But that’s a Gabriella thing. Every night without fail, she bundles up and then kicks the oversized comforter off a few hours later. It’s a trait I find sweet. Alluring.
Like her soft skin and scent. Like her intoxicating smile and green eyes, always so curious and fierce, but I know the demon that resides within—see her lurking behind that expressive stare—and I vow to bring her out. To bring her home.
Her small bikini panties are a lovely shade of pink tonight with just enough fabric to cover her sweet little clit while her labia peeks out. They look petal soft as I part her legs, and my mouth waters at the debauched sight of a tiny wet spot at the center.
“Motherfuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth, pulling the panties aside while enjoying the slow parting of those lips and the little hole I plan to break, worship, and pray to for the rest of my existence. “Mine.” The one word rumbles up my chest, shaking the bed slightly. “Always mine.”
My face lowers to her neck, and I place a small kiss there and then over the bruised skin from her altercation with her so-called friend. My poor beauty, so much pain and so much betrayal surrounds you. I trail my nose down her chest and the flat of her stomach, keeping my weight off her body. I’m barely touching her, keeping it featherlight until I stop just above her mound where I keep her underwear pushed aside. Many will bleed in your name; I promise you this.
My face is inches from her pussy. My nostrils flare, pulling her scent deep into my lungs as every muscle in my body aches with the need to sink into the pink flesh.
I want to fuck her.
I want to mark her.
And I will.
But there’s someone I need to visit first. Someone who forgot her place.
“I’ll be back for you.” With my nail, I lightly carve out the word soon on her thigh. The cuts are very shallow, just a drop or two of blood seeping through, and I lick them before pulling back. Christ, she tastes of ambrosia. “My sweet, pretty girl.”
With one final glance, I leave a sharp paring knife as a prop beside her on the bed before walking to her closet. My gift is right where I left it and I grab it, taking it with me as I walk out of the room and toward her studio.
The room is a bit messy when I enter and her dog looks up sharply when he sees me, watching me, but a lot less nervous than before. We have an understanding, he and I.
He behaves, I reward.
“Relax,” I say, and his head immediately goes back to lying on his paws. His big eyes watch me walk over to the old dresser she keeps in here as secondary storage, not a single grunt from him, while I rummage through her things. The unit stores paints inside and tools used to achieve different finishes, but what I need is the hidden compartment that slides out from underneath the middle shelf.
This is where she keeps a gold locket that was supposed to be her mother’s and was given to her by the group home when she aged out. It’s something she holds dear for some reason, some of which I will never understand, but I know she’ll come looking when she finds the drawer pulled out.
“It’s time to remember, pretty girl.”
I’ve been sitting in her living room for the past hour. Thinking. Planning. Making necessary arrangements since the woman I came to see is an idiot. Someone who fancies herself of my social standing, and yet I view her as no better than the dirt beneath my shoes.
Unprepared. Unable to make a single move in a world where I reign that I wouldn’t know about a few seconds after. I have eyes and ears everywhere.
An army at my disposal who is loyal.
Trained to kill on command.
But then again, that’s her fucking cross to bear—not mine—because idiocy leads to bad decisions on the way down the road toward death. And I’m here to deliver the final notice; my patience runs thin.
The apartment is small and disorganized; a cluster of journals, details of her goals, and the one atop the coffee table still open has a vivid and incorrect detailing of each interaction we’ve had.
“Motherfucking delusional.” I’m disgusted by the mere thought of her. It’s a little past four in the morning when the door bangs open, revealing the angry woman in question. She storms inside with a male. He’s young, impressionable, and is dead before the door closes with a bullet to the head.
“What the fuck?” she screams, wiping her face where the blood splattered.
“Good morning, Elise.”
At my voice, she stiffens, her eyes snapping toward mine. “Your—”
“Silence.” Standing from the oversized bubblegum-pink chair, I stride across the room and pause a few steps from her. She trembles in fear, her chest heaving while her body betrays her and thighs clench. I arouse her. I scare her. “You made a mistake, Elise. A costly one.”
“Please, let’s talk about this.”
“We’ve talked in the past, and yet you don’t listen.” Another step forward, and she takes one back. “I’ve given you chance after chance to accept your fate with dignity until she doles out your punishment.”
“She’s not one—” Her scream is cut off by my hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing until bruises begin to appear and her face becomes a nice cherry red. “Please.” The word is low, muted by my tight hold, but I hear her loud and clear.
“My patience with your acts of grandeur have reached their end, Elise.” My fingers tighten, the flesh giving way beneath the pressure. “You will stop, and you will bend. Do you understand? Nod if you do.” Her nod is barely perceptible, but enough for me. “You will wait for her decision with grace. Again, nod.” She does—frantically, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Attempt something again and
