Page 42 of Promise of Destruction
It's strange, though. I run through the math in my head, trying to sort it all out. Valyria would have had to give birth to her son at 15, by my estimate. It's not unheard of, but the thought feels strange. Of course, maybe that means the rumors back then were true... that Valyria D'Anerio was a sex worker, that at night, she was selling her body on the same corner where her brother soldhisshit by day.
I guess it would explain why she always looked so haunted... haunted, but beautiful.
Now that I think about it, Valyria D'Anerio may be the reason I enjoy broken things... things like Soren.
My head has been spinning with thoughts of her ever since I felt her soaking through the lace of her panties, so wet for me. I excused myself so I could lick her arousal off my finger, and then I emptied my balls of all the cum that had been making them ache for hours.
It's a temporary relief. I haven’t fucked my own hand since before college, but it’s all I’ve done since I saw her. And yet, I never feel satisfied. I’ll make it a point to call someone this evening to come drain my balls properly. There's a woman I hooked up with last year with a mouth like a hoover. She sucked me and swallowed me until I was sore, using my cock like a pacifier. I could really use her endurance now because Soren Palmer has got me feeling insatiable.
I could have taken things further and I have no doubt that she would have let me. Her pussy was weeping for me, whether because she gets off on fear or because she's been over-exaggerating how much she can't stand me. I don't know the reason, but I also don't care. What matters is that she'd probably have let me bend her over the desk, strip her wet panties downher thighs, lay her tits out on the wood, and fuck her like a whore.
But that's not what I want. I enjoyed every second of watching her squirm in discomfort, trying to fight her own attraction to me. I want her to beg for me, to plead for me to take her, for her to need me more than she needs air. And after I give it to her, I'll take it away, leaving her to choke on the memory of my cock in her throat.
The thought of watching her shatter makes my balls tight again, so I dismiss myself from the office before I have to run into her again and go for a cold swim, letting the icy water work in my favor. April weather in Illinois is fucking cold, but it hasn't snowed in weeks. That hasn't stopped a film of ice from building on standing water, but I've got my pool heater set to run a few hours every night, keeping it from icing over without warming it too much.
In the summer, I take my ice baths in the metal tub in my own gym, but in winter, it would be foolish not to take advantage of my natural resources.
The only time my head empties is when I'm in an ice bath. It's like my body shuts down so it can focus on the little bit of therapy it gets in microdoses. I've worked my way up to several minutes, and it's the only rest I get. Even when I sleep, it's never as peaceful as this... which is exactly why I find myself pulling up the cameras I had installed in her home instead of slipping under the covers that night.
My silly little bird hasn't realized yet that I had the cameras put in when she was at work yesterday. She also doesn't know yet that I bought her home out from under her. It's a mercy, really, considering that it's been in foreclosure for months and she could have been tossed out at any minute. No doubt she thought taking the job I offered her would give her the cash she needed to buy it back from the bank.
Unfortunately for her, the bank was more than happy to accept a generous amount of my cash. Generous enough to satisfy the balance on the loanandkeep the loan officer who oversaw the transaction happy.
I watch her on the cameras I had installed in every room, follow her around her little place as she sheds her clothes and glances out the bathroom window, no doubt looking to be sure no one is there before she drops the blinds. And I watch as she slips her hand between her thighs, stroking her clit as her mouth falls open for a moan to pass. She's slow, torturing herself as she thumbs her slit, moaning and sighing until words start to tumble past her lips. At first, it's just a series of 'yes' and 'please', but then I hear it… and I damn near combust.
"Declan."
She's got me fucked up, rock hard and desperate... so desperate I'm considering driving to her house and busting the door down to take what I want, what I fucking need so bad that it's corroding me from the inside out. God damn it. Damnher, for being so fucking addictive.
I'm leaking before I even get a grip on my dick, and it only takes a few strokes as I watch her circling her clit fast, desperate. Her chest heaves, breathless as she chases what she needs, and I wait for my name to come from her lips again, to hear her whimper for me.
"Oh god." She moans, her voice throaty and unrestrained. When she says it again, it's higher in pitch, whining.
Say my name.
"Fuck!" She cries, shuddering and screaming and stilling with a hand braced on the marble counter.
Frustration surges through me when she comes without saying it again, a wave of disappointment overriding the pleasure suddenly waning.
For the first time in my life, I can't make myself come... no matter how hard I try.
twenty-nine
Soren
Ispendmyweekendexpecting that my boss will show up in the dead of night and demand I handle things for him, but he never does. In fact, I don't get so much as a text from him. Instead, I spend my weekend alone, starting and DNF'ing a bunch of books on the tablet Vin got me a few Christmases ago.
Reading is the best distraction from the poisonous and depressing thing called reality, but it's been hard to get into anything for the last year. Sometimes I find I've read a whole book but retained nothing. Other times, I find myself re-reading the same paragraph, cognizant of the fact that I'm seeing the words, but unable to compute them. My mind inevitably wanders to thoughts of Declan, Vin, and where everything went wrong.
When I get tired of not being able to escape, I grab my phone-- the new one, from Declan-- and log into all of my accounts, sifting through e-mails for anything important that I may have missed.
My inbox is a wasteland for newsletters I've abandoned, things I forgot to unsubscribe to. Marissa took on the task ofunsubscribing me from certain things when I was in the hospital last, when she was worried that everything would trigger me into another suicide attempt. Even still, I have to sift through spam and junk just to be sure I didn't miss anything important.
I'm not sure what it is that catches my eye about the email. Maybe the fact it's just a single word in the subject line, as opposed to the rest. Maybe it's just that the sender is listed as 'Anonymous'.
Miss Palmer:
Just wanted to reach out and offer a bit of advice. I read your article in the Covington Herald this morning and thought the following information may be of use to you.
