Page 61 of Carnival
“You do!” I scream. “You own me, James. All of me!”
“Yes, I fucking own your pretty body, your brilliant mind, and that filthy mouth of yours. Now, look at me and come on my cock. If this is the last time I’m fucking you, I want you to coat my cock in your cum.’’
My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I gasp, feeling him bottom out in me, and the orgasm hits me roughly, unlike anyother. It doesn’t stop — it keeps coming out of me in waves, and it doesn’t help that James spills into me, prolonging my orgasm.
A small grin is on his face.
“I can die a happy man that I’ve made my girl squirt.’’
I pant, trying to catch my breath. My eyes flick down to see the mess I’ve created, and a coat of blush dusts over my cheeks. James takes his sweet time before pulling out of me and helping me back to my feet. I quickly pull my underwear back in its place and zip up my pants, unsure what to say or do.
“James,’’ I say, taking his hand in mine, but he snatches it right back.
“Don’t,’’ he snaps. “I don’t need your pity, Rosalie.’’
Hearing him use my full name, something he rarely does, and in that angry tone no less, makes my heart clench. He looks away from me, hiding his face and not letting me approach him. Yet again, the walls are back up, and I have no time to try and reason with him.
“You don’t believe me,’’ it dawns on me, and I step back. “You think I called the cops on you.’’
He doesn’t say much.
“James, look at me.’’
He doesn’t.
“Look at me, dammit!” I yell, frustrations boiling over.
He turns around, jaw clenched. He steps closer to me again, brows narrowed. There’s nothing on his face except irritation and deeply rooted hatred, one I never expected to be on the receiving end of.
“What is it, Rosalie?” He snaps right back. “Do you want me to tell you I suddenly believe in coincidences that have piled ontop of each other? It doesn’t matter, even if it wasn’t you. I’m going to fucking die, and nothing you do or say can change that.’’
“No,’’ I whisper. “Please, just—’’
“Just, what?!” He screams in my face. “I’m the one who’s going to die, and you’re still trying to make this about you. Well, then, you wanted to use me for information, didn’t you? So, let me tell you exactly what you need to know.’’
“That’s not—’’
“The reason you were taken away from our foster family,’’ he interrupts, “is because you killed Willow. You pushed her into the lake and watched her fucking drown. That’s why you have that memory gap, Roselie. You killed Willow.’’
23
James
The chains jiggle as I walk, dragging on the floor. On each side of me is a guard, holding me by my forearms, tightly enough to prove their point that no matter what I do, I cannot escape this hellhole.
Other inmates stare, but no one dares to speak. Not that I expected them to, but I did make one hell of a point by breaking that bastard’s wrists and ankles. It took me approximately four minutes to do it, and ever since, no one has bothered me.
Motherfuckers.
It’s eerily silent; nothing but the fucking chains is heard in the corridors. The guards on my sides are tense, almost as if they’re waiting for me to snap, lose my shit, and try to fight them. Unfortunately for them, I’m not stupid enough to do something as reckless as that, not now when I’ve been allowed one visit.
They push me into the room, chaining me to the metal chair, ensuring I cannot move an inch from the spot they put me in,before leaving the room. My eyes quickly dart around, noticing the few security cameras that are undoubtedly with audio recordings.
“Casper,’’ I tilt my head to the side. “What the fuck do you want?”
He smirks, lifting his feet on the table that’s between us, his fingers interlocked behind his head. He’s observing me for a while, not commenting, and likely waiting for an outburst from me.
“Well, you look like shit,’’ he snorts. “What? Disappointed to see me, instead of… well… her?”
