Page 22 of Spiteful Heart

There really was nothing like the feeling you had when you were with your person. I never understood the sentiment, not truly, not until Lola came into our lives in a fit of blood and fury.

Sweat lined my brow, and I released my hold on the tie, letting Lola collapse forward onto the bed. I was loathed to pull out of her, but I did just that, breathing hard as I crawled up to the pillows and flopped around so that I stared at the ceiling. I wore all of my clothes still, my cock out and still very much hard, glistening with Lola’s arousal, but I didn’t care.

Lola rolled into me, the tie still around her neck. Her blond hair was a mess, half of it still tucked into the loop of the tie, but she didn’t seem to mind. Those sapphire eyes were glazed over in spent lust, and she managed to whisper, “Wow. That was… maybe I should call you Sylvie more often—”

I grabbed the tie once more, pulling it taut and choking her a bit. “Keep it up, and I’ll choke you until you pass out.”

“Ooh, promise? But only if you’re fucking me when I come to,” she spoke as her thighs squeezed together, totally unbothered by the tightness around her throat. Based on the twinkle of hunger still residing in her eyes, I could tell she’d like that. Oh, she’d like that a lot.

“I’ll keep a mental note of that,” I told her, moving to kiss her. Her lips tasted of sweet defiance, heat and desire all rolled into one. She hummed into the kiss, and I was slow in letting her go—both her mouth and my hold on the tie.

She worked to loosen it, lifting it up and getting it off, but when I thought she would toss it aside, she did something I wasn’t expecting: she rolled on top of me, straddling me with a mischievous look in her eyes. Her throat was a little red from our activities, but she seemed unbothered. She breathed hard as ever, her tits rising and falling with ragged lungfuls of air. Straddling my midsection, Lola was as sexy as ever.

“Sylvester Luciano,” Lola murmured my name, leaning down and smacking my left cheek with the thicker end of the tie. “Always so put together… except when you’re with me.” She toyed with the tie, staring at me all the while, a smirk on those luscious lips. She didn’t need to say anything else; I knew exactly what she wanted to do.

I choked her… now she wanted to use that tie on me.

She brought the tie to her mouth, biting onto it, and then she got to work undoing the buttons on my suit jacket and my shirt. Within another minute, they were yanked open, my chest bared to her, allowing her to run her fingernails down it and give me the kind of goosebumps only she could.

My cock hadn’t lost an ounce of its hardness, and she ground her pussy lips along it, teasing me, tempting me. Lola took the tie from her mouth, and as she continued to rock her hips, she leaned down and slipped it over my head, pulling it tight the very second I gave her a look. It was a look that said:don’t overdo it.With Lola, you never knew. She might just kill me—not on purpose, of course, but on accident.

Accidental death while getting off through asphyxiation had to be pretty common, I’d imagine.

“Now it’s my turn to ride you, cowboy,” she purred out, a certain satisfaction in her eyes. She might enjoy being dominated, she might like to be fucked rough and wild, but she also had a thing for being on top, setting the pace, making things more equal. Couldn’t forget that; I had a small scar on my chest where Lola had cut me when we were getting freaky from ages ago.

She lifted her midsection, grabbed hold of my cock with her free hand, and then, after positioning it, sunk down on me, taking me in inch after inch, like her body was made for me. The only thing I could do was shudder—shudder and focus on both the tightness of her cunt and the tie looped around my neck.

And then the crazy girl got to work, riding me like she’d never ridden me before. I swore, I saw stars… but that could be due to the tie around my neck. Either way, it was one hell of a ride, and by the time Lola was finished with me, we’d both come twice more.

If only there wasn’t a serial killer stalking the streets of our city, then we could focus on what really mattered: this.

Us.

Chapter Five – Lola

Sometimes, when I looked in the mirror, I saw his face. It was a face not unlike mine, a face everyone always cooed and cawed over. A face that was beautiful on the outside, that hid the true darkness and depravity lying within.

Aiden. I still saw his face sometimes, still could picture the way the corners of his lips would smirk at me when we were alone, like we shared some kind of personal joke. Sometimes he stared back at me in the mirror, with eyes like mine, his face bloodied—how I’d left him in the bed in that fancy motel downtown.

Other times, he wasn’t bloody. He simply stared back at me where my reflection should be, emotionless, wordlessly asking if I finally had everything I wanted. I’d killed him, killed our parents, and I’d thought… well, we all knew what I used to think.

That I’d find peace. That I’d get caught. That this life of mine would end.

And I used to be okay with that. I wanted to die. After becoming a monster, I’d grown numb to the terror death brought everyone else. I simply had stopped caring.

The people that said be careful, because when you looked the devil in the eye, he stared right back at you didn’t warn of the entire truth. Yes, he might stare back at you, but when you faced down the devil—when you took his fiery, ugly ass down—you became one yourself, that which you’d worked so hard to fight against.

If you took down the devil, you took his place. You became him, even if you tried not to, because it was true: you couldn’t take him down unless you sunk to his level. The things I’d done to get me where I was today, the way I’d gone about this before, during my time as a solo Night Slayer, had made me into something people feared.

Oh, I was confident a lot of folks would say I was just as bad as my brother, if not worse. After all, Aiden hadn’t killed anyone. He’d never sliced someone in the gut and watched their intestines fall out in a heap. He’d never stabbed someone in the jugular just to see how fast they’d bleed out. He’d never enticed men by being drunk and an easy lay.

But that’s the thing. That’s why people would say I was worse. I was a calculated monster, whereas Aiden had done wrong, yes, but boys would be boys. If he would’ve gotten psychiatric help, maybe he could’ve turned his life around. Maybe he could’ve become a normal member of society with no sisterly love in his heart.

Maybe those fucking hands of his would never have touched another woman like they’d touched me.

So many excuses society would give for a rich, white boy like my brother. The future he could’ve had, the things he could’ve done… the men in charge of this country would cry for him more than they’d ever cry for me.

And that, ladies and cocks, was why I didn’t give a shit about becoming the devil. As far as I was concerned, if someone had to take his place, it might as well have been me.

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