Page 90 of Hellebore

“Fuck, Briar.”

I smirk, drunk on the power I suddenly feel. I reach for the bottle, hesitation flickering for half a second. Am I really going to do this? But the thought dissolves almost instantly. Drystan makes me feel safe enough to be this filthy, this unhinged. He makes me want to explore every dark fantasy I have buried for years.

I coat the top of the bottle with my own wetness, then press it against my entrance. Slowly, I sink it inside me, not too deep, just enough to stretch and burn in the most delicious way. A loud, shameless moan of his name spills from my lips as I start to move it.

Another text enters my phone and I look aside to see it.

“I need you to be louder my love.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DRYSTAN

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I grip my throbbing cock harder, pumping with brutal strokes, every piercing dragging against my palm with sharp metallic clicks. The rage and hunger twist together inside my chest until I can barely breathe. When I return home I am going to make her suffer so sweetly for this.

I am standing in the empty silence of her father’s house, waiting for that worthless piece of shit to come home, when the phone vibrates and the feed shows her moving again. My little minx started dancing through the living room like a shadow given life. And then⁠—

She bent over, slid her sweatpants down, and now she is fucking herself with the bottle right in front of the fireplace, right in front of our painting, moaning my name while I am stuck here with a raging hard-on and murder on my mind.

I cannot kill a man while this fucking desperate for her.

“That’s it,” I growl under my breath, eyes glued to the screen as she pushes the bottle deeper. “Deeper, my love. Make it hurt. You know you love the pain almost as much as I do.”

She releases her nipple and her fingers fly to her clit, circling frantically. Her back arches off the rug, the firelight painting her skin in gold and shadow, turning her into a living offering. My goddess. My obsession. Coming on a fucking bottle instead of my cock.

Jealousy burns through me, dark and vicious. That bottle is inside her. Stretching her. Taking what belongs only to me.

I am going to destroy that thing when I get home. Then I am going to fuck her so hard and so deep she forgets every inch of it. I will take her cunt, her mouth, her tight little ass, and fill every hole until she cannot walk without feeling me for days.

She moans louder, eyes squeezed shut, body convulsing as her orgasm crashes through her. The bottle slips from her fingers and rolls away across the rug. The sight of her falling apart, trembling, gasping my name, rips my own release from me. I grunt harshly, spilling thick ropes of cum against the cold wall, my forearm veins bulging, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

I lean my forehead against the wall, breathing ragged, trying to steady the storm still raging inside me.

I pick up the phone with a trembling hand and type:

“Don’t worry, my love. The second I’m home I will fuck you so hard and so deep you will forget your own name and that pathetic bottle ever existed.”

She reads it and laughs, my chest tightens with violent affection.

“I’ll be waiting,” she replies.

Good girl.

I stare at my cum dripping slowly down the wall. I will burn this room before I leave.

Keys rattle in the front door.

I slide deeper into the shadows, the beast fully awake now, lips pulling into a slow, terrible smile.

Let the games begin.

The footsteps are three sets, not one. Voices drift through the foyer and disappointment sinks its teeth low in my gut. I wanted to savor just him, I think, the hunger for violence bleeding into something darker, more intimate. Now these two will have to die first.