Page 110 of Entombed In Sin

“Thatcher…” I gasp as his tongue circles and plays with my clit. The pleasure that’s threatening to erupt is causing my body to tremble. I can’t breathe. His tongue continues to explore me. Everywhere it touches, I’m swept further away from sanity. I groan and buck beneath him. It hurts a little, but I ignore the stretch and pull of my stitches. I don’t care about the pain. “Big Brother, please. I need… I need to cum.”

Thatcher’s heavy groan against my pussy is followed by his tongue diving deep inside me. My hips arch and I cry out. My hand falls to the back of his head to drive him deeper into my pussy. His nose teases my clit at the same time his tongue continues to work its way inside of me. It's too much. The wave of heat and sweet torture that Knox and my stepbrother have worked up in me are too much to tamp down. Not that I would ever want to.

My cry of ecstasy is loud. It bounces off the glass around us just as the dark sky overhead opens up and rain pelts down on the roof. Thatcher doesn’t stop. One hand leaves my thigh, only to dive into my pussy while his mouth latches back onto my clit.

“Thatcher!Thatcher!” My stepbrother’s name is a chant, a plea, a desperate song I send out into the universe.

When another orgasm rolls through, it’s more intense than the first. No sound emerges from my lips as they part. My hips jerk upward into Thatcher’s face as I chase the pleasure he’s evoked. Only when I’m a quivering, sweaty mess does Thatcher pull away. He sits up slowly. I stare at him through hooded lids and smile, smug at the sight of my arousal all over the bottomhalf of his face. My limbs feel like heavy noodles as fatigue blankets me.

“Feel better, Big Brother?”

Thatcher’s eyes flash with amusement before growing even darker. “A little bit.”

“I saved dinner!” Knox announces from halfway down the hallway. I can hear the soft sound of his footsteps as he approaches. “Hey! You can’t just swoop in and finish what I started, Thatcher. It’s rude!”

Both Thatcher and I chuckle. My stepbrother resituates himself on the couch, my legs back in his lap. With my desire temporarily sated, I can feel fatigue beginning to creep in. A nap sounds lovely right about now. I could fall asleep right here and now to the sound of rain pelting the glass above me,

“Is that rude? Sorry, I didn’t know. You’ll have to punish me for it sometime,” Thatcher teases.

“You said you’d tell me something if I touched you, Knox,” I remind him sleepily. “Pay up. Why are we having a special dinner tonight?”

I’m about to allow my eyelids to drift close but before I can, I catch the way Thatcher and Knox trade looks, a wordless conversation swiftly passing between them. Pushing aside my exhaustion, I stiffen.

“What?” A tingle of concern slithers down my spine. “What is it?”

“Shining Starr,” Knox starts slowly, coming up beside me and crouching down next to my head. His expression is carefully cautious. “Don’t freak out, ok?”

“Why would I freak out?”

My stepbrother squeezes my calf. “You won’t. Knox is just being overly concerned, given all that’s transpired. You’re with us, which means there’s nothing you need to fear.”

As Thatcher smiles, something hot and manic blazes to life in his eyes. I watch as the twisted, dark, obsessive need he told me about rises up for me to see. It’s ugly, raw, and all-consuming. It steals my breath and causes bumps to rise and race down my arms. I suck in a sharp breath. My heart swells as I stare back, knowing this is better than all the love in the world.

Thatcher’s right: there is nothing to fear. Not with him, Sagan, and Knox in my life. There’s something settling about that. Something so perfectlyright. This life we’ll live together might be stained with corruption and violence, but that’s fine. I don’t need a life of sunshine and roses. I’ll walk through the darkness with these three by my side and I’ll embrace all that comes with them.

The blood. The depravity. And the utter devotion to one another.

“Tell me, Knox,” I demand, turning back to him when Knox continues to hesitate.

He smiles. It’s stunning and full of excitement. But it’s a mask. A frigid chill creeps into his beautiful, striking blue eye. I swear I can almost feel that bitter coldness traveling over my skin. It takes everything in me not to shiver.

“Tonight, my Shining Starr,” Knox drawls, his smile sharpening. “Angel Eyes will be joining us for dinner.”

37

SAGAN

There’s something to be said for delayed gratification.

Wanting something is one thing. Want is fleeting. As is the satisfaction upon receiving the thing you’ve set your sights upon. But with delayed gratification, that want transforms into something else. A craving, perhaps. Something you ache for and desire above all other things. It muddles your mind and sharpens the world around you, helping you separate trivial issues from the important ones. The longer you wait to sate that craving, the more ravenous you become. That desperation, that yearning for the thing you can’t have, becomes the driving force for every action you make. That narrow-minded, obsessive need may drive a person mad—especially if it goes on for a while.

Finally, when you get what you’ve worked toward, the feeling of victory and satisfaction is more glorious than anything else in this entire world. Claiming Beatrix is a prime example of this. For months I hid in the shadows of this very house, coveting my Little Viper. But now that she’s mine? The sweet taste of contentment is an ever-present sensation that’s seeped into, and settled, deep within my bones.

I hope, for his sake, that Knox gets the same sense of contentment tonight when he gets his revenge. It’s why we’ve kept a rotting, living corpse in our basement for nearly a week.

Moving through the house, I head for the basement door. Somewhere nearby, I can hear Thatcher speaking to Beatrix. They’re probably still in the conservatory. She’s been there since she arrived home earlier this afternoon. It’s her favorite place in the house, which is why Knox took her straight there when they got home. He can be pretty thoughtful when he’s not thinking solely of himself.

I wonder if my Pretty Boy has told her about his dinner plans yet or if he’s just going to rip the Band-Aid off by surprising her when she gets to the table? Regardless how Knox announces that we’re having a guest for dinner, I hope tonight will be just as cathartic for my pet as it is for my Pretty Boy. There’s a shadow in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Given I didn’t instill it, I want it gone.

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