Page 8 of Vengeful Princess

When I'd poured my heart out, she’d told me she cared about me. Told me she could help me.

Of course, I lapped up the attention.

We fucked in her office that night. And the next. And so on.

It was fun at first. The fear of getting caught added an extra layer of excitement to our after-hours romps. Then she started acting jealous about the other girls I slept with, so I ended it.

Unbeknownst to me, she’d recorded one of our sex sessions where I’d indulged her ‘rape’ fantasies. It wasn’t really my thing, but she’d begged.

Whilst I knew it was all an act, the video was highly incriminating. Anyone viewing the edited highlights would assume I’d raped her. And being arrested for rape, even if a court later vindicated me, would be the end of my life as I knew it. Accusations like that followed a person for the rest of their life.

Cass was the only one who knew. I’d been too ashamed to admit to Milo what was happening. Or Kyril.

Kyril probably would have outright murdered the bitch, which would have created a whole new set of problems, and Milo had been caught stalking the Anderson girl. His father then sent him away for a stay in some private mental health clinic shortly after. For abehavioradjustment.

Milo watched me for a few moments and then returned to his laptop while I sat and stewed.

She’d been on me the minute the door closed, her hands all over me, whining about how much she’d missed me.

There was a time when I thought her throaty purr was sexy in a cougar sort of way. She had big tits too, which I liked, and a fleshy ass a guy could grab hold of while railing her real hard. But beyond the superficial, the woman was irritating.

I’d had to get drunk, stoned, or preferably both before I could fuck her the last few times. Even then, my dick didn’t want to cooperate. Only thoughts of my favorite Instagram models kept me hard enough to go the distance. And I made damn sure I double-wrapped it.

Once the bitch had had her orgasm, I got the hell out of there.

She was even more voracious than usual today. Probably because my Instagram had featured photos of me and a continual conveyor belt of hot chicks all summer. I hadn’t fucked most of them, but Veronica probably thought I had.

Now that I was back on campus after the summer break, she was all over me like a cat in heat, desperate to mark her territory.

I needed a drink. It had to be 5 PM somewhere, right? Milo watched as I jumped up and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart. No ice necessary. No glass either. I wrapped my lips around the bottle and glugged it down.

Damn, that was good. 25-year-old single malt from the Rothmore distillery. Rated as one of the best single malts out there.

“You know it’s not hygienic to drink straight from the bottle, right?” Milo glared at me, his lip curling with distaste.

“Fuck off, this is 57% proof. Like mouthwash, only it tastes better.” I drank some more, enjoying the burn as it slid down my throat. Slowly, the tension in my bones eased, and I no longer wanted to set myself on fire.

“Do you need a hand sorting Veronica out?” Milo asked eventually.

My jaw dropped in surprise. “You know about her?”

Milo looked at me scathingly, as if a one-cell amoeba had more brains than me, which was kinda hurtful. Sure, I didn’t have an IQ of fifty trillion like him, but I was hardly stupid.

“Of course.”

“How?”

“Cass told me.”

Fucking Cassian. I should have known he’d spill all my dirty laundry to Milo. My skin itched at the thought of people knowing how far I’d sunk. It was bad enough being forced to entertain women my father thought were useful, but Veronica Markham was a nobody. Just some bitch who’d taken advantage of me at a low point in my life.

I drank some more whiskey in the hope it might wash away the toxic memories swirling around in my head.

“Let me touch you, Landon,” she moaned as her hand slid inside my shirt. I tried to pull away, but her fingernails dug into my skin. “Playing hard to get, baby?” Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she’d unbuttoned her blouse before I arrived. Her black bra was more decorative than practical; if she leaned over any further, her boobs would make a bid for freedom.

I shuddered at the recollection, forcing myself to think about Thea Ricci instead. Now there was a woman I’d love to get to know better. She made Veronica look like a dried-up old crone.

“You can’t help me,” I groaned. “I’m literally fucked.” My head buzzed from the whiskey, but the weight sitting on my shoulders didn’t ease.

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