Page 2 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Rightfully so...

I let him down. Ruined our progress. Broke him in a way I can’t fix.

Sobbing, I left Zeke to take out his disappointment with me on our brand-new bedroom furniture. The sounds of cracking wood and shattering glass stalked me during my rushed drive to the compound where I sought distraction from the embarrassment I feel over my cowardly method of coping in the form of our best friend. With Slash suffering, my boyfriend wavering between love and loathing me, and the Shamrocks doing their best to ignore both of our downward spirals, it felt easier to face Slash’s self-destruction than my own.

Now, as I reach his closed bedroom, I’m not so sure. The sounds on the other side of the wood separating us are carnal. Lust-filled moans. Skin slapping. Harsh words. I am aware of my skin flaring with an unavoidable burning itch that strips my breath from my throat. My chest tightens even further. The air in my lungs turns into fire. Dragging my nails down exposed forearms, I dull the urge to slice my skin by offering my shattered psyche just enough pain to take the edge off.

“Where is she?” My old man’s shouting heralds his arrival at the Shamrocks’ compound. I should’ve known that he would follow me, despite his rage at my backslide. In his voice, I hear my own fear that I am past the point of saving when he yells before anyone can answer his initial question. “Lily! I know you’re here...” A scuffle breaks out, then Zeke curses, “Fuck me, Toker, tell me?—”

Zeke’s question is cut off abruptly. The dawning silence alerts me that time is running out. Soon everyone will know that I am a mess, instead of the functioning adult I pretend to be whenever I’m surrounded by the man and women I respect more than anyone else. I hate being weak. Loathe displaying my fragility. In their own way, they’ve stood by me, but as the trial came to an end and my father made it clear that the retribution they wanted to mete out against the Maddison clan wasn’t going to be taken to a vote, I became an uneasy reminder of their failure to protect their little Cherub.

First my mother, then me...

As the only daughter’s born to each generation, we have been poorly championed.

“Take it easy, Venom.” My cousin offers his cautions in a too-loud voice that is obviously meant for me to hear. “I’ll...”

Time’s up—I either face the hurt I’ve caused Zeke or redirect his focus to our mutual best friend. Ever the coward, I choose the second option. Turning the door handle, I let myself into Slash’s bedroom without knocking. The sight that greets me is worse than expected, despite Toker’s warning.

My cousins use of the plural didn’t compute in my rush.

Rather than one woman anchored by leather restraints to the end of his custom four poster bed, he has two. I recognise them as cut sluts who regularly hang around the club on non-family nights. Both tall, leggy blondes, the first is secured by her wrists, arms wide as she straddles the face of the second woman and seeks pleasure from her tongue. My view of the cut slut on the bottom is blocked by Slash’s big body, although I can see enough for my mind to complete the scene.

Ankles tied to the base of the bed, she is the main source of the noise. The big man is fucking her hard, their lower bodies slapping together even as no other part of them touches. Topless with his jeans sagging low on his backside, he is visibly angry, his body tight with fury that he unleashes with a savagery I would never have guessed him capable of doling out. Muscles bunched, sweat running the length of his spine, tendons in his neck corded, I am distracted from the triggering sounds of sex by the pure poetry I discover in the spectacle provided by Slash finding an outlet for his rage and sorrow.

He grunts, chasing his release with raw power in every thrusts. I make a sound that’s caught between a whimper and a gasp. Jamming my hand over my mouth, I play witness to the big man unleashing a flurry of slaps to the arse of the woman riding the face of the cut slut he’s fucking, then against the other woman’s breasts. Slash reddens their skin with perverse precision. Eyes wide, I observe the kindest man I know give in to his dark side. Tension coils within him, radiating a level of dominance and desire that’s at odds with the self-loathing that also emanates from Slash.

He’s unhinged yet resolute.

I am a mess of emotions.

Awed and disturbed.

Another groan that echoes in my head.

Another slap that makes me jerk like I was struck.

Slash’s hips move with carnal intent. His palms rain down violence that appears to drive the women wild, a situation the woman being eaten out makes clear when she noisily climaxes and the cut slut below her lets out a guttural moan of pleasure. This scene would usually make memories of Alex’s violation push into my head. I’d spiral into a panic attack that only Zeke or Slash could stop, a situation that would end in tears and recriminations.

Instead of losing it, I’m captivated by the control Slash is exerting over the two women.

The big man is animalistic, yet disconnected.

In charge despite barely touching them.

Brutal, but not dangerously so.

My hand flutters to my throat, and I press my index and middle fingers to my pulse point to steady myself with regular beats. It fails. Heart racing, I swallow deep when Slash’s thrusts turn sharp and deep, then he comes with an angrily shouted, “Fuck.”

The woman he’s inside orgasms a second time from a slap to her clit, her moans muffled because she’s still lapping at her fellow cut slut with enthusiasm. It’s wrong, but I am enthralled by what I just witnessed. Not by the two women. By Slash. By the way he made it clear that there is nothing significant between them, yet they still trust him with their bodies and their safety.

This is just a fuck for him.

A way to reclaim his equilibrium.

And they accept those parameters without question.

I’m envious.

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