Page 45 of Velka Manor

The silence is driving me crazy. I’m itching under my skin, desperate to break it, but every time I open my mouth, Dorian shoots me a scolding frown, shaking his head. This all his stupid fault; he didn’t need to mention that Ghost was Octavia’s bio daddy. He just can’t help himself; he needs them to know how much he fucked them. Except this time, he’s fucked us both in the process.

Octavia opens our bedroom door, kicking off her shoes and unzipping her dress, letting it pool onto the floor. My mouth waters at the sight of her pale skin shimmering in the light, our marks all over her skin, a white corset clinging to her body with sexy as fuck lace booty shorts that show off the bottom half of her plump ass. Goddamn, I want to take a bite out of it.

She walks over to my bedside cabinet, rifling through my drawers, hunting for something. I glance at Dorian, and neither of us seems to know what’s going on. I expected anger, bloodshed, maybe a few tears. I could handle that; I would know what to do with that. Let her stab and hit the fuck out of me. I’d sit there and take it until she exerted herself, and then I’d bendher over, sinking my dick into her dripping wet pussy, making her scream as she couldn’t stop coming around my cock.

This silence is weird. I don’t like it.

“Gotcha,” she mutters, finding whatever it was she was looking for.

She rushes towards us with a knife, and I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, she’ll get her anger out. I push Dorian forward, sacrificing him to the worst of the violence. I want the horny rage, not the actual murder.

He braces himself, waiting for her to plunge it into his flesh, not trying to stop or block it, knowing he deserves it. But instead of stabbing him, she flips the knife around in her hand, giving him the handle.

“Angel?” he questions, his forehead pinched together.

“You're supposed to stab with the pointy end, pretty girl,” I say, giving her valuable instructions, even though I taught her that one when she was five years old.

She rolls her eyes, shaking her hand as she places the knife in Dorian’s hand. “I know what end to stab with, Bas, but I’m not the one doing the carving tonight.”

What is going on? She doesn’t want to kill us?

Dorian’s eyes flash, and his hand shakes as he takes it from her. I see the blood rushing through his body, turning his skin pink, the adrenaline and temptation of finally being able to do what he truly craves taking over his rational thinking.

For fuck's sake. I never have to be the damn rational one.

“Do you maybe want to talk about what happened, what you found out? I know you promised this to him, but Dorian will understand not doing it tonight, waiting until you’re ready.”

I smack him in the ribs when he says nothing, clutching the knife harder in his hand, so mesmerised that I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw actual stars in his eyes.

“Would you, brother?” I hiss.

He thankfully blinks out of his state, coming back into the room, shaking his head. “We don’t have to do this tonight, angel. Let’s talk about everything. I’m sorry for it coming out-”

She slaps her hand on his mouth, smothering the words.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to even think about it. We just survived Vincent Stone, we have permission to get married, and you have both told me you loved me.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to think of anything except what we planned to do when we got back to this room.”

“You—” She points to me, crooking her finger, pulling me towards her on an invisible string as my feet move of their own accord. “You are going to get down on your knees and eat my pussy so fucking well, I’m in danger of passing out.”

“Yes fucking ma’am,” I growl, my dick hard as stone in seconds.

“And you.” She turns her head to Dorian, releasing her hand from his mouth. “You are going to select a piece of my body to carve your name into, and then the both of you are going to fuck me until I actually pass out. You are going to show me how much you fucking love me, how much you want me.”

“Yes, angel,” Dorian says softly, gazing into her eyes, checking that this is what she needs as I do the same.

I can’t see any doubt, any inclination that this isn’t what she wants, and as she stares right back at us, I can see a trickle of anger working in that we’re not doing anything.

“Now,” she barks, and I swear, I almost come.

I groan in pure fucking pleasure at her command, wanting her to take charge. Dorian moves, but I move quicker, scoping her up in my arms, rushing to our new bed. I chuck us both into it, diving on top of her, burying my face between her breasts. She softly giggles, running her hands through my hair, pushing my face deeper. Fuck, I would happily suffocate to death between these.

I drag my tongue over her bare flesh, and she arches into my touch, a sweet moan ripping from her lips.

“Knife,” I bark, holding out my hand.

Dorian drops it into my palm, and I trace the edge of the blade up Octavia’s side. She stills, letting me put pressure on it. The further down the knife goes, the higher I rise until I’m hovering over her on my knees, the knife at the bottom of her corset. The blade cuts through the fabric easily, the ripping sound like music to my ears.

As soon as her breasts are uncovered, I blindly chuck the knife back to Dorian, taking one of her nipples into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the hardening bud, giving the same attention to the other once I’m done. Her back arches more, throwing her head back, a beautiful whimper coming from her as I bite down until I taste blood.

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