Page 44 of Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

"Don't stop," he rasps, his forehead touching mine, water sliding down the sides of his face to his lips. "Don't be scared. I won't hurt you…I want to watch you come." He grinds the length of his hard cock against my stomach, his chest heaving, breaths coming quick and shallow. I can feel his piercing rub against my skin. It must feel good for him because his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

I continue to play with myself.

My mouth parts when I hit the sensitive spot I like. The place that will bring me over the edge. He lowers his hand and fists his cock to the same rhythm. I moan, and he grunts, but his forehead never leaves mine.

"Faster, baby. Show me…fuck––" He strokes faster. His eyes pin mine. His pupils are full of something dark and powerful I have never seen or felt before. I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest. His jaw flexes, and I keep rubbing and flicking my clit on the brink of a powerful orgasm. "The day you let me slide my cock between those lips again, I'm not going to stop," he says breathlessly. "If I were to drown, I would want to drown in you." He takes my lips in his. I swirl my tongue, matching the rhythm of my fingers. The pressure begins to build, my orgasm coming hard and fast. He breaks the kiss and whispers against my lips, "I won't stop until you give me the real you, Veronica." I swallow hard and moan when my orgasm crests, and I come sliding two fingers inside, feeling my walls clench. I arch my back as he takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks hard.

I gasp. "Harder." He sucks harder, and I come, stars exploding behind my eyes. "Yes!"

The sound of my moans reverberates off the tiled walls. My fingers grip the strands of his hair hard when he holds me and I must admit, my orgasm felt like the best high.

Alaric is a dangerous drug everyone warns you about. The one that makes you forget that your shitty world exists. A drug that is hard to shake once you're on it. The one that you always end back on because it consumes you and your entire world, promising to make it better, not caring that it could kill you because you know, deep down, you would sell your soul to the highest bidder just to get one more taste of that high, and that is what I just did. I sold my soul, not caring what happens because I am an addict. And he is the drug promising me rapture in my hell.

I slide up the tiled wall, releasing his hair and holding on to his shoulder, my head looking down, watching his thick, hard cock swell, getting ready to spill his release while he fucks himself. His sweet words replay in my head. A dull ache forms in my stomach, shooting up to my head, telling me to ruin them––that they're a trick. To him, I'm the whore they made me out to be. The one with no choices. Ruin what he said! Ruin them, Veronica. He doesn't love you! Whore! Whore! The chant goes on inside my head.

My eyes flick up to him like they're possessed. I grip his cock and stroke it faster, making him grit his teeth when I take over. His nostrils flare until he gives a loud grunt, and cum spurts in strings landing on the tile, my stomach, and fingers.

I tilt my head with a sultry smile and reach for the bath gel to wash his cum off my hands and give him my back. I close my eyes. "I'm glad I could service you in blowing off steam."

I turn, widening my hand full of soap and his cum under the spray of water, letting it wash away like it was something grotesque I touched and wanted off my skin. "Don't worry," I purr, "I won't take what you said to heart. Some things are said in the heat of the moment." Ruin it! He blinks. His skin is flushed under the spray. Silent. Good Girl, Veronica.

I slide my hair over my shoulder, revealing the mark behind my neck. Small but unmistakable. The mark of Prey belonging to the Order. A skull with a small rose. A cross and an inverted cross right under it. I hear his breaths short and fast. Turning my head over my shoulder, his eyes are hard, and his jaw is tight.

I plaster a fake grin and then lick my lips. "You could whisper sweet words, tell me you like what you see, or how I make you feel, but there is one word I always hear when I look at you or when you look at me. The one word I will always remember. Whore."

He slides his fingers through his wet hair. "Veronica, I–"

I turn around, cupping his cheek and feeling how hard his jaw is set. Tell him! "I thought a girl's first time was supposed to be special. If it's her first time or first time with someone she thought was good enough. A crush––girls have those you know––I know for some guys they don't–– guys like you. The popular, rich ones." I drop my hand and continue, "My first time was…unforgettable. It reminded me what I was worth to you and every guy I would meet." I audibly swallow and laugh, so I won't cry in front of him because I could never sink so low. He took a lot away from me that night. I wanted that moment to be something to remember––to help drown out the bad that would come. The one thing I begged for when I would look at the stars in the sky. I drove Alicia crazy that summer, trying to be anywhere he would be. I would have accepted him to kiss me goodbye and for him to never talk to me again. I didn’t expect a phone call or a repeat. And right now, the last thing I need is for him to see my tears. He wants me here, then I will take what I can from him––time. But I will not give him any more pieces of me.

"Veronica, I––" he tries again.

"I want to go home," I say quietly. I look around the shower like the walls are closing in on me. "I don't want to stay here with you." I cross my arms over my body, like he didn't just watch me finger myself and see me fall apart. I wait, hoping he agrees, watching the water slide down the drain like the moment never happened.

He opens the glass door and relief floods me when he says, "I'll take you home."

We drive in complete silence. My purse clutched to my chest, and a designer shopping bag between my feet with an outfit he picked out that’s suitable for the office and some other items he expects me to wear. I was surprised he didn't end the arrangement right then, or maybe he will when he drops me off. He could call someone in the Order who would then call Charles.

Since my hell with Dorian Black is soon to begin, I would have to first purify my soul like the sick bastard he is, and maybe it would be a good thing. I could think of a way to leave and change my identity, like those witness protection programs where people adopt new identities and move to another country where no one can find them.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "You're very quiet––"

"I'm fine."

I keep cutting him off because I don't want to hear his lies, so he can convince me to fuck him. He might say how sorry he was or he didn't know, but he had plenty of time to find out. He's Alaric Riodrick-Riordan. He managed to convince the whole Order for him not to marry and to immediately take over for his father. I am here with him because of some sick joke or game they put him up to or that he wants to be a part of. He did nothing, Veronica. He watched and did…nothing!

He pulls up to the driveway, and I’m glad I figured out how to open the door from inside his Ferrari. I step out, closing the door before he can say anything, and walk toward the servants' side door. The front door of the house gives me flashbacks of that night with him and what had happened when I made it home. That was the first time I had to pay for my sins. It was the first time I knew the reason for my existence as a Devlin. Charles would tell me things I didn't understand, but I did––that night.

Since then, I have used the servants’ door, which is also closer to my room. He waits until I'm inside and drives off. When the door closes behind me, I let the sobs and tears come. I almost don't recognize the shrill sounds coming from my throat, wishing the words he said to me were true and hating myself for having to ruin them, but knowing I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't. What I hate the most is that I want him when I shouldn't. After everything he’s done, I’m scared I’m still in love with him.

CHAPTER 17

Alaric

I frustratingly grip the strands of my hair, pulling and ripping a couple out as I watch the side door shut and drive off. I was trying to tell her that I–– what. That I’ve never felt so ashamed of anything I’ve done, but I'm not just ashamed, I'm disgusted with myself for treating her like a prostitute. The solemn look on her face when she told me what I reminded her of, what I said to her that night at the initiation party. She gave me what I just asked of her so freely that night. She chose me.

In her confession, she admitted what I meant to her in the beginning and what I mean to her now. It was heartbreaking to see her fall so beautifully in my arms, only to break seconds later. The words I said hearing her beautiful moans were true. If I were to drown, I would want it to be in her.

The mark on her neck sent a ball of fury inside me, wanting to rip it off or cover it so no one could see it. How could Charles Devlin be such a bastard to an innocent girl? But I know the answer. Because he can. She is nothing to him but a poisonous thorn to his ego. Something he can torture and use to get more power because he is a failure as a husband and a lover, so he wants Veronica to pay for it all because outing his wife would draw attention to his inadequacies as a man. He prefers to cover it up by being ruthless in the eyes of the Order, all to inflate his ego. Piece of shit.

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