Page 14 of Serpentine

This is what I’d needed all along.

But blue eyes and pouty lips fill my vision behind my closed lids, and I can’t stop picturing my blade against her perfect skin, my marks on her ass, my cock making her pretty ocean eyes cry.

I open my eyes, fixing them on the blade as I white-knuckle the side of the bench. My cock spears through the gelatin inside of the toy, fucking into it with nothing but fever and manic thrusts as I lose myself to the tugging sensations.

Even with my eyes open, I see her beneath me. She’s a sickness I’ve caught and can’t shake free from.

“That’s it, take that dick like a good little whore,” I mutter to no one at all, but it makes my veins coil under my skin.

Grabbing the switchblade, I turn it on myself, the tip pinching my chest before I let it slide down. My skin gives little resistance before it breaks open and blood oozes.

“Fuck!” I grumble, fucking the toy even harder as I fall forward, ecstasy crossing my eyes. I lift the blade and cut without looking. This time the sensation is too much, and I slam forward, cock swelling and emptying onto the black bench in pulses.

Cum soaks the bench, and I know that this time differs from the others. It’s all for her—every drop for the doe-eyed woman I’d stolen in a moment of insanity.

Closing my blade, I drop it to the floor before swiping my hand through my cum and slapping it across my chest like a badge of fucking honor.

It mixes with my blood and does something to my insides.

I pull out of the toy and shudder at the feeling.

I’ve got to stay away from her.

I nod, wiping sweat from my brow. Even though I know it’s going to be near impossible.

Demons by PLVTINUM pounds through the room as I work on my many screens, pulling information on every aspect of Ms. Aella Montague. The strangest thing is until a year ago, she was the perfect little girl, always at every event of her dad’s, looking like the picture of perfection, except for what I could see in her eyes.

I can’t be the only one who sees how miserable she is. Her eyes are screaming out for freedom in each photograph she poses in. Some of her with Carter are even more telling. She fucking hates him.

The knowledge makes me smirk. He’s everything you’d think of when you think of a rich prick. His hair wafts back on his head, covered in ten pounds of hairspray.

If I had to guess, she hasn't experienced the sexual satisfaction she deserves.

I don’t find her name on any of the documents associated with his company, which sells airplane parts. This is a big deal in this area because the company employs many people.

Every article I read has me chomping at the bit to ask her everything rumbling in my head, but I promised Miles—and myself—that I’d dig in.

I email Miles all I’ve found, but before I can think about it, I’m slipping into clothes and boots, donning my leather jacket, and moving through the property like a ghost. I duck behind Blaze’s Silverado and hear voices filtering out of the open bay doors. The garage functions as such in the daytime, and currently, we’re working on fixing two bikes for customers in town.

I left myself a way in, so I sneaked behind the building and slowly opened her window, listening for anyone inside before popping my head up.

She’s lying on her side, facing the window. Soft breaths move in and out of her open, pouty lips. I’m lost there, watching her sleep soundly as if her hand isn’t cuffed to the fucking headboard.

Slipping into the window, I wonder why Miles hasn’t taken my key from me. He has to know I have it because he had to re-cuff her after he chased me off.

The deranged part of me says he wanted me to have this access, but logically, he likely just forgot. He has had a lot going on lately, especially trying to protect the workers’ rights in the town factory—a recent case brought to Cobra’s attention.

“Wake up, Bambi,” I say softly, opening her cuffs as noiselessly as possible.

“W—What? What’s going on?” she asks, confused.

Sitting up, she dangles her legs over the bed. She’s still in a long dress that reaches the floor. Blaze took her jacket off when he secured her and placed it on the back of the chair. I grab it and throw it at her.

She opens her mouth to ask me more questions.

I shake my head, putting my finger to my lips. I nod toward the door as if to tell her we don’t know who’s outside it.

She nods. For some fucking reason, she tugs her jacket on. My eyes register the purple rings the cuffs have made on her wrist, and my fractured part moans inwardly.