Page 5 of Roxanne

Storm…she called my name as her sweet pussy gushed for me. She tasted even sweeter than I could have ever dreamed, and even though she thought I was another man, she whispered my name when she came.

I let this shit with Eric go on long enough. Granted, she hasn’t seen him in person since the day the sneaky fuck asked for her number, but still. I let her have her fun, let her flirt with another man to boost her confidence in herself, but I'm done watching her smile at her phone because of him. I’m the only man she needs, and even if I wasn’t, I’m the only man she’s going to get.

Roxanne is mine. She’s been mine since long before she ever met that fucking loser, Eric. The only reason I allowed the tool to ask her for her number was because I’ve seen what a player he is. I assumed Roxy would figure that out as well.

Only, it’s been three weeks, and all she’s noticed is what a damn flirt he is.

Earlier today, for example, she walked right past his dumb ass while he flirted with three fucking women. I can’t say I’m mad about the fact that she didn’t notice him and, instead, stared me down like she wanted to fucking kill me.

My girl is desperate for connection. She’s desperate for attention…she shouldn’t be. I should be more than enough, but I understand. No one on this earth understands my girl better than I do.

She loves me, she just makes herself hate me because she can’t hate her brother and father.

Something none of us has ever told her is that I beat the fuck out of my best friend three days after I murdered their uncle. Right in front of their father. He watched, an odd look of resignation and anger swimming in his eyes.

Misha Ivanov is a strong, stoic, insane man. He raised his son to be no less insane. But he ditched Roxy because she was a girl.

So after I beat William bloody, I slammed my fist into Misha’s cheek. I was sixteen, had just killed my first man, and Roxy was taking her pain out on me. I needed an outlet.

That girl took my hand at just eight years old and saved my fucking life.

I owed her everything. And even if I didn’t, I’d been in love with her since the day I called her a sinner, and she giggled in response. I was raised by shady, religious cultists. They were abusive, neglectful, and fucking nuts.

So imagine my surprise when a sinner, in a pretty pink sundress, approached me. I was always told that the outsiders hated us. That they’d take one look at me and sneer. And they did. Adults far and wide kept their distance from me.

Of course, my so-called parents left out the part about people avoiding you when you smelled like fifty-day-old garbage. I never showered back then. Wasn’t allowed to. And the wounds on my arm would have no doubt become infected. Except Roxy saw me crying, alone, and scared. She didn’t hesitate to take my hand and drag me home with her.

Her dad was suspicious of me, but her mom didn’t even blink at the fact that her daughter had dragged a dirty kid home with her.

Together, they cleaned me up, fed me, and when it was time to take me home, Will stood in the doorway and simply said no.

I still remember the way their mother grinned like a fool, even as Misha grumbled to himself. Something about…‘Of course, my antisocial kid imprinted on a cult leader's spawn.’

Back then, all I knew was that I never went home again.

Three years later, their mom died, and Misha took Will with him all over the world. I usually tagged along. Until I hit fourteen and decided I didn’t want to leave Roxy behind as much. I lived in their empty house, alone.

But I was close to Roxy.

As I approach the mansion, I shake myself out of those thoughts. Those dark days when Roxy was so far out of my reach. Two years ago, her brother installed a cloning app on her phone before giving it to her and has tasked me with monitoring her.

I doubt he ever intended me to use it for something like this, but regardless…

There’s a good chance this stunt will get me decapitated, but it’ll have been worth it.

She needs to know who she belongs to. Now. Before she does something reckless. Something I’ll make her regret.

I’ve allowed her to resist me for years. To deny the connection we share. I know why she did it. What she sees when she looks at me. But she’s been mine since before I even knew what that meant.

I’m not a kid anymore, and even if this ends my life, I’ll make Roxanne mine.

* * *

Roxanne

“Eric,” I say again, but he doesn’t slow down. Is he embarrassed about what we just did? Why is he being so odd…

My limbs still shake after that world-rocking orgasm, and by the time we make it inside, I’m panting.

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