Page 59 of Twisted Hearts

Wasbeing the operative word there. Because after fucking Eilish that night in my playroom, and then in the shower, I’ve spent the last week and a half making sure her pussy doesn’t go five goddamn minutes without remembering me filling her until she screams.

I’ve spent the last ten days making Eilish’s pussy completely, unequivocallymine.

It started the morning after that first night at my place. She was in my office promptly at eight a.m. as instructed, and if it was a whole thirty seconds before I had her panties pulled to the side and my cock buried balls-deep in her greedy little cunt, her back pressed up against my office door with my hand over her mouth, I’d be shocked.

No foreplay needed. That girl walked indrippingwet for me.

She left later that afternoon even wetter, with my cum soaking her panties.

This has since turned into a daily occurrence. The only break in the schedule was on Saturday, when obviously she wasn’t at the office. It was a day I spent drumming my fingers on the edge of my couch back at home, glaring out over the city and telling myself I didn’t “need” Eilish at all.

That lasted about twelve and a half hours, until I called her Sunday morning and demanded she come over, where I promptly fucked her four times in a row before sending her home.

I didn’t ask her to spend the night again.

That was an error in judgment that won’t be repeated.

Just the same, this girl has become a fucking addiction. An obsession, even more than she was before. And as much as I’m reluctant to admit it—because I never, ever wanted to be anyone’s first—the notion that Iwasthat for her is…intoxicating.

Way, way too intoxicating.

It’s also insane that I didn’t know that before, given the time and effort I’ve spent learning her every secret. I knoweverythingabout Eilish, at least from the age of nineteen on.

Since the night I saw her picking up the spent cartridges on the ground of that fateful meeting between Declan Kildare and Vasilis Drakos—furtively looking around. Wincing when she burned her fingers on a still-hot casing.

Standing over her own father’s dead body and spitting on it.

That was the moment I realized there was more to Eilish Kildare than I thought. The moment she caught my eye as anything more than revenge.

It was also the moment that dictated thewayin which I followed her every move for the next year and a half. I wasn’t just learning about her and uncovering her every secret after that. I wasn’t simply looking for leverage, or ways to break her.

I became obsessed with her.

I didn’t just stalk her. I deep dived into her. I hacked into her email and laptop, allowing me to see her every web search. To see every dirty video she watched involving submission and free use kinks.

It was the intimacy of that violence I saw in her, that I doubt anyone else ever had, that made me make damn sure no other man everwouldsee that part of her, or any other part of her for that matter. It’s why I—even when I wasn’t sure why, and even when I wanted to stop—spent a year and a half sabotaging her every attempt at a relationship before they could even be called that.

Men who got her number never called. I made sure of that. Men who managed to take her out for lunch or a drink once never asked again.

Also me.

I’ve spent a year and a half flipping between vengeance and desire whenever Eilish Kildare comes into my head, which is very, very frequently.

But somehow, through all of that, until I met her and finally had her in my clutches, I never knew she was a virgin. I’d just assumed she’d crossed that bridge years before I made her my obsession. I mean for fuck’s sake,lookat her. She’s beautiful. Smart. Driven. Ambitious. Friendly and nice to a fault. It’sinsanethat no man got his hands on her.

It’s also a good thing. Because if any man had, I’d havetakenthose hands from him.

“Mr. Tsarenko?”

I frown, shaking the thoughts of Eilish from my head at the voice coming from the intercom on my desk. It’s Thursday, and I’m especially broody and grouchy. For one, because devil-cunt herself, aka Svetlana, decided today was a good day to start blowing up my phone.

I’ve ignored every call. I know she’s calling to whine about why I haven’t finalized the deal we agreed upon—the one where she gets the Imperial Shield egg, and I get her off my fucking back concerning my company and its shares in Koikov bank.

Obviously, that deal is no longer on the table. But I’ve been too preoccupied with taking on the full empire myself to deal with it.

Well, that’s not quite true. It’s more that I’ve been preoccupied positively losing myself in my new addiction named Eilish Kildare to give a shit about the deal with Svet.

That’s the other reason I’m in an especially vile, asshole mood: Eilish skipped coming to the office today. Apparently, she occasionallydoesneed to actually attend class or meet with her advisors. I agreed to let her miss today, but I plan on taking out my aggression on her ass later. I grin, imagining all the ways I’ll have her on her knees, or bent over the arm of my sofa back home, when Rachel interrupts my thoughts yet again.

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