Chapter 33 – Sebastian #2
“Don’t look away.” My voice is a growl, low and guttural. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”
Fuck, I never want to forget this moment. Never want to forget the feeling of her cunt tightening around me, the wide, almost frightened look in her eyes as I pull out to the tip and then slam back inside of her, over and over again.
Her eyes roll back when I hit a certain spot, nails clawing at the bedspread.
“There?” I repeat the motion, dragging my piercing over that spot again, and she pulls at the sheets so hard I think she might tear them. “Right there?”
She has no words to tell me. She’s incoherent, a writhing mess beneath me, drunk on the pleasure I’m giving her.
When she comes again, her whole body shakes from it, convulsing under me. Her gasps turn to a sob, overwhelmed, overstimulated.
“That’s it,” I praise her, fucking her through the last throes of it. “You’re doing so well, such a good slut.” I let go of her jaw and slide my hand down her body, pressing my palm against her stomach. “Give me one more.”
Frantically, Sydney shakes her head against the pillow. She squeezes her eyes shut, and a tear slips out from between the lids, sliding down her cheek.
“You take me so well. You feel that?” I press down harder with my palm, until I can feel my cock moving inside of her. “You feel how well I fit inside you?”
The noises she’s making are the most alluring music I’ve ever heard, pained little gasps, breathless cries as she grips the sheets.
“Give me one more,” I demand.
“I c-can’t!” Sydney moans. Another tear, this time on the other cheek. Her lip quivers.
“Yes, you can. One last one for me.”
Fuck. When she comes this time, she comes so hard I can barely move. Her legs grip me, her pussy shuddering around my cock. I stay buried in her, catching my breath, fighting my own release until she finally relaxes.
She feels so good. I lift her legs, hooking her knees over my shoulders, and she makes the most exquisite noises when I fuck her deep, forcing her to take all of me. But I want more. I need more from her. I reach out for the nightstand and grab her toy, flicking it on.
She cries out when I press it between us, just above her clit.
“One more,” I tell her. I lean closer to her, folding her legs against her chest so I can run my tongue over her cheek, licking up the tears there.
“Y-you said that last time!” Her voice is broken, hoarse from screaming, and pitched high.
I grin, moving the toy lower. “I lied. Give me one more.”
I wish I could fuck her forever. I want to spend the day buried in her, tasting her, feeling her come on my fingers and my cock. I want to see how deep she can take me into her throat, want to show her how I like it, want to know every limit she has, exactly how much she can take.
But when she comes this final time—with a sharp cry, almost like she’s fighting it—I can’t pull myself back from the brink.
I can feel her tightening and pulsing around me, and it’s too much, it’s too good.
My control slips and I lose myself, fucking her hard and burying myself in her as deep as I can go before I come with a pained groan, my back arching, fingers digging into her flesh.
This is the moment.
When I die, when all my sins are finally tallied and my life flashes before my eyes, this is the moment I’ll want to play over and over again. Sydney, whispering my name, saying it like a prayer, as I fill her with my cum.
I don’t move after. I stay there, braced over her, my arms bracketing her face, her legs over my shoulders. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize I’m still holding her toy, that the vibration is turning my hand numb. I flick it off and toss it onto the bed next to us.
Sydney is limp beneath me, eyes shut, lips parted, a trail of tears drying on her cheeks. She makes a sweet, plaintive noise when I pull out, and it sounds so helpless and sad it’s almost enough to make me want to go again.
By the time I return with a wet cloth to clean her, she’s already half asleep. My sweet, cum-drunk mess. She murmurs something as I roll her onto her side, something too quiet to catch.
“Shhhh, rest, love,” I tell her, brushing the hair off her face and kissing the last of the tears off her cheek before washing them gently away with the cloth. Her curls are loose, her hair a wild halo around her, covering the pillow. “You did so well. You were so good.”
I don’t think she can hear me. She’s unconscious before I’m even out of bed.
Whatever time her alarm is set for, she’s sure to oversleep it in the state she’s in. That will upset her, and we can’t have that. I grab my phone from my pile of clothes and pull up my messages, briefly reading the ones I missed last night before opening a new text chain.
Sydney will be coming in late this morning.
The text I receive back is almost instant.
Jade Lee (the BFF): Doc?
Jade Lee (the BFF): I’m going to need proof of life. Send me a photo so I know she’s okay.
I glance over at Sydney. She’s fast asleep, skin glistening with sweat. Ruined. She looks perfectly ruined.
Trust me, you don’t want that.
Jade Lee (the BFF): EW
A quiet laugh escapes me. Setting my phone down, I start to get dressed. I keep my eyes on her as I pull my clothing on, taking my time, never looking away. I want to burn the image of her like this into my brain, I want to see it every time I close my eyes, projected against the lids.
I’m stopped on my way to the front door by a creature. A tiny, white thing that stands in the living room, barring my way.
Sydney’s new cat. I’ve seen her on the cameras, watched as she knocked empty mugs off the café’s tables, and ambushed customers’ ankles. She’s smaller than I expected, for the amount of trouble she causes, small enough she could fit in the palm of my hand.
The tiny kitten stares up at me with round, unblinking eyes, head tilted to the side, like she’s assessing me. She’s holding a toy in her mouth, caught between her teeth, but it’s mangled beyond recognition, nothing more than a lump of yellow and black.
“Hello there,” I say quietly.
That’s her cue. She prances forward and drops the toy at my feet, then sits back and looks up at me, expectantly.
I crouch, studying the destroyed toy between us. “I’ve read about this,” I tell her. “You’re showing me you can hunt, aren’t you?”
A soft purr emanates from her. When I reach out to stroke her tiny head with my thumb, her purrs get even louder, and she melts into my hand, arching against me.
“You are very brave and fierce,” I tell her solemnly, stroking between her ears. “For murdering that toy.”
She accepts the compliment with a pleased trill, rubbing the entirety of her body against my hand. Then she stretches her back and claws at the carpet before stalking away toward the bedroom, leaving her kill behind.
Cute.
There’s a bouquet of lilies waiting on Sydney’s doorstep when I step outside.
I stare at them, frowning. None of my brothers sent these.
They’re disgusting, well past their prime, wrapped in cheap cellophane.
I’m still frowning at them when an audible click from the other side of the walkway makes me look up, toward the second apartment next door to Sydney’s.
Is someone living there now? I stare at the now-closed door, eyes narrowed. Curious that I haven’t seen them on the cameras, coming and going.
Curious.
I take the lilies with me when I go. She deserves much better than this gas-station garbage.