Page 17 of Worse Than Wicked
So how did I miss their communications?
I don’t like the thought of someone else watching over our girl, protecting her like she’s theirs, not ours. I like the thought of her and her accomplice outsmarting me even less. Was someone else watching through their own cameras, or did they hack into mine? And now that we got Mabel, has someone been watching all of us? Someone invisible not just to Mabel, but to me, a panther slinking through the night like a whisper, a shadow shrouded by darkness.
“Who took the body?” I demand at last, wheeling on my heel toward her bed. “The one in your aunt’s house. That one wasn’t the Black Widow Killer. Why would she clean up after someone else?”
“I don’t know,” Mabel says. “I guess… To protect me?”
“But you didn’t kill him,” I point out. “So who was she protecting?”
“Maybe she’s protecting all of us,” Duke says. “Our own twisted guardian angel. She must want us together.”
“Or she’s Mabel,” I say. “Because that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”
“I’m not answering that question again,” Mabel says, standing from the bed. “I’m going to take a shower. It’s getting light already.”
“I’m going back to bed,” Duke says, flopping down on the mattress. “Hit the light on your way out.”
A minute later, I hear the shower running. I can’t stop my brain from working overtime, thinking about what Mabelmust be thinking. Is she triumphing that she outsmarted me? Does she have some secret device I don’t know about, one she communicates from when she’s outside her house, so I never got my hands on it or saw it through the cameras? If she did, that means she knew I was watching. She was one step ahead of me all along.
The idea both pisses me off beyond reason and makes me mad with lust. I turn and head into the bathroom, sliding back the door to the glass shower to reveal Mabel’s wet, naked body.
“What are you doing?” she demands, wrapping her arms around herself as if she can hide her body from me—a body that’s already mine. It’s her mind I can’t conquer. That’s why I can never forget her, never move on. No one else can make me doubt everything, even myself, the way Mabel Darling can.
“Let me see you,” I say, my voice low.
She swallows hard, then drops her arms. She’s not a brat, one of those girls who are mouthy and stupid to think they could ever win. And she’s not weak and trembling, begging for mercy, despite all the times I’ve hurt her. She knows it’s not personal, that I need the pain. She understands, and she gives me exactly what I need—not a fight, but unwilling participation. She will never want me, never want pleasure. That makes me want her more, makes me harder than seeing her knotted rosebud nipples and scarred skin swept with gooseflesh.
I undress quickly, set my glasses on the counter, and step into the shower. She cowers back against the wall, but she doesn’t try to escape. She knows she can’t.
She sobs when I force myself inside with no prep, but she doesn’t fight me. I lift her legs around me, gripping her ass and slamming her down onto me, watching the tears spurt from her eyes, her face twisted in pain, her cunt offering friction that’s nearly painful, a tightness that drives me wild with need. I pin her to the wall and pump into her, driving to the hilt while shechokes on the pain. I’m quick, not out of mercy, but because I know her body will adjust and get looser and wetter if I last too long, and she’ll start seeking pleasure, and that will ruin it for me.
I cum inside her, holding her pinned to the wall, my hands protecting her from the hard tile. I want my cock to cause her pain, nothing else, so all her focus is there—on how deep I am, how much of her I’ve claimed, ravaged, destroyed. How helpless she is to stop me. I enjoy the power, the violation, as much as her physical pain.
When she whispers a tiny plea, I punish her by drawing back and slamming in deep again, past her depths, into her resistant core. I grip her chin, holding her head back against the wall, and press a kiss to her wet, trembling lips. They taste like salt and surrender.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re the killer,” I murmur into her mouth. “I hope you are. I don’t want you any less for it. But know this, my little monster. No matter what you do, you belong to us. If you put me six feet in the ground, I’ll crawl out of the grave and come back for you. Nothing can stop me, not even death. You are mine. Now and forever.”
She shudders against me, trying to lift off my punishing length impaling her. I grip her hip and hold her pinned, my cock throbbing inside her.
“If you try to meet another man again, I’ll take him with us,” I say. “I’ll kill every man you touch, one by one, until there’s not a man alive on earth but me.”
“What about Duke?”
“Duke is part of me,” I say. “The best part. He’s yours too.”
“What if I left you anyway?” she asks. “What if it wasn’t for a man?”
“I’d kill every woman on earth too.”
“What if I just wanted to be left alone?”
“You can be alone with us.”
“I could kill myself,” she said. “What then?”
“I’d put myself in the ground with you,” I say. “There’s no escaping me, little monster. As much as you are mine, I am yours. We will be together. The three of us. Always.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
