Chapter 42
42
Raze
I ’m thoroughly fucked.
Absolutely obliterated.
I vowed to have no distractions or weaknesses for the Syndicate to exploit, yet the first time a strapping little redhead struts into my life with a fake name, I fold like a cheap suit. I’ve prepared for this opportunity for revenge against Divina Carmichael and I’m absolutely fumbling my chance.
I’m obsessed.
I can’t stop thinking about different ways to bend her over and dominate her. My priorities have shifted from testing how deeply I can destroy her to how thoroughly I can fuck her. What sorts of new little noises will come out of her mouth when I send her into an ecstasy-ridden oblivion? How far can we push things in public without being caught?
Much farther than she realizes, I’m sure.
This isn’t love, it’s pure, unadulterated lust.
It’s filthy, desperate sex.
A connection so significant, but I can’t put my finger on why.
It’s her pulling up a chair and planting herself in my mind every second of the day until I can break away from whatever menial task I’m cursed with to find her and get my hands on her.
No, it’s not love. It’s far, far worse than that.
I’ve been grading exams all afternoon and have yet to stop thinking about how her body squirmed beneath my mouth last night when I called her into my office for a late-night “chat” about her class assignments this week. Hiring her as my TA has turned out to be the worst form of torture. She’s an under qualified distraction that has only resulted in more work for me. Yet, firing her is the absolute last thing I want to do.
Anyway, I planned to leave it alone this evening, but she has refused to get off my mind. I need to know more. I’m so hungry for information on this mystery girl, I’m willing to bypass all socially acceptable means for discovering her and jump straight to researching things in my own twisted way.
In a bout of absolute insanity, I’ve found myself quietly slipping through the front door of Devlin, creeping up the stairs to the fifth floor, and strategically picking the lock on her front door. I’ve gotten into places undetected so many times in my work for the Syndicate; this is child’s play.
So, why does it feel so risky?
She briefly mentioned having plans tonight—something with the Viridia and Luminara girls she spends all her time with. I don’t care, so long as she isn’t here when I rifle through her things.
The first thing that catches my eye when I enter her messy space is the very old, very familiar leather-bound journals that I was certain were hidden deep inside a secret pocket of my office. Three of them are sprawled across her couch beside a spiral-bound notebook, as if she was in the middle of reading through them when she realized it was time to leave.
I step further into the room to confirm my suspicions, bending down to examine them more closely, and fiery rage scorches my chest when I see the familiar, manic scribbling of Finley Landry.
She’s stolen from me. Taken something that belonged to my family from right beneath my nose.
That absolutely will not go unpunished.
I straighten again, allowing my eyes to roam freely around the space. Now that I know she’s capable of such deception, I’ve got nothing holding me back from finding exactly what I came here for: answers about the woman who has taken over my every thought.
Who is she, and why is she so interested in the lost Landry boy?
There’s not much else here that wasn’t provided by the university. No family photos. No posters or art nailed to the walls. Hell, even her kitchen is practically as empty as when she moved in. Aside from a few belongings that have been haphazardly strewn around—a slipper beneath the dining table, a heap of blankets on the floor, a hoodie draped over the couch—she’s hardly made an impression here. If she were given ten minutes to pack her things and disappear without a trace, she’d only need five of them.
Why?
What kind of college-aged woman is so afraid to make any lasting impression?
Surely, one with secrets to hide.
I’ll have to confront her about it delicately. For now, I leave them exactly how I found them and make my way toward her bedroom.
It’s just as sparse as the living room, and I have the fleeting thought that maybe I won’t find anything from this violating attempt. What then?
An old music box is all that sits on top of her dresser. Her nightstand has a book and a phone charger strewn across it. When I open the drawer, I can’t help the smile that comes when I see the large, bright dildo buried beneath a few random things in her feeble attempt at hiding it.
I’ll be having fun with that in the future.
“What are you doing?” her feminine voice startles me from the doorway of the bathroom, and I throw the dildo back into the drawer like it’s on fire.
She waits expectantly for an answer. Her hair is wrapped up in a pink towel and the only thing covering her body is a thin nightgown that hardly reaches her thighs.
“You took a bath?” I dumbly ask. I might as well have the intelligence of a caveman with her standing there like that.
“Yeah, I took a bath,” she spits, and the towel bobs around on her head with every animated word. “Why the hell are you going through my things? How did you get in here?”
I don’t answer her. Instead, I take the few steps to close the distance between us, stopping when we’re toe-to-toe. She looks up at me in question, confusion and irritation marring her perfect face.
My hand reaches forward to cup her cheeks. She’s obviously uncomfortable with my presence, but she still allows the small bit of contact.
Penelope Ellery is supposed to be an empath. Even without proper training, natural instinct should be kicking in. She should be trying to reach into my mind or coerce me into speaking.
She’s not doing any of that. There is no resistance against the shields I keep in place around her.
This is the final confirmation that the woman before me either isn’t Penelope Ellery, or Divina’s precious daughter is a Null.
Both scenarios send a bolt of excitement through my chest.
“You are the most confusing, enticing little thing,” I mutter, my gaze locked with hers.
She scowls at that, then jerks her face away from me and steps back. Crossing her arms, she kicks her hip out and practically snarls at me, “answer my question. Why are you here?”
“Your door was open,” I explain cooly, resting one arm against the top of the door jamb in a dominant display.
“See how much bigger I am than you? ” It screams.
She doesn’t back down.
“So, you just walked right in and started going through my things?”
“No, I walked in, found my things.” I pause to raise a single, disappointed brow at her and my heart jump-starts at the pure terror that crosses over her features. God, I fucking love playing with her. “Then I made my way in here and waited for you.”
The lie slips out easily, practically begging her to challenge it, so we can have some real fun.
All her anger has morphed into fear at being caught with the journals. She couldn’t pay attention to another word I said after calling her out for stealing from me, and that hardened stance she held before withered away to something weak and cowering.
“I was going to return them,” she practically whispers, voice shaking.
“There will be plenty of time to punish you for stealing,” I assure, utilizing the opportunity to advance on her, wrapping my hand around her throat as I step behind her, then quickly drag us toward the mirror. The towel falls off her head and her nightgown succumbs to my rough touch, straps dropping off her shoulders as it bunches up at her abdomen. My palms remain possessively against her neck and hip to trap her against me.
The room still smells of her shampoo. Wet, humid vapor floats around us, clinging to my skin and fogging the mirror. I can hardly make out the expression on her face, but those wide eyes are unmistakable.
“You are quite the headache, aren’t you?” I tease, wrapping my forefinger and thumb around her chin to tilt her jaw back and force her to look up at me. When those oddly colored eyes meet mine, I have the stark realization that she’s been hiding her secret right out in the open. Right in those violet irises.
An Aeternum.
She doesn’t possess the ability to manipulate my thoughts, as Poppy Ellery should.
She controls time. A seamstress stitching together the fabric of past, present, and future.
I’ve only met one other Aeternum who carried the same traits, and she’s long gone.
So, who the fuck is standing before me? And why don’t I care either way?
She swallows, the motion drawing my gaze to her throat, where my fingers tighten. She shifts her hips, digging her ass further into my groin.
Arousal has her cheeks tinged pink, brows tilted upward in a quiet desperation.
She likes this. She enjoys being at my mercy—a plaything for me to use however I see fit. But only in these intimate moments. Only when no one else is around, and she isn’t expected to appear as the strong, confident woman she is.
I lean forward, pressing my smiling lips against hers. She makes me crazy. Her presence drives me to delirium. Just as she enjoys settling into a role where she’s not expected to think or do or say, I enjoy the opposite. The uncapped control.
We are yin and yang. Push and pull. Black and white.
We are balance.
And everything feels right with her.
She readily accepts the kiss, immediately opening for me as my tongue infiltrates her mouth. She whimpers against me as my control slips and my grip tightens against her. My teeth nip at her lips and tongue, earning little mewls of pain vibrating against my palm on her throat.
My other hand migrates from her hip to the hem of the nightgown, pushing it up the final few inches to expose her bare pussy to the mirror.
She twitches when my finger slips between her legs, swiping up her arousal.
“Look at you,” I muse, shifting her attention to the mirror. “So fucking ready for me.”
She slips her half-mast gaze toward the mirror to watch me kiss along her jaw, down her neck, and across her bare shoulder. My hand works against her slick center, teasing her clit just enough to have her standing on her toes, encouraging my fingers further against her.
She’s a puppet, controlled by my invisible strings, and I don’t take her trust lightly—this magnetic, deceitful, intelligent woman set on destroying the powers that be. My little nightmare. I’m drunk on the power it grants me. She could burn the world down with the spark from a match, and she has no idea.
If I weren’t so hellbent on destroying her, I’d dismantle the patriarchy right alongside her.
I pull my hand off her throat to quickly unbutton my pants, allowing them to drop to the floor as I fight my way out of my briefs one-handed. Once my cock is finally free, it springs forward against her plump ass.
She moans as I slip my fingers out from inside of her and line myself up with her hot center.
When she attempts to drop her head back on my shoulder, I tug it back up.
“I want you to watch me fuck you,” I growl into her ear. “See how fucking beautiful you are when you come all over me.”
I wait a moment with my hand wrapped around her chin to ensure she won’t fight me, then move to spread her legs and make room for myself. The fog in the mirror has disappeared, lending me a full view of her ruffled body, committing the image to memory.
The nightgown sits in a ball across her abs, her tits fully popping out the top. As I slip inside and our bodies combine, we each release a sigh of relief.
This.
This is the only thing that feels right in the world to me.
The only thing that’s ever felt right.
And no matter how much I rack my brain on how to keep it, I haven’t found a solution. There is no reality where I find closure for my brother’s death and still get to be with the woman who makes me feel whole.
Even if she isn’t Penelope. Even if she isn’t Divina’s daughter. She’s tied to them in some intimate way, and therefore deserves to pay for their sins, just as they do.
For now, I’ll enjoy this slice of heaven.