Page 190 of Vile Boys

“That’s my good girl. Now try to reach for the gun.”

“I can’t,” she yelps. “It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can,” I growl, fisting her hair tighter. “Grab the gun, little rose.”

Her fingers stretch out before her as far as I’m stretching her ass, pushing in farther and farther until she can barely take it anymore,but I know it’ll fit. She’ll make it fit because she is my fucking Ambrosía, and she was fucking made for me.

“Take the gun. Make it yours,” I growl.

Her fingers scratch at the table, desperate to cling to hope.

Hope that she may be able to avenge her father, and I will watch her every move with eager eyes, waiting for the moment when she finally cracks.

When fear and despair finally win.

And that goddamn wretched smile finally disappears off her face.

“F-fuck … it’s so tight,” she moans as I push her up against the table while I drive inside her.

I place a flat hand on her back and dip in deeper. “More. I need more. Give me fucking more, everything you have.”

She mewls when I thrust in fully, but as her nails dig into the wood, she finally makes the leap toward the gun.

And my heart nearly jumps out of my chest with excitement.

“That’s it, little rose. Take it. Take what belongs to you like I’m taking what belongs to me.”

She holds it like someone who’s never held a gun before, and I’m almost certain that’s the case. But I know this little vixen can do it.

Violence lives and breathes in her veins just like mine, like a monster scratching at the walls, and all I need to do is coax it out of her until it seeps from her pores.

“You … you …” she grits, lifting the gun as I thrust into her, deeper each time, stretching her to the limit.

“Yes. Feed me your fucking hate, little rose, because I cannot survive without it.”

Slowly but surely, she points the gun at his face.

“Don’t do this,” Ferry says. “Please.”

“Do you see the monster behind the man?” I groan, pushing in until I’m balls deep and groaning with delight. “Do you feel the thrill of the kill before it happens?”

I lean over her, caressing her back as I slowly close in on her ear. “Shoot. Kill him. Right between the eyes. Show him the murderous demon that hides beneath your skin.”

With sweat drops rolling down her neck, she points it at his eyes, her hands shaking as her fingers curl around the trigger.

“Please, let me go,” Ferry begs. “Please. Kill him instead. He’s the one making you do this.”

Ferry points at me, and I grin from his blatant attempt to change her fixation.

But he doesn’t understand how deeply I’ve infested her brain, her mind, her heart.

The gun is still in her hands, still the one focal point as if she’s thought of nothing but murder since she laid eyes on it.

“You can listen to him … kill me then … you don’t have the heart,” I whisper, burying myself to the hilt while I moan along with her. “Or you can listen to me … and end his miserable little life like he deserves.”

She shudders in place, torn between her wish to kill and her inability to.

Because I know what’s been bothering her all this time now.

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