“Aren’t you an adorable little fighter?” He slides up, nearly crushing me with his weight as he straddles my head so that his knees are on either side, then grabs his shaft again, placing it at my battered lips. “Open.”
I purse them shut and stare at him.
“Either open your mouth or I’ll use another hole.”
My lips tremble.
“Are you scared of me, Cecily?”
“No.” I lie through my teeth. Because, yes, I thought I was courageous enough to not be intimidated by the notorious Jeremy Volkov, but that was way before I actually got to meet the real him.
The decadent, lawless beast.
“You should be.” He slaps my mouth with his weighty shaft. “I don’t make idle threats.”
It dawns on me then.
As I stare into his light-devoid eyes, I realize just how different Jeremy is. He really wouldn’t care if he broke me, or fucked me when I was drunk.
Knowing full well that I’m a virgin.
It’s about what he wants, and if I don’t give him that, he’ll just take it.
And a part of me is tempted to do that, to provoke him to take it.
But not when I’m drunk. I really wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I woke up tomorrow knowing full well that I didn’t allow the real me to make the decision.
So I open my mouth slowly.
Jeremy doesn’t wait or make introductions. He drives all the way inside, hitting the back of my throat. I gag and I think I’ll throw up all over myself, but he pulls away.
His hand fists in my hair and he tugs me up by it. “Suck and make it good or I’ll switch to your other available holes and in no particular order.”
My sluggish movements pick up in speed, but not immediately. There was a moment, one single foolish moment where my eyes widened for a completely different reason than fear.
Or being appalled.
For a second, I wanted to see if he’ll make good on his threat.
There’s definitely something wrong with me. I blame my drunk brain’s delayed response. That’s the only reason.
There couldn’t possibly be anything else.
My licks and sucks are tentative at best, but I try to go faster, thinking maybe that will do the trick.
The problem is that he’s really big; I haven’t even gotten all of him in, and my jaw aches.
“You’ve never sucked cock before, have you?” His voice is dark with lust.
My cheeks heat, and I hope he thinks it’s because of my lack of air and not actually shame.
“Such an innocent little virgin with a dangerous kink.” He mobilizes me with my hair. “I’ll show you how you please me, how you open your mouth for me when I tell you to. You’ll offer me this hole and any other hole I want to stick my cock into.”
He drives in with a raw power that robs me of air.
“Open your mouth wider and stick out your tongue.”
The moment I do, it’s like I’ve unleashed a beast. Using my tongue for friction, he hits the back of my throat, over and over, but when I’m about to gag, he pulls out, giving me some air before he thrusts back in again.
He uses my mouth like it’s his custom-made hole, pressing me into the mattress, holding me in place with his merciless grip on my hair.
“Your mouth is made for fucking.” He slides all the way out again. “So hot and wet and pliant.” Thrust. “I think you have an oral fixation. Not only do you like kissing, but you also take my cock so well at the back of your throat. You’ll let me stuff this mouth with my cum and then swallow every drop, won’t you?”
My only reply is grabbing him by the jacket, nails digging into the leather.
“Do you want more, my greedy little virgin?” He pounds in and out of my mouth. “I want more, too. I want to corrupt, tarnish, and ruin you so deeply, no one will recognize you when I’m done with you. Not even your fucking prince.”
And then he thrusts so wildly, I think I’ll black out.
I’ve never experienced this level of intensity. Of savage claim.
It’s like he can’t touch me hard enough, or engrave himself inside me deep enough.
Jeremy is a man who takes unapologetically, destroys ruthlessly, then walks away silently.
He’s a true monster who knows exactly what he wants. And apparently, right now, what he wants is to ruin me.
For some reason, I like that unapologetic part of him, the assertiveness in his actions. The take-it-or-leave-it attitude.
Maybe because I lack it when it matters the most—when I have to make decisions about myself.
Jeremy fucks my mouth like he has a grudge against it and me. He rams in and out at a speed I can’t keep up with.
Then he pulls out and I blink when hot spurts of his cum cover my face, sprinkling on my eyes, my cheeks, nose, lips, and neck.
Everywhere.
He reaches out a thumb, gathers his cum, and slides it inside my mouth with his middle and ring finger.
The motion is erotic and makes my legs clench, or maybe it’s the attentive way he watches me swallow every drop. Sucking his fingers clean.
The more appreciation he shows, the more diligent I become.
A gruff sound leaves his throat as he taps my lips one final time. “I knew you had an oral fixation.”
He leans over and brushes his lips against mine.
It’s a small kiss, way too soft compared to everything he’s done. Actually, the softest thing he’s done.
But then he bites my lower lip and I gasp when a metallic taste explodes in my mouth.
Jeremy licks it, then taps his own bite that I gave him. “Next time, I’ll draw your virgin blood.”
“There will be a next time?” I ask, a little scared, a little excited.
“Oh, there will be a next time.” He strokes my hair back. “You’ll be mine to do with as I please.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Are you going to have sex with me?”
“I won’t have sex with you, Cecily. I will fuck you.”
I slowly close my eyes, letting a tear loose. I’m not sure what type of tear it is.
A resignation tear probably.
I don’t wait for him to leave as I let my body relax, wishing the dream would end.
Wishing the dream would never end.
Wishing this wasn’t a dream.
JEREMY
Idon’t know how long I stand at the side of Cecily’s bed.
All I’m sure of is that I remain here, unmoving, watching, observing, long after she falls back asleep with tears rimming her eyes.
I reach out a thumb and wipe away those tears, smear them on the tiny freckles, then crush them between my fingers.
She’s probably sad that it’s not her fucker of a prince who came to claim her in the middle of the night.
Now that she’s asleep, she looks like the personification of inward innocence mixed with a poor relationship with her sensory world.
The worst relationship.
She’s awkward at expressing herself, being spontaneous, and letting go, even when her friends do. I know because I’ve been watching her.
Not up close and personal like following her home from the shelter or the library, but I’ve been around enough to know her schedule, where she goes and with whom.
I took a step back to give her room and see if she’d use the opening to throw herself at Landon again. Color me surprised when they only met within their group of friends and only rarely.
She wasn’t texting him back and forth, vying for his attention like a fangirl either.
What she does, however, is like and comment on each of his pretentious Instagram posts.
I stroke her white hair away from her face. Petite, soft, and with remnants of my dried cum.
The view thickens my erection, lulling me, inviting me to jerk off all over her again—this time, I’d mark her tits and cunt.
Scratch that. This time, I’d claim her cunt.
And I would break her.
I’d stretch her tiny pussy and split it in half.
These tears would turn into a tsunami if I have my way with her. Which is why I’m not.
For now.
My forefinger slides back and forth against my thigh as I caress her hair, sinking between the abnormal color that she had to wear a wig to hide during the initiation. I know because I nearly tore it off.
I know because that’s when I first figured out her identity.
Her lips part and she lets out a small moan, leaning into my touch, almost fucking purring like a cat.
I remove my hand with a jerk.
The fuck is wrong with this girl and her being so out there? And it’s ten times weirder considering her poor relations with the outside world.
It’s why I knew she was drunk when she sent me that DM in which she said she wanted to be chased and taken down.
A message that I’m sure was meant for Landon.
Considering her cowardly tendencies, she wouldn’t have sent that to me or him if she’d been sober.
I was plotting the raid of the Serpents’ local compound with the guys when I got that DM.
At first, I threw the phone in my pocket and ignored it, like I’ve been ignoring her for the past couple of weeks.
But like all those days, I fished my phone back out and glared at it. The same way I glared at her from afar.
While I watched her.
Followed her.
Hacked into her phone and computer.
Murdered every shred of her privacy.
Read her fucking journal that’s full of psychological bullshit and Landon.
When I checked my phone again, I found out she’d followed me on Instagram, too. Probably another drunken mistake.
But maybe the DM was meant for me, after all. Not Landon. Me.
That’s all the logic my brain needed to storm out of the meeting and come here.
In the middle of the fucking night.
It’s also what made me climb her balcony, creep inside, and touch her like she was already mine, partially forgetting that my little sister was on the other side of the door.
I should probably leave before one of her gazillion friends comes to check on her, but I don’t move.
Instead, I take time to look around her room, the walls covered in manga pages like some edgy teenager. I move closer and study the names at the top of each, committing them to memory so that I can search what she likes to read.
Then I do a whole sweep of the space.
Cecily’s room is simple—despite the manga wallpaper. Her wardrobe is casual and is full of T-shirts with sarcastic quotes. She owns no dresses or skirts or anything girly.
Her makeup table barely has anything on it aside from different brands of sunscreen. And perfume. Water lilies. I can’t help spraying it into the air and inhaling it.
Smells like Cecily. But not quite. It’s missing the scent of her skin.
I put back the bottle exactly where I found it, like a perfect creep, but then I place it on its side. I don’t give a fuck if she knows I went through her things. In fact, I want her to.
Let her be on the edge as payment for all the annoyance she’s brought into my life by merely existing.
I tilt my head in her direction. “Why the fuck did you come to that initiation, Cecily?”
If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be acting completely out of character by inserting myself into her life and learning things about her I’m not supposed to.
Once I’m done going through the small space, I sit at her desk.
Psychology, philosophy, and nonfiction books line her small library.
And mangas.
Slice of life. Shounen, and… I grab one and my brows lift.
Boys’ love.
Well, well. Would you look at that?
I slide that manga back in place and open her laptop. I already hacked it once, so I know it’s as boring and meticulous as the image she projects onto the outer world.
All filled with school projects and pictures from family holidays.
Still, I open her browser and look at her history.
Considering that seeing sex made her physically ill the other day, I doubt she watches any. Or she could be using a private browser.
I find no trace of porn. However, I land on an interesting burst of similar searches, usually conducted late at night.
The psychology of rape fantasy.
Why do many women have rape fantasies?
The sociology of judging women who seek out or enjoy sex rougher than most men.
The sociology of rewarding men and punishing women for enjoying sex.
Is there an underlying mental disorder associated with rape fantasies?
Paraphilias listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
Is primal kink a sexual deviation?
Serial killers’ kinks.
That one puts a smile on my face.
Jesus.
I can almost imagine the deer-in-the-headlights expression she had while reading all of this stuff.
My gaze slides to her sleeping form. “You need to stop forcing labels on yourself.”
I skim through the articles written by some hotshot psychologists who try not to be judgy but sometimes let their true colors show.