19. Octavia
19
Octavia
T hey made me put on one of my best dresses for the occasion and, seeing as it was for our father’s funeral, I decided the only appropriate colour would be pink. The dusty pink pleated tulle skirt swishes as I twirl in the mirror, hitting mid-thigh, my hair falling down my back in soft waves. The corset cinches my frame, making my breasts appear fuller. They look fantastic, but my favourite part of the dress is the dainty ribbon shoulder straps that fall down the top of my arms, a bow tying them off. I wanted to wear heels, but Dorian tutted and said they would be too much of a hassle, so I’ve gone for simple white ballet flats with ribbons that twist and tie up my calves.
Dorian comes up behind me, running his finger across my bare shoulder, staring at me in the mirror. “You look like a ballerina.”
“Too much?” I ask, gnawing at my bottom lip.
I’ve finally got clothes that feel like me—girly, light, and so freaking pretty. No more black or blood red, or outfits approved by my father. But maybe I went too far and cute for Dorian, not sexy enough.
He grasps my chin, twisting me in his grip. “Do you like this outfit?”
“I love this outfit,” I admit on a whisper. I was saving this for something special.
“Then that’s all that matters. You would look beautiful to me in a rag, Octavia. I want you to be you, not a version you think I want.”
He drags his gaze over my body, biting his bottom lip and snaking a hand behind my back, grabbing my ass and pulling me against him. “That being said, I think you look like the most delicious treat in this outfit. The only way it would look better is if it was rucked up around your waist with you bent over and my cock in your ass.”
He lets go of my chin, grabbing my ass with both hands and spreading my cheeks, making my face flush. A finger drags over my underwear near my hole, tracing it lightly, making me shiver.
“Would you like that again, angel?” he husks. “Do you want my cock buried deep in your ass while you’re begging me to stop because the pleasure is too much?”
His head lowers, resting his lips on mine, and I’m a goner.
“Please.”
He chuckles, slowly moving his hands from my ass to my thighs, his fingers pushing past my underwear, dragging up my slit. I whimper against his lips, moving closer, wanting more.
“As soon as you kill our father, I’m going to bend you over his dead body and fuck you until you come, screaming for your big brother.”
He grips the back of my hair, plunging two fingers inside me and rubbing my clit with his thumb. I’m so turned on, I’m about to burst. He only goes on for a few seconds, hitting every single pleasure spot I have until I scream, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s quick and short before he releases me, not letting me come.
My arousal coats his fingers, and he stares at them, opening his mouth to lick up the mess, but Bastian is quicker. He rushes over, sucking Dorian’s fingers into his mouth, humming at the taste of me.
“Better than honey, I fucking swear.” Bastian groans, ignoring Dorian’s scowl as he grabs a handkerchief from his black suit pocket, wiping Bastian’s spit from his fingers.
“Did you have to lick my fingers so much?”
Bastian sends me a wink, smacking his lips together. “To get all of her flavour off you, I most definitely had to lick them like that.”
He rushes over to me, grabbing my hand, making me spin in a circle. “Pretty girl, you look absolutely goddamn breathtaking. You’re never allowed to wear anything else again.” He stops spinning me, pursing his lips. “Although it would be better in white. The blood would have looked fantastic on it if it was white.”
I shake my head from the dizziness of his spin—and because Bastian is in a suit. “You’re in a suit?” I say, stating the obvious, but he never wears one.
“Thought the occasion called for it. How do I look?”
He holds out his arms and spins in a circle of his own, posing with his hands on his hips at the end. He acts all silly, but I can see the strain in his smile, the twitch of his fingers as he tries not to fuss.
I step into his space, grabbing his black tie and pulling him down. “You look so fucking handsome,” I say, and he smiles, but it’s a lackluster one. “I still prefer you in jeans and a t-shirt, though—or nothing at all.”
I wink, flicking my tongue out, licking his lips. His grin gets bigger, and he lifts me in the air, forcing my legs around his waist. “You’re right. After today, I’ll leave the snobby outfits to our snooty big brother. I’ll change right after the kill feast.”
“I am not snooty,” Dorian scoffs, raising his nose in the air looking awfully snooty, and I would have laughed if I wasn’t for the fact Bastian mentioned a kill feast.
“Is he not dead yet? I thought you killed him?”
At least that was what I assumed while I was getting ready, since they said we were attending his funeral. They never said he was dead, but how else was I supposed to take that?
“He will be,” Dorian says, placing a knife in my hand as Bastian places my feet on the ground. “As soon as you run the blade through his heart.”
“Or his skull, whichever you prefer. I myself would go for the eyes first,” Bastian says.
They move me to face the mirror, standing behind me. Dorian picks something out from his suit pocket before his arms come around my head, placing a black lace masquerade mask over my eyes while Bastian sets a black metal tiara on my head, metal feathers woven through the design.
“Is my dark angel ready to hunt down a monster?” Dorian asks. “We thought about you killing him in your old room, but Bastian convinced me a hunt would be much more fun.”
I rear back at him calling me a dark angel. The demons call me a dark angel, and maybe it’s time to live up to that name—and who better to start with than our father?
A grin pulls at my lips, and I grip the handle of the knife tight, gazing at Bastian and Dorian in the mirror and finding their matching grins.
“Welcome to fright night, pretty girl. It’s gonna be one hell of a game.”