The sexiest moan I’d ever heard broke through Marnie’s lips, and I damn near came. The sweet sound of victory was followed by a wiggle of her hips. Marnie could hate me all she wanted, but her body begged for more. And I was more than happy to give it to her.
I thrust deep and groaned at the way she wrapped around my length like a glove.
“You like it rough, Little Bird.” I grabbed her neck and pulled her back against me.
Her eyes locked onto mine as she snarled, “I hate it.”
I could’ve given her another warning about lying, but why waste my time? When I could prove her wrong and shatter that ego.
One shift of my hips and I was slamming against a spot that made Marnie’s eyes roll in the back of her head. She couldn’t stop the scream that came two pumps later when her cunt convulsed, and her body seized.
“Feel that,” I hissed in her ear. “That’s you coming on my cock.”
Even through her orgasm, she managed to get out a garbled, “Fuck you.”
“No, no, no, Little Bird, it’s me who’s fucking you.” I tsked and drove into her fluttering walls. “And this is just the beginning. I’m going to fuck you in ways you didn’t know were possible and when you think you can’t take anymore.” I grunted as my balls pulled up and held back my orgasm long enough to growl, “I’ll show you just how sick and depraved I am.”
The roar from my chest rippled through my veins as I sunk my teeth into her shoulder and shot my seed inside her. I came so hard that it felt like my heart stopped.
Lindsay Manheim didn’t have shit on Marnie Dupire.
Idon’t know how long I was left alone in the dark.
Preston put me back in the cage when he was done with me. Not that I was complaining. I’d take this stupid purple cushion over the other option. Which involved Preston lying on top of me while kissing the back of my neck. It was bad enough that my body responded to him, but I’d be damned if I was going to cuddle.
An unwanted orgasm or two I could forgive. It was a natural reaction to my violation, like pain or hunger. I didn’t blame myself for deriving pleasure from it. The mind did all kinds of things to survive. After all, did people blame the road for their skinned knee or hate themselves because it hurt?
Of course not. Pain was your body’s way of telling you that you were injured. What happened with Preston was no different than that. A coping mechanism and nothing else.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?
It wasn’t like I wanted it to happen again. The second I caught my breath, I threatened to cut his balls off and shove them down his throat—hence my current position in the birdcage. And I stood by that threat. But I couldn’t stop my mind from returning to him as if Preston Whitley was some inescapable force. I could feel his hands on my skin and smell him everywhere I turned. This room was permeated with him.
“Desire is the fruit of Satan.”
And there was that.
My father had been spouting off random bible quotes for I don’t know how long. I even argued with him a few times, despite knowing that my father wasn’t actually here. Perhaps I was going insane? It wasn’t that bad. At least I had my glasses again. That was a plus.
I also had a blanket, an apparent reward for my ability to please a narcissistic sociopath. There was a skill I should’ve put on my college applications.
Not only have I dedicated many hours to the school newspaper and many other academic programs, but I can put a satisfied smile on a cold-hearted murderer.
If that wasn’t Ivy League material, I don’t know what was.
Instead of Harvard, I got a thin, itchy blanket. On the upside, it did give me something to cover up with. Considering I was just dumped in here without even being cleaned up, I’d take whatever I could. No one could accuse Preston Whitley of being a gentleman.
As soon as I figured out a game plan, they could call him a murder victim, though. And I meant murder—none of that homicide bullshit.
There was a profound difference between those two words. One was the ending of another’s life. Whether purposeful or accidental didn’t matter, the result was the same. The other was when someone not only took joy from another’s demise but wanted to watch the light fade from their eyes. And trust me. I would watch that man’s life drain away.
Preston might be death incarnate. Hell, he could be the devil himself. It didn’t matter. One way or another, I would destroy him.
I shifted to the side, then flopped to the left, searching for a more comfortable position.
Nothing seemed to work. Everywhere I moved, that damn ache in my core followed. Was it supposed to hurt this much? It didn’t seem right to me. Losing your virginity wasn’t an easy experience, but that was hours ago. I don’t know exactly how many hours. I did sleep, though. Surely the pain should’ve eased up by now? So why did it feel like he was still inside me?
I pounded a fist off the pillow under me and muttered, “Stupid lumpy cushion.”
