I rise and go toward them before I can help myself.
Steele doesn’t notice me in front of him until it’s too late—but I’m too late. He comes in her mouth, and I see red.
I yank her away from him. My grip on her hair and arm is too strong, and Steele’s fingers slide away. He’s still coming, a low hiss slipping from his mouth as his cock jerks in the air. His cum hits her in the side of the face, her neck. Ropes of it.
She leans to the side and spits his cum on the floor, and satisfaction fills me. It eases some of the brutality that’s coursing through my veins. But not enough to stop me from what I want to do next.
“Get out,” I bark at Steele.
He lets out a breath and shakes his head, staring down at Violet. “That video didn’t do that fucking justice. Holy shit.”
“Get. Out,” I roar.
He chuckles and tucks his dick back into his pants. He takes his time with it, and I clench and unclench my fists. Violet kneels between us, her head bowed. He adjusts himself, wearing a knowing smirk. And he nods at me on his way out.
I look down at Violet. She’s an absolute fucking mess. Her mascara is streaked down her face, the blue eye makeup mixing with the black. It gives her a bruised appearance. Her lipstick has smeared. Who the fuck wears blue lipstick?
Like a knockoff version of a Goth girl. Before anyway.
She’s got his cum on her face, and she makes no move to wipe it away. She makes no move to do anything at all, actually. She just kneels in front of me, glaring at the floor like she doesn’t know who to blame more—me or herself.
It’s my fault—but not the way she thinks.
I slowly undo my pants and shove them down. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and bites down. She draws blood. It bubbles up on her lower lip, staining her front teeth.
Good. In the most fucked-up way possible, I’m looking forward to her blood on my dick. I step forward, and she leans back. Her head tips back, too, and she keeps her gaze locked on me.
“Delete the video,” she says. “I did what you fucking wanted—”
“I want a whole lot more than that.”
She stays still when I grip my length and pump it once, twice. I don’t need it, but I want her to look down and see what I’m stroking. To know that, as impressive as Steele’s dick might be, he’s got nothing on me.
I smirk when her gaze does drop, and her eyes go wide. She releases her bloody lip from her teeth. I run the tip over her lips, then up her cheek. She doesn’t move, and I have to wonder why she doesn’t shove me away.
Maybe because she’s finally realizing she’s the prey and I’m the predator. And even though I promised to cut her free, beasts like me don’t tell the truth.
She walked into my trap, and now she’s mine.
Fuck it.
My reaction confirms it.
I run my dick across her lips for a second time, and then I lean down and grip her chin. I pull down until her mouth opens, revealing her pink tongue and white teeth. The red of the back of her throat, looking sore from Steele. I get her lipstick on my fingers, a streak of blood. Her tears, too.
I don’t give a shit if she cries, but I do want to drill into her in more than one way. Her mouth, yes. Her mind? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“That was the last dick you’re ever going to touch that isn’t mine,” I inform her.
I’ve never had to think about the consequences of my actions. Not really. I’ve never had regret. And I don’t plan on regretting my actions now. It’s a side effect of being the son of my defective father. The one who can charm anyone, who flashes money when charisma doesn’t work. Because doors have always opened, and panties have always dropped, and things have always been given, I don’t think anything about what I do next.
The taking.
Because maybe she’ll forgive me for this, or maybe she won’t.
But it only registers in the back of my mind that she might not—and that part of me doesn’t even care enough to stop.
I thrust into her mouth in one motion, filling her so thoroughly that I cut off her air. I stay there and wait, looking down at her. It feels too fucking good. Her throat pulses around the tip as she gags and works to try and breathe.
Her face gets redder.
I pull out, and she gasps sharply around me. Her teeth touch me, and I glare at her.
“Bite me, and I’ll choke you to death right here.”
Her eyes widen, but her jaw drops, too.
I take my time thrusting into her mouth. I can feel myself about to blow—I don’t know what it is about her, about the crying and anger, that puts me so on edge. But I’m about to fall off the ledge, and I’m not ready to finish savoring this.
When I hit the back of her throat, then deeper, she scrambles at my thighs. I grip the back of her head and keep her immobile until her eyes roll back and her body goes slack. Then I give her her breath back.
Over and over, until she’s losing her mind on my cock. She sucks, she swirls her tongue when I give her the chance. She wants me to come so this is done faster.
She thinks this will be the end of it.
Not even close.
I meant what I said: she’s never going to know another cock.
She reaches up and cups my balls, and I groan. Fuck, that feels good. She massages them, squeezes gently, and lifts them away from my body. Her hands feel too good. I pick up my pace, driven on by need. I’m just chasing a high now, and my knees are weak when I finally feel myself go.
I pull out of her mouth and grip my cock, pumping myself once, twice. Cum explodes out and splashes across her face and chest. And when I finally step back, she sags to the side. Barely catching herself.
I turn away abruptly, going to snag a towel from my bag. I dampen it and wipe my dick off, then yank my pants back into place. My thoughts are going a mile a minute. She’s mine. That’s what plays on repeat, underneath the current of how I can keep her bound to me.
She coughs weakly, and I turn back around. I toss her the used towel, and it lands in her lap. It takes her a second to pick it up and wipe at her face.
“Until we meet again,” I tell her. Then I leave her there.
12
VIOLET
I pull myself together and go home. It isn’t lost on me that Greyson didn’t delete the video—so now he has another thing to hang over my head. My lips are swollen and chapped, and my throat hurts. My eyes sting.
I don’t know how to feel. My emotions are all over the place, and it takes the whole walk home to wrangle some control over myself. I sniffle and swipe the back of my hand under my nose, collecting snot and tears.
Ugh.
When did I become this person?
My phone vibrates.
Mom
Got a call from Mia Germain. She wants to talk to you.
Then her contact information below it. A phone number sits glaringly in the gray text bubble. Ignoring the fact that my mom is texting me—something strange all in itself—my heart does a funny skip at what she said.
Mia Germain is the director of the Crown Point Ballet, the company I danced with up until my injury. I had left rather suddenly, of course, after my broken leg led to ongoing nerve pain complications.
I had to give up my spot as the lead for Swan Lake.
I had just been home for the weekend, visiting my mother, when Greyson hit me. Stupid twist of fate and bad fucking timing.