Chapter 2
London, England
Curves for days. That fucking smirk. Eyes that always saw right through my bullshit. She’s still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and that’s half the problem.
Her face might be covered from her cheekbones to her eyebrows by a black lace mask, but I’d know that body anywhere.
The streaks of pink in her hair are new, as are the piercings and tattoos scattered across her hips and ribs, and unless I’m imagining things, she has even more curves to worship.
But Lily Davis has always been as familiar to me as my own reflection.
I’d bet my entire inheritance you could blindfold me and I’d be able to pick her out of a lineup without her saying a damn word. I’ve always been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and the last year—the mountain of betrayal between us—hasn’t so much as softened that pull.
These days, she lives on my computer screen.
Sprawled across soft pink sheets, draped in the smallest amount of fabric known to man.
Or pottering around her flat, coffee in hand, in an oversized hoodie.
Both sights have me ready to book a one-way flight to Lyon, break down her door, and demand answers.
Looking at the screen and seeing her there, knees spread, teeth digging into her bottom lip, has me fiddling with the damn ring I can’t bring myself to toss, and clenching my jaw against all the words that want to spill out into my empty flat.
The camera angle’s too perfect not to be deliberate, her words too polished not to be rehearsed.
She might be fooling her audience, but not me.
I know every flick of her wrist, every calculated move.
I know her body better than I know my own.
I was right beside her as the eighteen-year-old version of her learnt how to play them for every penny they’ve got.
Hell, I taught her how to play them.
God, she’s always known how to use herself like a weapon. She used to call it taking back control. I used to believe her. Now I don’t know what was a lie and what was the truth. Maybe I never will when it comes to her, but still, I can’t look away.
If anyone found out what I’m doing, it’d be a disaster. A full-blown, reputation-ruining clusterfuck.
I can practically hear Owen reminding me she’ll always be my stepsister in the eyes of the Mafia—off-limits, untouchable.
I hear Abbie, too, warning me away from Lily that morning on the beach.
Ugly accusations that I was treating Lily like my own personal whore, that we didn’t stand a chance, haunt me more often than I care to admit.
And then there’s my Da’s voice calling her trash. Uncle Bren’s evidence burning a hole in my carry-on the whole flight back from Belfast.
I can already see the disappointment in their eyes if they ever learnt that even after everything she’s done, I can’t force myself to put her in the same box as her bitch of a mother and just move the hell on.
I can’t force my eyes away from her traitorous body or forget the way she almost collapsed under the weight of the truth that night in Jonathan’s penthouse.
Even a year later, the memory hasn’t dulled. I can still see how shattered she was, hear the way her voice cracked as Cora and Owen kept her standing. Fuck, I can feel her staring at me—burning holes straight through my skull—while I stared at the floor like a coward.
Christ, I couldn’t look at her. My own heart was collapsing in on itself, and I knew if I met her eyes, I’d fall to my knees and never get back up.
To this day, Cora swears there’s no chance in hell Lily is anything other than innocent.
But she doesn’t know her like I did. Keeping secrets was as easy as breathing for Lily, and sneaking around with me came naturally.
It’s not that much of a stretch to think she could have had more secrets.
The memory of those emails flickers in my mind, the way Benedict and Jen referred to her as an asset, and the mere idea presses down on me like a stone in my chest.
Exiling her to France was the kindest thing Jonathan could have done. And yet here I am.
Still watching her, still wanting her, still wondering if I was just a pawn like everyone else.
Resentment and lust battle for first place as I watch her smirk at the camera.
She’s always thrived with eyes on her. Some might call her an attention whore for it, but I called it owning her sexuality.
The shame people throw at sex work is pathetic.
The same people criticising it are the ones secretly jerking off to it in the dark, hiding the receipts when their partners ask questions.
I nearly miss it when she purrs about needing someone to make her come.
My thumb hits the private session button before I can stop myself.
My phone buzzes. Three grand spent on Tempt and into her pocket, just like that.
As if I need another reminder that she still owns me in ways no one else ever has.
The irony? Everyone thinks I’m the villain in our story.
The heartbreaker. The guy who chased what he couldn’t have while being promised to someone else.
The asshole who wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.
None of our friends know what really happened, or what I was ready to do for her, for us.
But none of that matters now.
Twisting my ring, I wait as the screen goes black for a breath, and then…
there she is. Bathed in low, sinful light like a secret meant only for me.
My cock strains against my boxers, aching with a need I have no right to feel.
She doesn’t know it’s me behind the screen.
If she did, she’d kill the feed without hesitation.
She’d never let me see her like this. Never let me hear those filthy, desperate sounds meant for some random subscriber.
But I’ve never been good at sharing what’s mine, and for better or worse she’s still mine.
On the screen, she stretches, slow and unbothered.
Like she’s got all night to taunt and tease me with a smirk on her lips and half-lidded hazel eyes.
Those same eyes that once looked at me like I was her whole world.
Now, I have no doubt they would burn straight through me if she knew it was me on the other side of the screen.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh, BegForMe ?” she teases, twirling a pink strand of hair around her finger.
She rolls onto her stomach, hips lifting toward the camera.
The lens catches the curve of her ass, a minuscule scrap of lace doing nothing to hide her from my hungry eyes.
The angle makes it feel intimate—dangerously so.
As if she’s right there under me. As if I could reach through the screen, gather that highlighted hair into my fist, and tilt her chin back until her mouth parts on a gasp.
My jaw clenches. The room feels too small, too charged. I can almost taste her moans, the tremor of her breath when I’d press her down and make her take every inch. The thought burns through me, sharp as a bullet.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, undoing my slacks. The friction is almost unbearable, the tension coiled tight in my gut. I shouldn’t be watching her. Not like this.
I detest the control she has over me like this, but fuck it, I can’t look away.
Not from the girl who never should have been mine in the first place.
BegForMe: They didn’t deserve to see the full show.
BegForMe: Strip for me, baby. Show me what’s mine.
BegForMe: Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come.
Her mouth parts, and a slow grin spreads even as her cheeks heat under my words.
“Now that’s not very nice,” she purrs. “I was enjoying the other boys’ attention. And Mistress always says the most delightful things. What makes you think you own me, BegForMe?”
My cock throbs, thick and aching, already straining for her like it knows what I can’t have, but doesn’t give a fuck about can’t or shouldn’t.
BegForMe: You mean other than the three thousand sitting in your bank account?
BegForMe: I don’t think. I know.
“Mhmhm, while it’s a nice perk, money doesn’t get me off. No, what I need is a hard cock tearing me apart and putting me back together. I want to feel cum dripping out of me. Smell it on my skin the next day. I want to be utterly wrecked. Possessed. Owned.”
Her breathy voice has me gripping my cock tighter. Seeing her like this was always my favourite part—when she shakes off all the noise from the outside about her body, and embraces what makes her feel that sweet euphoria only freedom can bring.
BegForMe: Fucking hell, you are one needy little fuck toy, aren’t you?
BegForMe: Get your special toy for me, show me how your cunt stretches around it.
BegForMe: Fill yourself up like a good whore.
She whimpers, reaching off-screen. When she returns, she’s holding a different dildo. One with the ability to pump her full of cum at the push of a button. Her hazel eyes meet the camera, and my pulse spikes.
Fuck, she’s so damn beautiful, it’s like a knife between my ribs every time I look at her.
She leans back, her hair spilling over her satin pillowcase.
Those damn nipple piercings catch the light and the delicate red inked floral tattoos lead the way down from between her tits, tracing a path down her ribs to her hips.
My mind floods with memories—her hips in my grip, her cunt stretched around me, her voice breaking as she begged for more. Christ, I hate how much I miss her.
I’m treated to a glimpse of the black lingerie clinging to her soaking centre as she lets her knees drop open. More tattoos wrap around her thighs—ink I’m desperate to taste. She dips her fingers beneath the sheer fabric, and her moan is a punch straight through my ribcage.
“Fuck, look at you, baby. My perfect little fuck toy,” I mutter, cupping my balls with a groan. They’re so full of cum just for her. To pump her full and leave my mark. To remind her who owns her, who makes her come hard enough to see stars.
BegForMe: I’m waiting, you know what I want.
“Can’t a girl enjoy the build-up?” she drawls, rolling her hips in a way that drags a broken sound out of me. It’s the same move she used to make when she rode me in her bedroom, our parents just down the hall, and the risk of being caught heightening every move, every touch between us.
When she finally peels off her underwear, I nearly lose it.
I clench my fist around the base of my cock to stop myself from coming too soon.
The camera catches the glint of metal against soft skin, and jealousy slams into me.
Someone else had to touch her perfect cunt to pierce it, and the thought of someone else marking her in such a way has my vision blurring at the edges.
I want to destroy every trace of whoever came before, make her forget every hand that wasn’t mine. It’s madness, I know, but I’ve never been good at restraint where she’s concerned.
BegForMe: Spread your legs. Let me see you drip for me.
She follows the command without hesitation, a shiver running through her. Even through a screen, I can tell she’s trembling, nervous, turned on, maybe both as she exposes that little pink barbell to my hungry gaze.
Trust Lily to have a matching set—little pink jewelled bars, glinting like trouble in her tits and clit.
“God... I’m so wet. Is this what you wanted, Daddy? Want me to hold myself open for you?”
My pulse stutters and for a second, the world tilts—every boundary, every line I swore I’d never cross, dissolving in the space between her breath and mine. Christ. My cock throbs at hearing her call me Daddy. I stroke faster, biting back a groan.
She moans and does exactly that—holds herself open. The sight of her like this, raw and aching and close enough to taste, is almost too much. Then she presses the toy inside, and I see her cunt stretch around it, around me.
It’s game over.
Her moans, the slick sound of her pussy, my groans—they’re a filthy symphony. I don’t blink. I can’t. I refuse to miss even a second of this stolen moment.
“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. Your cock is perfect, oh my God.”
BegForMe: That’s my good fuck toy. Come all over Daddy’s cock, let me feel you soak me. Fuck, I’m so close. You gonna take it like a good cumslut?
“Holy shit, yes, come inside me, Daddy. Fill me up. I want to feel it dripping out of me.”
The visual she’s painting sends us both hurtling over that cliff and I come with a strangled groan, her name on my lips.
She doesn’t hear it. She never will.
She pulls the plunger, pumping herself full of fake cum, and she moans at the sensation. It’s real enough to make my spent cock twitch again. When she scoops it onto her fingers and tastes it, I send one final message.
BegForMe: That’s my girl. Take it all. Make a mess for me.
And she does. My good girl. My ruin from the moment she first set her sights on me.