“Even when faced with the truth, when faced with your possible demise, you still can’t set aside your vanity.” I take a step toward her and raise her chin to lift her eyes to mine. She swats my hand away but gazes up at me all the same.
“You didn’t take my life, stepmother, but you’ll always have my sympathy for never being able to see yourself as anything other than a pretty face. For never being able to see me as the daughter you could have had. The one who could have loved you unconditionally, no matter how you looked.”
She drops to the floor but only for a moment before leaping to her feet, once again holding the knife. “Ahhhh!” she yells as she attempts to slash my face, but she only manages a small scrape across my cheek because I’m too fast, spinning around and moving beside her with my back to the window.
Chase runs toward us, but not before she tries again, screaming from deep within her throat, knife raised high with a determined bloodshot look in her hate -filled eyes. She lunges at me, and this time I duck under her arm. She skids across the tile on her own blood and crashes into the window blade first, puncturing a hole that cracks the glass wide open with the force of her body slamming against it. Her eyes go wide when the realization of what she’s done sets in. She spins on her heel at the very end of the ledge in an attempt to regain her balance, but it’s too late. Her arms circle in the air as she falls backward into the night, six stories below to the concrete patio.
And her death.
“Are you hurt?” Chase asks, spinning me around to inspect my body for injuries as the cold night air blasts through the window like a wind tunnel.
I shake my head. “No. I feel…relieved. She wasn’t capable of love, nor change. In a way, death was her only way out of the miserable life she created for herself. In a way, her death makes me feel even more alive.”
He taps out a message on his phone then grabs my hands, raising my hands to his mouth and kissing each of my knuckles. “Now you understand how I feel. To be part of the life and death cycle, it’s…”
“Powerful,” I finish for him.
He shakes his head, and his eyes meet mine. His hand clasps over the back of my neck as he brushes his lips over mine. “I was going to say erotic.”
“That too,” I manage to whisper as my entire body leans toward him like it knows whose arms it belongs in as much as my brain does. Chase. Always Chase. “Wait, what about the police?”
He smiles. “Taken care of, princess. The Constantines owe me a favor. She’ll be gone in an hour and so will any evidence that she was ever here.”
“Wow, what’s it like to have that kind of power?” I ask, in awe of this man I love.
“They owe me a favor.” He lifts me off my feet, and I yelp in surprise, my legs wrapping around his waist. “But as far as how it feels to have that kind of power…you tell me.” He clears away the food from the table with one swipe of his long arm, then sets me down. He lifts my skirt and feels between my legs. I buck at the contact of his fingers exploring my wet pussy.
He groans. “Already so wet for me.”
“Always,” I moan as he wastes no time unzipping his pants. He frees himself, and with his fingers digging into my thighs he pulls me down to the edge of the table, impaling me with one hard thrust that has my entire body on fire with need.
We fuck well into the night, and after he’s made me come half a dozen times and my body feels sated and boneless, Chase takes me in his arms and carries me to bed. He tucks me in beside him, pulling me across his chest.
I’m drifting off to sleep, on my way to dream about the very man whose arms I’m in, when I hear him whisper into the dark, “And they lived happily ever-fucking after.”
If you enjoyed this story from T.M. Frazier, be sure to read her USA Today bestselling King Series.
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Heartless
Jade West
Lucian
I’d always been a monster for seeking out the forbidden, but even I was pushing my insanity to the limits that night.
Disguised by nothing more than a black leather mask covering half of my face, I mingled my way through the guests. I was right at the heart of it – pompous bullshit, bloated pretences, false kisses, and fake smiles. Everything I’d have expected from the Constantines.
“Champagne, sir?”
I shook my head, and fixed the little waitress in my evil stare. “Mineral water.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
She scuttled away, rattling her tray of glasses as she went.
Tinsley Constantine’s coming of age masked ball was bursting at the seams. Hundreds of stupid fools chattering in stupid foolish costumes, and I was twisting amongst them like a vine with invisible thorns.
I could almost smell them – the Constantines. They were crawling through the place, billowing through the masses with their idiot blonde bullshit. Vivian, and Keaton, and Tinsley herself were prancing around as though they were on a film set, but not nearly so much as Caroline. The mother of the whole damn posse was dressed up like some kind of ice queen in a ridiculous diamanté mask, smirking at everyone she passed, like royalty. The very sight of her made me retch.
But, despite all her efforts with the crowd, it wasn’t Caroline Constantine who was sucking at my attention like a black hole. It was the woman in gold. The woman owning the room without even trying.
She was wearing a Venetian mask that covered so much of her face I could barely make out her features, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t need to see her face. The visible parts of her were enough to drive me wild.
I’d been watching her swirling from guest to guest, swigging back the fizz and guffawing like they were the most hilarious person she’d ever met. Her laugh was a cross between a cackle and a giggle, enough to grate my teeth. Yet still, I couldn’t stop looking at her.
The gold silk of her ballgown was a perfect envelope on a perfect body. Sloping curves in a delicious hourglass – a gorgeous pedestal of glamour to highlight the elegance of her slender neck. Oh, how I’d love to crush that neck in my hands as I fucked her rough enough to hurt.
Her blonde curls were held up in twists glittering with diamonds. Her fingers were manicured and glittering to match, sparkling under the chandelier lights every time she reached out a hand for some moron to kiss it.
Lust and disgust were a heady combination twisting in my gut – and throbbing in my cock along with it.
She must’ve been a Constantine. She reeked of one.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to kiss or kill the Constantine bitch, but one thing was for certain.
I wanted to take her body.
Slowly.
Deeply.
Painfully.
I wanted to see her hurt. I wanted to hear her cry. I wanted to feel her body fight me as she begged me to stop, even though her pussy was screaming for more.