Page 26 of Princes of Carnage

She arches her body into each thrust of the dildo, and I notice that too, cataloguing the way her body moves. The way she twists and writhes, the way her hands work at her tits and her pussy. She fumbles one hand down to the vibrator clenched between her thighs, and I take note as she turns the intensity up. Her answering moan is nearly enough to drown out the sound of the buzzing, and she pants hard, sweat glistening on her skin.

I don’t miss a single detail, watching her the way someone would study something scientific. It comes naturally to me, and I file each piece of information away for later, keeping it all organized in my head.

When she slaps her own tit again, I watch the way the pinkness blooms over her soft, pale skin. The way she plucks at her nipple almost desperately, twisting it hard as if to let the pain mingle with the pleasure.

She has to be close by now, probably holding back on coming, pushing herself to her limits.

There’s no way she knows she has an audience, but it’s like she’s putting on a show all the same, letting me see how she makes herself fall apart.

Nico sent me here tonight. To keep an eye on Quinn, he said. To make sure she’s not planning to betray us or anything stupid like that.

A ghost of a smile almost flickers across my lips as I watch Quinn paw at her body, shivering under the pleasure of her own rough touches. It’s almost funny that Nico gave me this task. Or maybe ironic is a better word, since I’m sure he wouldn’t find it amusing.

Because he doesn’t know that I’ve been here before.

He doesn’t know that I know the best way to slip into Quinn’s house undetected. The door at the back of her house that jams instead of latching. All it takes is a shoulder check to force it open, and it’s easy to break in and creep through the place without being seen.

I’ve been doing this for a while now. Stalking her. Watching her. Learning her.

She intrigues me in a way that most people don’t. Most of the world is bland in my eyes, a neutral landscape full of little people doing insignificant things. They come and go like moving shadows, beneath my notice or attention. But with her teal hair and flashing gray eyes, Quinn has always been a spot of color I can’t look away from.

That same hair is spilling over the pillows of her bed now, almost seeming to glow against the white sheets. The flush on her face is just as bright, drawing me in.

With a broken sounding moan, Quinn falls apart, coming hard on the toys she’s using, holding nothing back. I watch her, my attention firmly on what she’s doing now, instead of my own thoughts.

Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, and she doesn’t stop fucking herself through her orgasm. Her mouth moves with silent words as she gasps for breath, and I have to wonder what she’s thinking about.

I always want to know what she’s thinking in those moments where she makes herself come this way. She always seems so desperate, like she’s trying to exorcise her demons through the orgasm.

Her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, but she doesn’t stop. She lets her legs fall open and then grabs the vibrator again, repositioning it. Her breath catches on a whimper, and she must be oversensitive now, coming down from the first climax.

But she doesn’t let up. She grinds the head of the wand against her clit and keeps fucking herself with the dildo, slower this time. Instead of shoving it in and out of her pussy with reckless abandon, her movements are deliberate, as if she’s forcing herself to feel each slide in and each pull out. Her hips buck, and she moans before catching her plush bottom lip between her teeth.

It’s not the same as before though. I can tell.

She’s not lost in the feelings, caught up in it the way she was at first. This time, it seems like she can’t quite get the angles she wants, and she adjusts the vibrator again, turning it down and then up again.

She fucks the dildo into herself harder, baring her teeth and screwing her eyes shut, and then slows her movements and sighs. Apparently, she’s not going to be able to come a second time. Not like this, anyway.

With a groan, she gives up, flopping back on the bed for a second before leaning over to put the toys away.

She sounds frustrated as she mutters to herself, her voice too low for me to catch the words properly. But I’m pretty sure I hear her say Nico’s name, and a stab of jealousy shoots through me.

It’s odd, being of two minds about the whole thing.

Nico is the one who’ll be marrying her, the one who will be tied to her. He says that it means she’ll be tied to our gang, to the Princes as a whole—but he’ll be her husband. I know that means something.

I can admit to myself that I’m jealous. I’m the one who’s been following her, after all. The one who’s snuck into her house time and time again, to watch her, to learn her habits, to try to peer into her mind and figure out what she’s thinking.

But Nico is the one who will marry her.

At the same time, a part of me is glad this is all happening. Because with this plan, I won’t be reduced to watching her from the shadows anymore. I’ll be much closer to her.

I watch as she rolls off the bed and then leaves the room and wait until I’m sure she’s gone into the bathroom before I creep out of the closet and follow her on light feet down the hall.

I move silently, and she’s so in her own head that she doesn’t hear me. I watch through the cracked bathroom door as she looks at her reflection in the mirror and then sighs, moving to brush her teeth.

Such a mundane task, something everyone does, but when she does it… it fascinates me. Like everything she does, it fucking mesmerizes me, and I can’t look away.

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