Page 109 of Dance of Deception

It's still swollen and tender from my cock breaking through her virginity and making her mine. There’s still evidence of that on her inner thigh—a bit of dried blood to go with the pinkness of her lips and the bruises on her hips and thighs.

Some of my cum is still dripping out of her.

My cock hardens as I lean in and slowly, deliberately, drag my tongue up her pussy.

Fuck,she tastes good.

Lyra whimpers softly in her sleep, shifting slightly as my tongue soothes the ache my dick left behind. I lick up her lingering arousal, my cum, her blood—the mix of our flavors swirling on my tongue as I push deep to get every drop of her.

I take my time, lapping over the sensitive flesh, my hands gripping her thighs, keeping them apart as I devour her.

Lyra writhes, her head tilting side to side, a quiet whine dropping from her lips. She doesn’t wake, but her body responds, her hips shifting toward my mouth as her breathing grows more erratic. I don’t stop or ease up. I work her with my tongue, my fingers slipping inside her, coaxing her higher and higher until she’s trembling beneath me.

And then, with a soft whimper, she shatters.

A choked moan escapes her, body arching, hands fisting the cushions of the chaise even as she sleeps. I watch, mesmerized, as she falls apart for me, pleasure written on every inch of her body.

After the tremors subside and her body finally stills, I wipe my mouth against the inside of her thigh and slide up onto the chaise beside her. I tuck myself against her, my arm draped over her waist possessively, my face buried in her hair. I don’t know why. Maybe her warmth, her softness, the way she feels like she belongs here, pressed to me.

Her breathing is steady, slow.

But just as I start to drift, I hear it.

A whisper in the silence.

I almost don’t catch it. But then I lean over her, turning my head so that my ear is near her lips as they murmur again.

“You’re a monster.”

My body goes still, my fingers freezing against her skin.

“How do you live with yourself?”

My breath dies in my throat.

For the first time in years—maybe my entire life—I feel cold.

It shouldn’t matter. I’ve been called worse. And I’ve truly never once cared. Never evenflinched.

But this?

My hand retreats from her skin like I’ve been burned.

I stare at her, searching her face for an explanation. But she’s still lost in sleep.

My jaw clenches. My stomach twists, an unfamiliar sensation clawing at my insides.

I stand abruptly. The need to be anywhere but here grips me, pressing frantically on my ribs.

Then I’m gone.

21

CARMINE

The numberson the page in front of me blur. I stare at them, willing my brain to process the percentages and projections laid out there in precise detail. But my mind drifts.

You’re a monster.

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