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The fact Iwantto watch her fall apart all over again. More than that, even. I want tofeelher come apart beneath my touch. My fingers. My tongue. My cock.
My teeth are gritted so hard, it’s a surprise that I don’t crack a tooth.
I’m in a vicious war with myself. The love-sick puppy version begs me to forget the past and do what he’s wanted since she first arrived—fill every single one of her holes until she remembers who the fuck she belongs to.
But that part of myself is nothing more than a teenage horn dog. The semi-reasonable adult in me knows she’ll do it again. She’ll either leave because she runs scared like before or because I send her sprinting for the hills. Either way, she’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone.
I think that’s the way it was always meant to be—me, alone. It’s only fitting, given the blood that stains my soul. How can a man who still smells the charred remains of his friends ever find love? Especially in the arms of someone as sweet and innocent as Emilia.
She chooses that moment to roll onto her back, a soft moan slipping past her lips that pulses new life into my dick and reminds me just how good it felt to feel her moaning around my length that night I pushed her to her knees on the kitchen floor.
God, I’d love a repeat of that.
It’s been so fucking long since I’ve come inside her. So fucking long since I’ve watched her greedily lap up every last drop of my cum.
The crash of battle axes still clangs in my head as I climb to my feet and prowl toward her. Towering over her, I lower my zipper and push my jeans and boxers low on my hips, the sharp hiss of metal teeth breaking like a thunderclap in the otherwise silent room.
I sigh in relief as my dick springs free, bobbing in front of me with its head directed at Emilia’s face, knowing damn well where he wants to be buried.
Not tonight, buddy,I tell him wistfully.
A precum tear beads in response, but I quickly swipe it away with the pad of my thumb, hissing through my teeth as I picture waking her with my cock buried deep in her throat.
My eyes are glued to her face, even though all I can picture are her wide, terrified eyes. The pathetic attempt she’d put up to overcome me. The scrape of her nails as they dig into my skin. I can practically taste her panic on my tongue, feel the erratic beat of her pulse beneath my fingers.
Her fear is an aphrodisiac. A potent one at that. It takes only a few minutes before sparks shoot up my spine and my balls draw up. String after string of cum shoots out of me, landing on her chest and neck, and I’m left breathing heavily and feeling fucking euphoric.
Why the fuck have I been jacking off into a sock for the last however many weeks when I could have been coming all over her sleeping form?Other than that first time, I’ve refused to let myself give in to her allure. Not in her presence, anyway.
Instead, I drink in every second of her pain and replay it for myself when I’m alone. When she can’t claim any of the credit or know just how much power she still wields over me.
But right now, I’m the one in control.I’mthe one wielding all the power as I swipe my finger through a rope of cum and bring it to her lips, smearing it like lipstick.
Her tongue flicks out, and she hums contentedly.
The sight makes me smirk as I tuck myself back into my jeans.That’s it, Angel. Lap up every bit of me while you can.Because no matter how I might feel, I have to break her. For her sake and mine.
Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, I linger for a minute longer before I pull myself away.
I’m no longer sure whether it’s a case of she doesn’t deserve me or I don’t deserve her. Regardless, I know now that she was never meant to be a permanent fixture in my life.
She was right to run away from me all those years ago. I would have destroyed her in the worst way if she’d stayed.
* * *
On Friday,I walk into my ethics class and falter. There’s a white envelope sitting on the desk in front of my usual seat. I’m not sure why its presence triggers an ominous feeling in my gut. The fact that I’m hearing anything should be a good thing, right? It means I’ve passed my tasks. That I’m moving on to whatever the next stage is.
Perhaps that’s the issue—I don’t know what’s next. How many more hoops do I have to jump through before my family lets me in? I don’t care about the King’s Elite. All that bullshit means nothing to me. It’s the family that deems this whole farce necessary that I’m interested in. The family that I should have been a part of since birth. And now I have to work my way back into their good graces, even if I wasn’t the one who fucked up in the first place.
Although if they know anything about my past, I should probably just be grateful they are willing to give me a shot at all. I’m not so sure they do. If they did, they’d have turned me away at the first opportunity. I highly doubt murderers are welcome in the Clearwater family.
My eyes remain glued to the envelope as I make my way over to the desk and slowly sit down, dropping my backpack on the floor beside me. I haven’t heard from the King’s Elite since they booted me out of their car on the day Emilia was kidnapped.
I haven’t even had a chance to give them a second thought—until now.
Scanning my eyes over the envelope, there is, once again, no name written on the front. How do I know it’s even for me? And yet, I just know. I’m guessing this is about the inauguration that asshole was talking about, so I must have passed the tasks they set for me.
Most of them were relatively easy. Well, two of them. The information I stole from Hawk’s laptop still doesn’t sit well with me, even though Robbie assured me the tasks were for our benefit—not to fill some King’s Elite agenda. If that’s the case, then it was probably worth it. Worth it if it means I’ll become a member of the King’s Elite, and my family will think I’m trustworthy enough to allow in.
