Page 154 of Villainous Rise

“I can’t breathe—“ She gasped, her chest heaving with the effort of drawing air. “Something’s wrong with me. I’m⁠—“

She broke. Not gradually, nor piece by piece, but all at once. Her knees buckled and I caught her, pulling her against my chest as her body convulsed with desperate, ragged sobs.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured into her hair, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. “Just breathe. In and out.”

Her fingers clutched at my jacket, twisting the fabric.

“I can’t—I can’t—“ Each word was punctuated by a gasping sob. Her entire body trembled against mine, like something inside her was tearing itself apart.

I pulled Annie closer, feeling her body shake against mine. Her tears soaked through my shirt, hot against my skin. I wasn’t good at this, comfort, tenderness, whatever the fuck you call it. But for her, I tried.

“Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Her breathing hitched, uneven and ragged. I exaggerated my own breathing, hoping she’d match it. Slowly, her gasps became less frantic.

Then she shoved against my chest, breaking free of my arms. The fog swirled between us, disturbed by her sudden movement.

“Have you fucked her before?” Annie’s voice cut through the mist, sharp and brittle.

I blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

“That woman.” Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear. She was present now. “Have you ever fucked her?”

I could lie. Should lie, probably. But I’d lied to Annie enough.

“Yes,” I said flatly.

I watched her face carefully. The panic was receding, replaced by anger. Anger was better than panic. Anger meant she was fighting, not drowning.

“Was she good?” Annie’s eyes narrowed, challenge written across her face.

This was dangerous territory. But if anger was what she needed right now, if rage was the lifeline that would pull her back from the edge, I’d give it to her.

“She was enthusiastic,” I said, deliberately crude. “Liked it rough. Begged for it.”

Annie flinched but didn’t back down. “And you gave it to her?”

“Of course. She cornered me at a museum fundraiser wearing no panties. Told me she’d been thinking about me for months.”

Annie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. I’d give her all the rage she could handle.

“She begged me to drag her into a private viewing room. Couldn’t even wait for me to lock the door. She was already wet and ready.” I stepped closer. “I bent her over a display case and made her bite down on her designer scarf to keep quiet while I fucked her.”

I was hurting her with these words, and she was drinking them in like poison she couldn’t resist.

“She got on her knees after I was done fucking her. Took me in her mouth like she was starving for it. No finesse, just desperate hunger.”

I was fabricating every word, crafting the most vulgar scenario I could that wouldn’t actually break her.

“She couldn’t take all of me,” I continued. “Gagged herself trying. Mascara running down her face, lipstick smeared all over my cock.”

Annie’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her fingers clenched at her sides.

I leaned closer, close enough to see the pulse hammering under her skin. “I came down her throat and she swallowed every drop. Thanked me for it afterward.”

Annie’s eyes flashed with hurt, with rage.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” I asked, my voice deliberately harsh. “How I fucked her mouth until she couldn’t breathe? How she worshiped my cock like it was a fucking religious experience?”