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She’d look at me with that tangible fear and maybe tears.
She’d be so scared, she’d cry and beg me to stop, but I’d do everything except for stopping.
I’ve had these depraved fantasies for the opposite sex ever since I hit puberty, but they were never about a specific woman.
Any female would do as long as she was ready to take the lash of my whips and submit to my chains.
This is the first time I’ve had a face for all those fantasies. And a body I’ve imagined in all positions as my cock pounded and pounded, and fucking pounded until she screamed.
Annika isn’t supposed to be the face of my twisted fantasies. I meant it when I tried to scare her away.
She’s an innocent girl who’s not fit for my taste of fucked up.
But then she had the fucking audacity to say that she’ll take a boyfriend. A fake one—not that it mattered—and will be playing Hollywood with him in front of her brother.
And the little fucking minx also dared to exclude me from her unorthodox arrangement.
She was the one who roamed around me with the perseverance of a bee for weeks on end, suffocating me with her violet scent and blinding me with all the purple. And now, she pretends I’m not even on the menu?
Not on my watch.
And yes, the change of attitude might have started when I imagined another man touching her and my vision became red. The need for violence scratched and clawed at the surface of my sanity, demanding retribution. And no, it didn’t matter that the ones I would’ve been committing murder against were Remi and Bran.
As if feeling my gaze on her, Annika lifts her head and her glittering blue-gray eyes clash with mine. They’re so innocent, so full of life, and it shouldn’t be right that I want to fill them with tears. Pleasure tears. Fear tears. I don’t give a fuck at this point.
Her pouty lips fall open, probably at seeing whatever emotion slipped to my face, and it takes all my control not to stuff them with my fingers and watch as they quiver.
She swiftly cuts off eye contact and takes over Glyn’s mediating position in the never-ending cat and mouse game Remi, Ava, and Cecily like to play.
“Come on, spawn, help me with these crazy cougars,” Remi calls for me for the thousandth time tonight.
I ignore him. Again.
“I swear on my lordship’s name that I’m revoking parental rights. Go look for someone else to translate your thoughts without you having to speak.”
“Hmph. I can do that just fine.” Cecily lifts her nose into the air. “Creigh and I volunteer at the same shelter and I always talk to the other staff on his behalf.”
What started as a decision on the spur of the moment has become part of my schedule now.
At first, I only went to that shelter to learn more about the doll-like girl who’s actually a mafia princess but has not one criminal trait in her bones.
The girl treats animals like a mother would treat her baby, for fuck’s sake.
Then I noticed that the more I showed up, the more annoyed she became. And I like getting on her last nerve, catching her glaring at me, or watching me with that puzzled expression.
Besides, many students started volunteering at the shelter soon after I joined. Cecily said it’s because of me and that I should stay.
Who am I to say no to such a great cause?
It’s been almost a week, and I’ve been going there every single day, deliberately sacrificing my sleeping time.
“Spawn! You have it in you to betray me with this me wannabe? You can try for an eternity to dress like me, walk, talk and act like me. You might be the next best thing, but not quite me.”
“Wait. Isn’t that Eminem?” Ava asks.
“Point is, I’m wounded, spawn,” he says in his overdramatic voice. “And here I thought I was your favorite. Now I need to go find me another spawn who’s willing to follow my lordship’s teachings. I’ll take candidates starting now. No pushing, I can’t accept everyone.”
No one comes forward and he laughs. “Don’t be shy. I know I’m intimidating, but I can be cool as fuck.”
