Chapter 20 #3
On her yell, she lets out a rush of slippery wet cum, drenching us both in her torrential release. Her jaw is clenched, and her eyes are squeezed shut from the force of it. That will not do.
“Eyes on me, darling,” I grit out. I feel the familiar tingle crawling up my spine. I‘m going to lose it myself.
“Mmmm,” She tries to look at me. She’s trying too hard, my darling whore.
“That’s it. There’s my good girl.”
My lap is soaked. The slippery wetness of her squirt is making it hard to hold my grip on her.
I slap her cheek again, making her eyes find mine. Gritting my teeth while continuing my finger fucking in her ass and my cocks deep thrusts into her drenched hole, I shudder at the feeling.
I lose her again, nearly sure she’s about to pass out.
She whips her head up, barely able to hold it, as her jaw chatters. Locking her gorgeous eyes on mine, I tell her what a good girl she is for me as I fill her with my cum.
“That’s it, baby, let your pussy swallow me whole. God you’re such a good fuck. My perfect darling whore.”
She sobs, her pussy walls clenching around me.
“No, baby, hold this cum in. Don’t waste any of me.”
“Fuuuuuck.”
Her head falls forward on my chest, nuzzling into me like a desperate little thing. Like she can’t get closer to me.
I snake my arms around her waist and hold her tightly to me, her entire body weight relying on my arms wrapped around her as her aftershocks jolt through her body.
“We’re done, darling. You did so well,” I hush her. Tracing her lips with my fingertips and memorizing her face.
She gave me enough today.
We sit there for a long time, my cock half-hard inside of her. I feel her breathing slow as I’m talking myself out of starting to fuck her again.
I thrust a few more times and groan, forcing myself to pull out.
She needs rest. Neither of us slept last night.
She’s passed out cold.
Her hair’s a mess, skin flushed, lips parted. She’s completely gone. Breathing shallow, but steady. I look at her for a second, completely spent, one hand still gripping the side of the table. The other is fisting the front of my t-shirt.
She didn’t say a word, just went limp in my hands. And I knew. That was it. Her body shut down on her. I’d given her too much, like I always knew I would.
I pull her into my arms, careful to hold her head. She doesn’t stir. Doesn’t make a sound. I cradle her against my chest and start walking up to our room.
I carry her through the hall, past the blue dining room, up the stairs. Glancing down frequently, loving the look of her so stripped down. Quiet. Completely mine.
Her skin’s damp, and her neck smells like sweat, clean sheets, and fruit. The way she melted for me, how she clung, how she begged, how she came apart, I’ve never seen her like that. And now she’s just…gone to her pleasure.
Such a good little whore.
I take her to the bathroom, setting her down gently on the stool beside the vanity. Her head tips forward. I catch it before she slumps.
Still nothing.
I run the bath, making it warm, and fill it with the oils and bubbles I’ve noticed are to her preference. Waiting for the tub to fill and satisfied she won't fall over on herself, I go to the bedroom and call for the staff to bring up fresh cold water for us.
Once the tub’s full, I lift her into the water.
She folds into it like a doll. Limbs loose, body floating for a second before sinking just enough. I‘d love to fuck her like this. Pushing her head underwater just as she is about to climax.
I want to watch her scream underwater. The bubbles that will leave her mouth. I sit there washing her slowly, fantasizing about how she would look as I pull her from under the water, as she releases her cum for me.
Methodical in my movements, I clean her from head to toe. Against what my cock would prefer, I continue mechanically. Neck, shoulders, arms. Between her legs. I don’t linger. This isn’t about sex now. This is about care. About control. About making sure she’s still here.
I press a towel to her chest and lift her again.
She moans a little in her sleep, barely audible.
That’s good. At least I didn’t fuck her to death. Yet.
In the bedroom, I pull back the sheets with one hand and lay her down with the other. Her head hits the pillow, hair spreading out like a fan on white cotton.
She doesn’t move.
I dry her off, going slowly over her thighs and her back. I didn’t wash her hair. I’m too tired to. Checking on her cut between her breasts, I’m happy to see the scab is scarring. Then I wrap the blanket around her, tight.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look at her. She gave me everything tonight. But whatever it was, we’re both too far gone now.
I push the hair off her face and run my thumb across her cheekbone.
“You’re alright, darling,” I say, even though she can’t hear me. “I’ve got you.”
I kill the lights, strip off my shirt, and climb in next to her. She stays out the whole time, and for once, I stay still. Struggling to fall asleep, my thoughts bleed into last night, when I finally found Douglass Huntington-Russell.
Hayden Herron
The Evening Prior
I pull up and park right at the front steps, throwing my cigarette out of the window and slamming my car door shut with more force than necessary when I finally step out.
The Estate is massive, and it’s a shame it's occupied by a man whose days are numbered. It doesn’t belong to him; it belongs to my wife, and today is another day in the series of me securing it for her.
The rose bushes that cover the vast front of the estate are cold, not in bloom, and covered in dew drops.
Everything about this place, the gates, the crest above the door, the marble underfoot, belongs to her. Douglass Huntington-Russell is merely a parasite feeding off an empire he lost his claim to long ago.
Two guardsmen are at the front entrance, and I walk past them like they’re made of air.
One of them reaches for his earpiece and murmurs something, but I’m already inside.
I wouldn’t think twice about putting them down.
I’m on a mission that I’d like to finish quickly because my woman is waiting in bed for me, and I don’t want to waste a spare second of my time away from her.
I know this estate like the back of my hand. I find him where I expected, in the drawing room, feet up, sipping a whiskey neat, a smirk locked in place, off in the distance.
His head shoots up, and he immediately stands, looking nervous.
I first met him at my initiation and found him to be the more annoying of the more senior twin Huntington-Russells.
Henri and Douglass were an inseparable pair.
Henri was the brain of the two, with Douglass risking the family Estate frequently and conning any ear he could bend.
“Hayden,” he says, voice casual. “Surprised to see you here. You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
He’s not unfamiliar with my random visits. The Brotherhood liked to use me to check up on the Huntington-Russell brothers, considering the proximity I already had from the greater assignment I’d received.
“And you’ve always liked to take things that didn’t belong to you,” I say, knowing he’s had the Brotherhood clean up multiple attempts at extortion and various other pretty lowball crimes he’s committed. His behavior can be shocking, considering the family's wealth.
He sits up straighter. “Is that why you’re here? Upset the Brotherhood again, did I?”
His response gives me pause. I assumed he had heard something regarding his niece and me by now. I was careful, but not too careful. I wanted it to reach him.
“Look, I’ve contested the will already,” he says with a bitter laugh. “Tell me, why are you so involved in Martine’s affairs? Who knows where that supposed niece of mine ran off to anyway?” He waves his hand.
Douglass is too slippery a bastard to believe his words so easily. I know he wants to hurt my wife. I don’t need to hear him say it outright; I just need to see what information I can glean from in between his lies.
I take a step forward, calm. Controlled. “I know you’ll be out of here soon. I’m not here about that.”
He looks at me, confused at the challenge in my words.
Stumped at what other alternative I could be here for.
I take another step through the large room.
The estate was always beautiful. The long drapes sway slightly from the double doors to the terrace he has left open.
The large chandelier casts a warm glow over a relatively cold room.
I can smell a cigar in the air and assume he must have just been on the terrace smoking one.
I shrug like I don’t care, when I, in fact, care quite a lot. I don’t like her name on his lips, so I force myself to unclench my fist and remember it’s all part of the end goal.
“Never wondered where your little niece ran off to?”
He scoffs. “I’m still working out what happened to the girl. Shame, too, because she’s rightfully beautiful, but a stain on this family that needs to be cleaned up.”
God, the man is a leaky fucking faucet of information.
I just tilt my head and stare at him, knowing the longer I remain silent, the more likely he is to spill. He’s always been like this.
“That can’t possibly be why you’re here?” He says, walking to the bar in the corner of the room and pouring me a drink.
I ignore him when he returns until he has to set it down on the small end table I’m standing next to. My hands in my pockets, not a muscle moving. He stares at me for a moment, confused, and then returns to his original seat.
“I know you’re young, son, but everyone knows what a whore of a woman her mother was. I guess the gossip of the older Bonesmen hasn’t worked its way down to the younger generation yet!” He laughs, his cheeks red and ruddy, clearly on the edge of drunkenness.
Still, I don’t move. What a pathetic man. I haven't had to throw a single threat, and yet he’s giving me every drop of information that had taken me weeks to gather, in mere seconds.