Page 13 of CurVy 13

I scoop it out, and she freezes, the sad sobbing melody petrified to silence as she becomes a statue.

“No, no, baby. I won’t hurt you. I was just cleaning you up.” I am so fucking hard, my cock feels as though it will pop like warm champagne, but I’ll control myself.

I push two fingers into her and scoop upward, collecting the mess from her. She’s warm, so warm, so wanting, responsive—fuck. I realise I’m fingering her now, and she lowers her hands to stare at me.

Our eyes meet.

“Hi,” I breathe.

And sparks fucking fly between us, an intense and meaningful melody builds in my ears, and my world tilts, hers does, too. I can tell. “I’m Tyler.”

She’s gaping at me, still recovering. I get it; Donnie said he needed to scare her, break her, have her question everything, and then we will be in control.

But I’m here now.

And shit... Her irises appear brown in her TikTok clips, but here, with the white tiles and overhead strip lighting, they are more than brown. Of course, they are. In here, they’re glittered in gold.

“Let me wash you,” I say. The excitement I feel is a drone I can’t escape, but I try to keep my breathing even.

I finger her swollen channel, twisting inside the pulsing flesh, pulling out, missing her, so I enter her again and again.

“This is my brother,” Donnie states from the doorway, the distinct sound of inhaling and exhaling, the stoking of his cigarette, interrupting his words. “But he’s not the reason we are here. My other brother is. Dexter Vaughn. You recognise that name, Thirteen?”

She lifts her knees and plants her bare feet on the tiles, offering me a better angle and view. Using the puddle of water that collects around her backside, I splash her pretty lips and finger the clean water into her.

Her head lands on the wall behind her, overcome by my penetration. She closes her eyes, shaking her head.

“Don’t fight it. I’ll make you orgasm, and you can push my brother’s cum out when you do. Maybe, one day, I can replace it with mine. Yeah? Would you like that?”

Her eyes snap open and lock onto me. I think that’s a yes.

I can’t read her expression, pinched brows, searching gaze. She looks startled or confused, which I get—I’m confused by what we are feeling, too.

She looks at my mouth, and I realise I’m humming again. It’s a sweet, light melody.

“He’s a pianist,” Donnie advises. “He hums sometimes. Don’t make him feel weird about it.”

Was.

Was a pianist.

He continues, “We are going to stay here. You are going to show up each day for your jury duty. Sit through the evidence. Pay attention. And when the time comes, you will vote for a not-guilty verdict.”

He pauses, the silence a message. “Because if my brother goes to prison for kidnapping that stupid little girl, I’ll still be here. Tyler will still be here. And we’ll be with you. This five-day-long engagement will become your life sentence. That’s what you always wanted? Isn’t it? What you talk about with your followers?”

His words widen her eyes further; so pretty.

She clutches at her chest, holding her frantic heart inside as it tries to beat through her flesh.

I can hear it.

I dip and rest my ear over her hand until she moves it away, and my cheek connects with her skin. Her heart—my heart—thrashes around. An erratic tempo.

I pull my fingers from inside her and turn to glare a demand at Donnie. Mine.

He’s leaning on the frame, looking satiated and well fucked, sucking the cigarette as though it’s smooth as air, sweet as pussy, oxygen for his dark soul.

“I want her.”

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