Page 64 of Virgin Sacrifice

I cut her off, uninterested in hearing her petty protests anymore. In one smooth movement, I slid my thumb in between those devilishly plump lips, the ones that her lies fell from so beautifully, nipping her wicked little tongue in its place.

It was an intrusive, violating act, the kind that provoked the basest kind of reactions in people.

Sure enough, her eyes flared brightly, and I felt the pulse of her body as she instinctively rocked her core toward me even as she bit down viciously on my flesh, drawing blood. Submission and repulsion, in equal measures, a delicious harmony for me alone to appreciate.

I didn’t flinch, and my lack of response to her frenzied attack left her unsure for a moment, debating her course of action.

“You are racking up quite the list of punishments, ma petite diablesse . . .” I whispered, watching with satisfaction as her eyes widened impossibly further at my promise. “Suck,” I ordered without hesitation.

Her nostrils flared with anger, and yet I immediately felt the rough pad of her pretty pink tongue lap at the tip of my finger.

I didn’t usually like to play with the women I fucked. Head games, domination, control—that was all more Nix’s style than mine. Most of my sexual encounters were perfunctory in nature, a transactional release. But something about the bratty submissive I saw peeking out of Luz held my attention.

“Good girl,” I purred smugly, confident in the reaction I could provoke.

Sure enough, she took my thumb in deeper, biting down viciously on my knuckle and dragging me into her wet, hot mouth. This time I decided to reward her deviance, allowing myself to hiss with pleasure at the small measure of pain she gifted me.

Then, as rapidly as I had invaded her mouth, I withdrew from it, taking advantage of the shock of my abruptness to press her further.

“There’s almost nothing to be found about you before the age of nine or ten.” Not a question, but a statement most people would naturally defend against.

“Do you even hear yourself talking?” she sputtered.

I didn’t respond. I knew what I said.

“No, Alister, I don’t know why your psycho-stalker skills can’t find anything interesting about my childhood. Maybe because it was just that? A boring normal childhood. We can’t all start off in Ivy League feeder schools playing hopscotch with future titans of industry.”

It was my turn to snort in disbelief. I had never played hopscotch in my life, and I sure as fuck didn’t spend my childhood rubbing elbows with the rich pricks who cowered beneath me now.

Instead of dignifying her outburst with a response, I drew my thumb into my own mouth, making a show of licking it clean of the taste of her lips along with the still-fresh blood running from it. Once I was satisfied with my work, I withdrew it with a pop before raising it back to her lips with a single command.

“Suck.”

This time she hesitated, her lips trembling against me as she weighed the rewards of disobedience versus submission. There was something inside her that was deeper and darker than the ambitions of your average scholarship student, and I wanted to crack her mind open like an egg and play with the goopy mess of it.

She bit down on her lip, her eyes like saucers while she avoided the task at hand. That wouldn’t do.

“I said suck, diablesse. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

She bit down even harder on her lip as her eyes shot daggers at me. It didn’t matter. She still opened that succulent mouth of hers and wrapped her warm tongue firmly around me, practically inviting me back in. For the briefest moment, her eyes flickered shut and I knew I had her.

Good girl.

This time I pulled away from her mouth slowly. It wasn’t in my nature to do so, but the back-and-forth, the hot and cold, it was all part of the game, how you broke the fragile shells of delicate pretty things.

“How did you get hurt?”

This time I expected an answer. I had tolerated her deflection and defiance up until this point because I would expect no less, and this was just the beginning of all the ways I planned to extricate the truth from her. However, on the matter of her injuries, I would be getting answers today.

“I sprained my ankle running through the woods,” she replied without emotion.

Truth but . . .

“What aren’t you saying?”

Looking up at me from under arched eyebrows, she somehow managed to look both impetuous and assessing. “It was late at night on Halloween, and it took me hours to drag myself back to my dorm.”

Frustration shot through me at her cavalier attitude. “You were told to stay inside,” I said through gritted teeth, my hand sliding back to its earlier position around her neck.

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