Page 3 of CurVy 13

I stalk around the house, past a rose bush in full bloom. The scent carries a feminine note that makes me consider picking one for her.

A nice touch… not my style, though.

Still, I rip a long vine from the bush. Approaching the window in slow strides, I crush a defiant rose that clings to the stem, grinning as the plush petals crumble from the bud, a manifestation of what I’ll do to her.

To stress her compliance.

Keeping hold of them and the vine, I use my free hand to shimmy the window, lift it from the groove, twist and fold, and— It comes free.

I catch it before it falls.

The window slides slowly to the floor.

Turning sideways, I duck in through the narrow window and find myself in the centre of her TikTok stage.

The space is dim, but for the fairy lights that decorate her white bookcases illuminating her books—her treasures.

Overhead, the pipes groan with passing water. I anticipated she would shower—arrogance is commonly the result of always being right.

I sprinkle the crushed rose as I stalk the space, the mashed petals marking my path. Stopping beside her bookcase, I trail my tattooed fingers over the spines.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” I mutter darkly before stopping on the smooth surface of a glossy red book.

Pulling it from the stack, I lay the vine between the outer books. I can’t stifle my chuckle when little tabs appear like a calling card from her darkest desires.

While I am certain she enjoys the romantic elements—all women do—my ego tells me she has annotated the parts that make her pussy weep and clench.

I flip to a dark purple tab, and a steady grin moves across my lips, and it promises filth.

Fuck.

Achingly hard, I palm my cock as I read one of her favourite scenes. Words wouldn’t usually affect me like this, but they aren’t words.

They aren’t stories.

They are plans.

CHAPTER 2

VALLIE

I’m so sick of him.

“Then why do you keep going back to him?” I say to myself. “Because, Vallie, you were in love with him.” I scoff at myself. “Was not.”

Well, it’s over now.

For good this time!

Shutting the shower faucet off, I invoke another groan from the pipes as they protest the one fucking job they have. Just one. The ebb and flow of water.

One job!

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “You need to get that fixed.”

I retort, “No, you need to get that fixed.”

Oh my God, I wish I had a housemate.