My bleeding tongue was throbbing. I rubbed my mouth on the back of my hand and there was a smear of red. Still, I didn’t care. I really was crazy with all my parts jarred together.
I would’ve happily stayed there for a sick, twisted lifetime, pinned by the filthy fuck-up at the countertop, but no. He had other plans.
His grip was firm on the back of my hair as he spun me around and shoved me back through to the hallway.
“Let the games begin,” he said.
Chapter Four
Lucian
Her blood was still beautifully metallic in my mouth as I shunted her through to the hallway and onwards, right through to the small library on the property. I almost regretted bringing her here, because it felt as though her eyes were peering inside me somehow.
I switched on a lamp, illuminating her just enough to give her a sweet golden sheen.
“Strip,” I told her, and she spun to face me, fixing me in that pretty gaze of hers.
This time she didn’t attempt to argue with me. She slipped her dress straps from her shoulders with her lips tight, trying to hold the fuck you in her stare. She failed to hide the truth of it, even though her whole body was lying. She was scared.
Really fucking scared.
My mouth watered at the thought of her stomach fluttering, nervous.
I wanted to feel her breaths quick and hot against me as I played with her, but I held back, stoic and firm as I folded my arms across my chest.
“Strip for me,” I told her again.
She let the dress slip down to show her bra, perfect in its lacy white sweetness. Her hips held barely any resistance, letting the fabric slide right down her legs to the floor.
White panties. Sweet little white panties.
Jesus Christ, I was going to enjoy her body.
She was already reaching around for her bra clip when I clipped out a no to her.
She paused, eyes wide.
“Not yet,” I growled. “Stand still like a good girl.”
She stood still, but her expression wasn’t anything like a good girl. There was a mist of rebellion about her, along with her fear. Fear and want. She wanted me, but hated it.
Just like I wanted her. How I hated that I wanted her.
She was a Constantine.
Not even a useful one. I couldn’t use her to regain my company. I couldn’t even have her while I completed the coup that had been years in the making. No, I’d had to make a choice. I resented her for making me choose her. For being so beautiful, so broken, so strong that I had to take her for myself. I resented her, even though it hadn’t been her choice.
I made her stand for long slow minutes, loving how she shuffled more and more as I stared at her. She was getting agitated along with nervous, until she finally wrapped her arms around herself and found her voice. “Well, are you going to do something to me then or what?”
“Not yet, little doll. I’m going to savor every second.”
She sighed at me, feigning a whole new flash of confidence. “Boring, then. Great. May as well have popped the pills and fucked off out of life before you showed up.”
I had a sick adoration of these different sides to the butterfly, so many colors on her wings flashing bright. Her fears, her secrets, her need to be a good little girl. Her self-hate, her self-harm, her sad little desire to move on from her upbringing and its bullshit—saving those addicts from the Power brothers. Her mother wouldn’t piss on any of them if they were burning, much less allow her daughter to vouch for their debts.
Elaine knew that, too. She knew it and went against her family’s will.
I was fascinated by her. “Spread your legs,” I told her, and my voice was laced with malice.
“No.”
“Spread your legs,” I told her again, but she shook her head.
“Make me. I’m not just a little doll who’s going to dance to your beat.”
I closed the distance between us, loving how she flinched as I stepped up to her. “Oh, you’re a little doll, Elaine. You’re going to dance nice and hard to my beat.”
My cock was straining in my pants, and my mouth was watering. Her breaths were every bit as shallow and fast as I imagined. I could almost hear her heartbeat thumping.
My words were growls, and the dynamic shifted between us.
“Spread your fucking legs.”
She shuddered, wanting. She couldn’t help but want me.
“Do it,” I muttered.
She liked that. Fuck, she liked that. I could feel it.
My cock liked it too. My cock liked it when Elaine Constantine shifted her legs apart.
I crept my fingers up her thigh nice and slowly, tickling. She flinched as my thumb brushed her slit through her wet panties, breaths growing more shallow as I teased.
“I’m going to hurt your pussy,” I told her. “I’m going to hurt your pussy so fucking bad you’re going to cry for me.”
“At least fuck me first.”
“You’ll have to earn that,” I said. “Earn my cock like a good little doll.”
There was something about my words that were resonating. I could feel her tension.
“Rub your slit on my fingers,” I told her. “Make yourself come.”
I teased her, coaxed her, tickling her pussy enough to make her tense up.
I don’t know how we did it, descended into such a natural dance of flesh. The dam broke in my dirty girl as she braced herself on me, arms wrapping around my shoulders as she let her hips do the work.
She rubbed her slit on my fingers, fast. She was desperate, walls breaking as her butterfly colors shimmied.
I wouldn’t help her. My fingers were strong and still against her as she worked for her thrill.
“Put them inside me,” she whispered. “Please.”
But no. I wouldn’t put them inside her. “Rub your slit,” I said. “Come for me.”
“Help me,” she said, whimpering, rubbing fiercely. “Help me come.”
But no. I wouldn’t help her come. I wanted the little doll to do it all on her own. “What do you think about when you touch your clit at night?” I asked her with a growl. “What makes you wet?”
The question made her rub harder, putting more weight against my fingers.
“Tell me,” I snarled. “What makes you wet, Elaine?”
“Help me,” she whispered. “Help me come…please…”
“What makes you wet, Elaine?”
Her rhythm became faster, harder. “Please, Lucian…help me…”
“What makes you touch your clit at night?”
She was shivering, desperate. Her arms were gripping me tight. “Please, Lucian…”
I knew she’d done it before. I knew she’d come for people. “Did they make you touch yourself?” I asked her. “Did they make you touch yourself as they hurt you?”
She tensed, even as she rubbed against me.
Yes. They made her touch herself as they hurt her. I knew it. I knew they hurt her, and I knew they made her like it.
The thought made me hard and full of hate, both at once.
Who the fuck had hurt Elaine Constantine?
“They did it, didn’t they?” I whispered. “They made you want it?”
It tipped her over the edge. Her shudder was intense, her bucks so frantic as she cried out. The doll’s back arched as she broke herself and came for me. She was lost, her body giving up the fight. Elaine Constantine came against my fingers.