it out of the drawer and sit on the chair in the corner of her room.

I hold it up in front of my face, examining its entirety as I think about Veronica thrusting it inside of herself. As I replay the video in my head, I lick my lips, growing hard in my gym shorts. Bringing it closer to my mouth, I stick my tongue out, licking up the side of the toy, desperate to get a taste of her.

She cleaned it off in the video, but I am hopeful she missed a spot. My eyes roll into the back of my head as the familiar taste hits my tongue. Fuck, she always tastes too good. I could never get enough of her.

My cock strains against the fabric of my shorts, so I place the dildo in my lap and untuck myself. I don’t hesitate to start pumping, the instant relief washing over me. With the taste of Veronica in my mouth and the sight of the toy she used on herself sitting in my lap, I won’t last long.

It’s pathetic.

I move my hand faster, grunting at the sensation building at the back of my spine. My head tips back as I allow myself to fall over the edge. I come hard, squeezing my eyes shut as I empty all I have.

After a brief moment, I open my eyes and realize it is all over the hardwood flooring. Oh well. I’m not cleaning it up.

As I shove my dick back in my pants, which is still hard even after that release, I hear the front door open. My head snaps up toward the sound, and I slow my breathing.

It is silent as she enters. Keys get set lightly on the island, and there is a pause as she probably takes in the sight of her disheveled apartment.