KILLIAN
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of my fingers drumming on the chair’s armrest flows with a steady rhythm.
But there’s no flicker of serenity in my bones. In fact, the raging storm from earlier has heightened to distances I haven’t experienced before.
The chaos from the house has died down with everyone leaving or scattering all over the property like rats.
And I’m here.
In the semi-darkness—my natural habitat—staring at the girl who’s fucking up my whole system.
Glyndon has been fast asleep since I stuffed her full of my cum. When I pulled out, her blood was all over my cock and the sheets, and that scene made me hard all over again. But since she’s a spoilsport, she passed out.
I didn’t change the sheets. I let her lie there, nude, her legs sprawled and with some dried blood between her thighs. It’s a scene I’ve been watching from my position on the chair opposite the bed while burning one cigarette after the other.
Glyndon is oblivious to the irritating change happening within me—that has little to do with the state of my semi-hard cock—since she continues slumbering. Her swollen lips are slightly parted, her cheeks are a light shade of red, and violet marks cover her tits, her hips, her neck, her stomach, her thighs.
Everywhere.