Page 44 of Brutal Surrender

“I won’t know if you’re lying or not.”

True. But can I get one over on him? I can’t trust myself with this guy. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

“Finish the tea,” he reminds me.

“I will,” I stall. “I’m just going to try the soup first.”

I reach for the bowl, but in my haste, I knock over the soy sauce dispenser. It falls over and spills onto my lap. Vincent grabs it and rights it, but the damage is done. Of course the soy sauce lands on the white part of my skirt. Some of it has even splashed onto the blouse. In dismay, I stand up and rush to the bathroom. Pulling at the blouse, I try to fit it under the water, but I also glance to see the soy sauce is dripping down my skirt.

Vincent, who followed me into the bathroom, turns on the rainfall shower. “It’ll be faster this way.”

The next thing I know, he grabs me and shoves me under the water. In short order, my entire outfit is wet.

“What if this is dry-clean only?” I gasp.

In response, he steps into the shower with me.

Chapter 20

Vincent

After I toss Ramona into the shower, I watch as the running water soaks into her clothing. I know soy sauce can set if not treated promptly, but I don’t really care about her clothes. I can easily buy her a new blouse and skirt. It’s more that it’s fun to toss her about like she’s a doll I own. And I know it bugs her that I can.

I would never have treated Irene like this, except playfully. Irene was special. Special enough to love a degenerate like me. Without judgment. Even my mother didn’t love me like that.

The women who fawn over me, who happily jump into my bed, could never love like that. And even if they could, I have no interest in replacing Irene. She was and will always be the love of my life. Only the heavens could be cruel enough to bless me with her light, only to take her from me and leave me in a world darker than it ever was.

Thinking about Irene makes me angry at Ramona all over again. It doesn’t make any sense because the two women have nothing to do with each other, and look and act nothing alike.

I worshiped Irene. She brought out the light in me. Ramona? She brings out the worst. I want to fuck her into next week.

This rut is the worst I’ve ever experienced. I fucked her not half an hour ago—and Aaliyah before that—but seeing her areolas through the wet blouse has me hungry all over again.

Feeling my arousal surge, I step into the shower and remove Ramona’s drenched clothing from her body, revealing her naked form beneath. Her skin glistens with a sheen of water and anticipation. How is it I can’t seem to get enough of this woman?

I yank her wet body to me and cup her jaw, making her look at me. Her eyes are a mix of dread and desire. The desire clouds the hate I usually see there, but even with the hate, I still like looking into her eyes.

The tension of arousal swirls around us with the steam. My own clothes have become sodden, but I don’t care. I like the feel of her against me. Her pebbled nipples press into my chest. Her belly rubs against my crotch as she squirms. Why does she try to fight it? She’s got to know she can’t win.

I understand there’s a conflict within her. On the mental and emotional level, she detests me. On the carnal level, her body craves me. The paradox turns me on. She turns me on. Everything about her turns me on. Even her hate turns me on.

My hands roam her body, feeling her up, grabbing her ass, caressing her back. I catch the quiver in her breath. I slip a hand between us and find her erogenous zones swollen and aroused, betraying her body’s insatiable desires. Parting her plump lips, I fondle her till more wetness gushes out of her.

When I withdraw my fingers, she looks bereft. I peel off my shirt and drop my pants.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask, my voice low and stern. “Show me how much you want this.”

She hesitates for a moment, then goes to her knees. Lowering her head towards my erection, she opens her mouth and takes me in.

I groan in pleasure as her mouth slides up and down my length. It’s fucking amazing. More amazing than the time I fucked her in that spider gag. She couldn’t wrap her lips around me before with the gag. But what arouses me the most is that she’s taking me willingly—sort of.

Holding the back of her head, I go deeper. She gags. I give her a moment to relax before trying again. Her throat constricts around me.

“That’s it,” I whisper, my voice straining with desire. “That’s a good girl.”

Grasping her hair, I guide her in rhythm to my thrusts. I haven’t forgiven her yet, so part of me wants to ram my cock down her throat to the pits of her stomach, forcing her to take everything I push at her. Because she tried to kill me. Because she brings up the pain of the past. Because I feel like I can’t help myself when I’m with her. I need my control back.

Realizing I’m choking her with my cock, I back off. Saliva drips from her mouth. Bending down, I wipe it for her, then pull her to her feet.

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