The emotions escalate to a breaking point when I look in the mirror and see the extent of the damage this bitch has done. The cut is indeed fucking deep, and the longer I try to wash it off and stop the bleeding, the more futile it seems.
An intense heat floods my body, every inch of my skin prickling as if it were being scorched by invisible flames. Cursing under my breath, I rip off my blazer and toss it onto the floor. I pace the space, my hands running through my hair.
Withdrawal and Venetia fucking Ross weigh heavily on my mind more than ever before—two forces that drive me insane, pushing the remnants of my composure to the brink before shattering it completely.
She’s gone too fucking far. I would never hurt her like this; what I did in the elevator was merely a warning, a way to scare her off. If she’d just apologized, I would have backed off.
Lies, lies, lies.
I wasn’t planning on letting her go. I didn’t want to. But why?
Why?
How the fuck should I know? I’m not an expert at understanding my feelings and emotions. My head is a mess, one I have no desire to untangle, preferring instead to muffle everything with drugs whenever possible.
I was about to fucking kiss her. I was about to kiss the woman I despise, the one I have no desire to know better. It’s probably just the effects of withdrawal.
It has to be.
Before the flames consume me completely, I choose the one thing that always brings me relief. I walk to the bathroom stall and lock myself in, ready to pull out the little baggie with white powder I always keep tucked in my pocket.
But instead, I slide down my pants and underwear, my hand wrapping around my cock, which fucking itches with an unfamiliar need. Closing my eyes, I begin to stroke myself, my palm sliding smoothly up and down, smearing pre-cum along my flesh. The memory of her flushed face fills my mind, fueling my desire as I pick up the pace, envisioning a different scenario.
Drops of blood splatter onto my hand—I don’t need to look to know it’s there—but I hardly care. In fact, it only fuels me more, the tension in my lower stomach tightening with each stroke, each new drop of blood.
If I wasn’t so stunned, I would’ve fucked her with her fucking hairpin. I would’ve watched her eyes roll before making her come all over her mini fucking weapon. She’d beg me to stop, but I’d silence her with my mouth, finally—fucking finally—tasting that sticky lip gloss and gathering all the little glitters on my tongue. I’d steal every breath from her lungs, making her choke on her fucking tears.
God, I hate her. There aren’t enough words to convey how much I want to hurt her. To ruin her. To shatter the façade she’s built over the years and peer into her soul to see if our broken pieces might somehow fit together.
Because after witnessing how aggressive she truly is? Maybe we’re not so different after all.
A moan breaks free as I apply pressure, my pace perfectly syncing with each vivid image flashing through my mind. I don’tcare if someone walks in and hears me jacking off like this. I’m lost in a haze of my pleasure.
For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for how imaginative my brain can be. I can almost feel her melting against me, the way I’ll make her break, the way I’ll make her pay for what she’s done while she kneels before me, that fiery gleam burning in her big, ivy-veiled eyes.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, the ringing in my ears a deafening symphony that merges with the pounding of my heart. Waves of heat crash over me, a primal rush of sadistic pleasure that leaves me breathless and drowning in its depths.
My lips part in a silent scream as the final blast vibrates through every inch of my body, igniting me from within and without. The world fades into a colorful blur as I come in my hand, picturing her mouth instead. Shutting my eyes, I can sense every drop spilling deep down her throat, feel her eyes roll back as she struggles to accept me.
Aftershocks make my knees buckle as I sense my consciousness starting to slip away. I slam my palm against the wall to brace myself, baring my teeth as electric vibrations continue to ripple through my body.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the weight of it all dragging my head down, making it too heavy to hold up. “Fuck,fuck?—”
Seconds and minutes of bliss pass by, and gradually, the aftermath begins to creep in from all sides, reality closing in on me like never before. The world continues to spin around me, and I open my eyes, struggling to collect my thoughts before confronting the woman who has somehow invaded my fucking mind.
My body shakes as I storm into the bathroom and rush toward the sink. Ragged breaths escape my lips, and I can still feel his grip around my throat, even though he’s no longer here.
My trembling fingers turn on the cold water, and I wash my hands up to my elbows, flinching at the icy touch on my skin. Goosebumps erupt across my body, but the whirlwind of emotions only tightens its grip on me. The more I replay what just happened, recalling every whispered word and each movement he made, the deeper I sink into despair.
Raising my head, I lock eyes with my reflection in the mirror. My clothes are wrinkled, and my face is a complete wreck. Yanking the hairpin out has left my hair sticking out at oddangles, and my skin is flushed a deep crimson—my cheeks and nose are deep red as if I’ve been running in the cold. The color seeps through my thick foundation, streaks of half-translucent mascara marring my skin, and my eyes are puffy from crying.
Lifting my hand to my lips, I brush my fingers across them, slightly smearing the remaining lip gloss and sending buzzing tingles as I recall his touch.
I’m scared. But not because of how he choked me or the psychotic gleam in his crystal eyes. No. I’m scared because of how aroused he was during it all. I felt it with every fiber of my being—the way he pressed against me, the undeniable hardness nudging between my legs. It was fucking impossible to ignore.
Jokes aside, Grace was right—he’s abnormally big. The thought of what might happen if he were to strip down makes me believe I wouldn’t stand a chance.
He relished what he did to me. I could see it in the way his eyes followed my tears and the smile that crept onto his face afterward. The bastard gets off on this, and I know that if I hadn’t fought back, he would’ve done something much worse.
