Page 78 of Deadly Rival

Fuck.

I lick my lips, settle myself back on a pillow, and open my legs so he can see. He groans, and there’s a desperation to the sound that vibrates through me. “That’s it. You’re a good little pet. Get those fingers nice and wet for me.”

I don’t need any more encouragement. I press two fingers into my pussy. I’m soaked, and a flicker of shame cuts through the heated haze in my brain before Sebastian says, “That’s it. Fuck yourself, Ophelia. Fuck yourself like I want to.”

Everything else leaves my head. I thrust my fingers deep, then withdraw and plunge in again, the rough movement different from my usual self-pleasure. I’m not just touching myself. I’m putting on a show for him, and the realization adds a new wave of moisture.

“Look at me. Don’t be shy, sweetheart. You’re beautiful. Look at me while you stretch that pussy. Add another finger.”

His words melt me like a wax figure, leaving me a puddle on the bed. Another finger, and the stretch makes me moan. I meet Sebastian’s gaze, and all I see is the need on his face. Not the bruises. His hand works his cock in hard, rough strokes as he watches me.

“Touch your clit now. Make yourself come for me.”

I add my second hand. I’m so wet my three fingers slide easily in and out once I get past the initial stretch, and he tracks every movement. I keep it up as I rub my clit, and Christ, it feels good. I wish it were him inside me.

The building pleasure comes easily under my own hands. He gives a steady stream of murmured encouragement as my lips part, and my breathing comes faster. “That’s it. Good girl. Make yourself come. Do it now.”

A few more rough circles of my clit, and I obey. My body clenches as pleasure fills me, coating my fingers as I crest. I cry out as it hits me, eyes closing as I thrust my soaking fingers in and out, riding the wave.

Before it has a chance to ebb, Sebastian’s strained voice pulls me back. “Get your lips around my cock.”

I open my eyes, dazed. His hand is pumping fast now, and a shudder runs through me at the indignity of what he wants me to do. Catch his come. For some reason, it feels worse than giving him a blowjob. At least then, I’m an active participant. Here, I’m just a hole to be filled.

“Now, pet. Be good.” His warning tone. I’m drawn to obey.

I crawl up the bed, heat rising in my cheeks as I angle my head, lips parting to wrap the end of his cock. I flick my tongue over the head and taste tangy salt on the tip, and he lets out a deep groan. “That’s it. That’s—”

He cuts off, groaning as liquid fills my mouth. I splutter even though I was braced for it, holding still as he pumps, his cock twitching. “Now swallow.”

Carefully, I do. I’m getting used to the taste, and I can’t claim to hate it. I’m not sure what I can claim to hate anymore. Why did I just do that? There wasn’t a gun to my head. I could have let him finish all over himself and left him to deal with the mess. I didn’t want to, though. And I can’t understand why not.

When I meet his gaze, he’s smiling. “Come here. Lie down next to me.”

I do, though it’s awkward, too couple-like to feel sane. He turns his head to look at me as I settle next to him. “I could die happy with my cock in your mouth.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that I snort—a loud, unladylike sound—and his smile widens for a second before he winces. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh, please. It hurts.”

That kills my amusement. I shouldn't feel bad for Sebastian, but my brother is such an asshole it's hard not to.

Was. Was such an asshole.

I can count the happy memories I have with Harrison without moving on from fingers to toes. He was only two years older, but it always felt as though we were miles apart. Dad kept me sheltered and childish while pushing him to experience everything far too young.

I think I always knew there was something wrong with him. Bits of my childhood creep back as I stare at the ceiling. An overheard argument not long before Mom died, where she begged my dad to send him to therapy. My dad’s typical alpha male response.Over my dead body. She won't talk. I've paid her father ten times more than she's worth.

Harrison would have been fourteen then.

Things escalated the older he got, until I think even my dad started to worry. What could he do, though? Harrison was his only son. His heir. God, how will Dad cope with his death? Not well. Not well at all. If he wanted Sebastian dead before, I can't imagine how he'll feel about him now.

I glance at Sebastian. His good eye is closed, but I don't think he's sleeping. I force myself to study the mess my brother made of his face. The cuts, swelling, and bruising. It doesn't look right on him. He's not a natural fighter, and he's in way over his head.

He opens his eye and catches me staring. “I'm not going to win a modeling contract any time soon, am I? Jacob says it'll be much worse tomorrow. He sounded happy about it.”

“He was pissed you left without him.”

Sebastian finds my hand where it rests on the bed and wraps it in his fingers. “And rightly so. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. Thank you for that, pet.”

The nickname, which he chose to humiliate me, now sends a warm little curl through my chest. His pet.

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