Page 67 of Careless

All of my blood rushes south as the abuse Rian gives to my g-spot escalates and my knees shake. “Oh, go—” I whimper.

“Unless you are calling me your god, I don’t want you screaming that name when you come. That orgasm is mine. That praise ismine. I’m your God, whore. Fucking say it.” He pulls out and slams his cock back inside me as I scream out.

“You’re my God!” Then, I completely shatter around him, screaming as he fucks me even hard.

My body goes slack and I lay my chest on the hood. He releases my hair to allow for my position and moves his hand around the back of my neck, holding me in place as he rams harder into me. I close my eyes and lay there, letting him use my body. It feels so good, but I can barely focus on my breathing with the euphoria clouding my mind.

I almost don’t catch the sound of harmonizing, but when I realize what I just heard, I open my eyes. Off in the distance, there are two little girls staring at us. I close my eyes and force them open again. The girls have disappeared.

Two little girls that look identical with pale skin, big blue eyes, and jet-black hair to their shoulders.

Who were those girls, and where did they go? Where did they come from? We’re in an abandoned area.

All thoughts of the mysterious twins leave my mind as I close my eyes and surrender to the pleasure and depravity of Rian’s will.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

HIM

Nowadays, Nigel is gone most days, which is okay in my book. That means I get more time with my woman, and I don’t have to dodge him and his glares. I’m not scared of Nigel O’Reilly, but Sorcha is worried about disappointing him.

She doesn’t have to say it for me to know.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in this moment. I never thought I would be in Sorcha’s room, running my fingers through her hair as she sleeps, her head on my chest. I still haven’t been able to get the full name of the prick that took her virginity, but it’s just a matter of time before he’s strapped to my chair.

Jason. That’s all I have to go on. His first name. He won’t get away with touching my woman. Not if I have something to say about it.

Sorcha is all mine. My woman. My heart. My home.

It’s the middle of the night on a Friday, which means I would normally be out partying, but I’d rather be here with her. She didn’t feel like partying tonight, which isn’t a big deal at all.

We spent the night in. We drank, ate pizza, and watched a few B-rated horror films. It was insanely domestic, and I… enjoyed it. I can’t remember the last time I actually had fun staying in.

I tolerate things and people. Some people are less annoying than others, but I haven’t gotten real pleasure out of anything since I was a kid. Everything is cloaked in darkness, except for when Sorcha brings the light.

It’s more than just wanting her. I need her. She’s a beacon that guides me through the obscure when I can’t navigate it myself. That’s what she did that night she was crying in her room and tried to kick me out. She saw me suffering and helped me.

My obsession with her is unhealthy, but as long as she doesn’t know how sick I am, I can live with it. But, this goes beyond being just an obsession. Maybe it always has.

Sorcha moans in her sleep as she adjusts her position, and I relax back against her pillow. The only time I don’t struggle to fall asleep and stay asleep is when I can feel her. She can’t disappear on me. She’s where she’s supposed to be, and now that I finally have her, I will rip out the throat of anyone that comes in between us.

“Ri?” she mumbles under her breath as I tuck her into my arms.

“Go back to sleep, baby.”

Like most things I tell her to do, she fights it, but eventually succumbs to the pull of a peaceful slumber.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

HER

The excruciating agony of the scorching flames sears my flesh as I try to work through the labyrinth of my subconscious.

It’s not real, Sorcha. It’s a vision. You’re here for a reason. Find the reason.I can’t allow myself to wake until I know why I keep getting pulled back into this moment.

The baby wails as fire carpets the ceiling, black smoke dances around the room, rapidly filling it.

I look down at the infant in the playpen and swallow my tears.

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