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There was no coming back from it.
The idea that he’d ever thought he could was laughable. And so why?
He knelt down in front of the bed and growled, forcing her legs apart, moving the sheet to the side and exposing the glistening heart of her to his gaze.
She was glorious. Pink and glistening and lovely. And he wanted to taste her. Dive deep into all that she was to satisfy his need.
He reached around and grabbed her buttocks, pulling her toward his mouth and licking her like he was a starving man. She gasped, and he pressed two fingers inside of her, loving the way she quivered beneath his touch.
She rocked against him and he tasted her, deep and long, curving his fingers as they thrust in and out of her, taking every cry of pleasure and bringing out yet more.
She was his. His to pleasure. His to corrupt. She had done this to him. Her. She was why. She was part of it. She was not innocent in this. She had known what she was doing to him. Always. She had tempted him. She was the one who had taken her clothing off back at his house. She had wanted it as much as he did. And she should suffer here in the depths with him.
If they were both to die of pleasure, then it would be no less than they deserved.
But it was a hell he would gladly burn in.
She cried out, pulsing, her orgasm making her shake.
He withdrew his fingers and lifted her up onto the bed, putting her on all fours, smoothing his hands down the elegant line of her spine, bringing one down to cup her rear before slapping her once, making her gasp.
“I wonder how many years it will take for me to cease to be able to shock you,” he said. “I quite enjoy it. Your innocence is a novelty.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, aqua eyes reaching down into his soul. “A novelty?”
“Yes. I wonder how long it will last.”
He slapped her again, this time on the other side, and she yelped. Then he pushed two fingers into her from behind, testing her readiness at this angle.
He gripped her hips and pressed himself forward before he thrust hard.
Then with one hand he pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her head down so that she could not look at him. He didn’t wish to see her face.
How many times had he had sex like this? In this position?
Countless.
She could be anyone. She didn’t matter. It was just more sex. Just more sin. And what was a little bit more? What was a little bit more when you were already hell bound?
He thrust into her blindly, chasing at the pleasure that he craved. The peak. The oblivion. This had been his life for sixteen years. Oblivion. Anything to block out the truth of it. Then he could pretend that he was on a mission. A benevolent one. With breaks for pleasure in between. But the reality was, he knew that he was the center. He knew that he was the murderer. The weak one. The straw that had broken the entire camel’s back. He was the one that had caused all of this. It was his duty to try and make up for it. As much as he never could.
It was his calling.
The thing that he had to strive for.
Because it had all been his fault.
His mother’s blood. His father’s cries of agony as he had tried to avenge her, tried to protect them all.
And worst of all—yes,worst, because at least his parents had the benefit of being in the afterlife—had been Riyaz.
In chains.
Yes. He had tried to block these things out. He had tried to pretend that these things were not down to him.
Oblivion. He just needed oblivion. Except he could not get it.
Not without picturing her. Not without it being her.
