Page 71 of The Devil's Torment

Her moans and gasps and pleas for me to stop, don’t stop, harder, softer, faster, slower, are all like sweet fucking music. I grip her behind the knees and rest her calves on my shoulders.Oh, yeah. Just. Like. That.

My dick is as hard as that diamond gracing her neck. The primal urge to free it and drive home calls to me like north to a compass, but this is for her. Ithasto be for her.

Her heels dig into my shoulders, and she tilts her pelvis, pushing her pussy into my face. Juices coat my chin, and my taste buds are full of her, but it isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. She’s like the sweetest nectar. A flavor created only for me.

“Nicholas.” She’s panting now, so close. I flick her clit with my tongue and burrow two fingers inside her, curling them to hit the spot I know drives her crazy.

“Tell me you missed me.” I don’t understand why it matters, but it does. I want to hear her say the words, soak up her despair, her misery at being without me. Iwanther to hate being apart. Ineedto know she’s depressed when I’m not lying beside her. It takes a special kind of selfish bastard to relish their wife being miserable, and I fill that role like a fucking boss.

I don’t even care.

“I missed you.” She clasps handfuls of my hair, tugging hard. “I missed you so much.”

I drag my teeth over her clit, and she comes apart, screaming my name. She’s still pulsing when I tug down my zipper and pull out my dick, then push inside her with one powerful thrust.

I take both of her hands in one of mine and push them over her head. My free hand covers one of her breasts, and I devour the other, her rasping cries music to my fucking ears.

She holds her breath right before she climaxes again, and those ripples of her inner walls milking my dick is my downfall.

“Shit, Victoria.Fuck.” I collapse on top of her, but only for a second. Palms flat on the poker table, I lift myself up and gaze into her eyes. Pressure builds across my chest, my lungs flattening as something I can’t identify shifts inside me. She opens her mouth, but whatever she planned to say dies on her lips.

Shaking her head, she gives me a close-lipped smile. “Consider me wrecked.”

I graze the tip of my nose along hers and peck her lips. “Happy Birthday, Half-pint. Here’s to many more.”

ChapterTwenty-Five

NICHOLAS

Sunday dawns fine considering it’s mid-November, and we’re in the south of England. There’s a light breeze coming from the south, and the temperatures are forecast as mild, more like September weather. Victoria and I have barely left our rooms since we stumbled through the door in the early hours of Saturday morning after her party at De Luxe. I hadn’t tasted a drop of alcohol, but I didn’t need it to feel drunk. I’m drunk on her.

There was a brief moment when I came inside her where she looked at me and I could’ve sworn she was going to say she loved me. The relief when she didn’t is something I’m not proud of, but as obsessed as I am with my wife, I don’t love her. I can’t love her. Losing my mother the way I did means I’ll never allow anyone to get their claws that deeply into me. Loving a mother is completely different from loving a wife, but they’re both capable of tearing out my heart and trampling over it should things go wrong.

I’m not willing to take that risk. Not with her. Not with anyone. Besides, it’s better this way. We both know where we stand.

That familiar hollow feeling I get in my abdomen every time I think about my mother threatens to consume me. The anger and betrayal I continue to feel to this day, almost twenty years later, never completely goes away. Most of the time, I can suppress it, and sometimes, months go by without me even thinking about herorAnnabel. Then an event occurs, like finding that godforsaken key, and all those negative feelings come rushing back.

It doesn’t matter how many decades pass. I willneverforgive her for taking her own life.

Xan appears to have accepted that the key is a dead end, an unsolvable mystery, although I know my brother. He’ll never completely give up looking for answers to the many questions he has about his and Annabel’s kidnapping, then our mother’s subsequent suicide.

As long as he’s happy to leave me out of it from now on, that works for me. I have my own fucking mystery to solve. I promised Victoria I’d find out who murdered her sister, and so far, I’m epically failing.

My determination to uncover the truth gives me a brief insight into Xan’s dogged persistence over our mother and sister. I couldn’t bear it if history repeated itself with Elizabeth. Victoria deserves to know the truth. Her parents deserve to know the truth.

Ifucking deserve to know the truth.

Although, a voice on my shoulder whispers,if Elizabeth hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be married to Victoria.

Nor would I have known what I was missing, but one thing I’m sure of, I never would’ve obsessed over Elizabeth the way I do over Victoria. Elizabeth and I dated for a few months, although we never went further than a few kisses here and there. The odd thing is, I never questioned why we didn’t have sex, nor did I try to persuade her otherwise. I honestly had no urge to fuck her at all.

That in itself should’ve been a red flag, but I’d never taken the time to think about it. My father told me I had to marry one of the Montague sisters, and I picked one.

The wrong one, as it turned out.

Victoria stirs beside me, and my dick twitches in response. Sighing, she stretches her arms overhead, and I bend down and flick my tongue over her exposed nipple.

“Good morning to you,” she breathes, arching her back.

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