Page 122 of Our Pretty Darling Psycho
“You first, doctor. I want to watch you lose your mind.”
She means it, too.
That’s the game.
She wants the evidence—proof of my own unraveling, my own catastrophic surrender. I laugh, or try to, but it comes out as a ragged, broken moan as her cunt clamps down on me, fluttering with every pulse of her heartbeat.
My vision whites out at the edges, my thoughts reduced to pure animal drive and the need to see her come undone.
I angle my hips for maximal friction, grinding against her with a force that should be punishing, but only makes her sob with pleasure.
She is so wet, so hot, and her body takes me in over and over, greedy as her words.
I can feel her building, the shudder in her thighs, the way her breath stutters and her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling so hard I nearly cry out. The taste of her is still on my tongue and I want to taste her everywhere, to devour her from the inside out.
“Come with me,” I command, voice guttural as I clamp my hand over her mouth, stifling the scream I know is coming. “Let go, Genevieve.”
We crest together, her walls spasming violently around my cock as I spill deep inside her, pulse after pulse of release that leaves us both shattered and whole.
The world narrows to this:her trembling form beneath me, the mats warm with our shared heat, the studio’s mirrors reflecting a hundred versions of our entwined surrender.
She collapses back, breathless, a giggle bubbling up that surprises even her—a light, unguarded sound amid the wreckage of passion.
“So this... this is how Lois must feel when she’s with Superman. Swept off her feet, literally, by a man who flies.”
I roll my eyes playfully, still buried within her, reluctant to sever the connection. “I don’t look *that* different without the glasses.”
She huffs, propping herself on an elbow to study my bare face with that piercing, all-seeing gaze.
“You certainly do. And you probably don’t even need those spectacles half the time.”
I smirk, tracing a lazy pattern along her collarbone.
“I feel like you would know that.”
She cannot suppress the grin that spreads across her features, equal parts triumphant and tender.
“I know everything about you.”
I lean in, sealing her lips with a slow, claiming kiss that tastes of shared release and unspoken futures.
In the quiet aftermath, with her scent still wrapped around me like a benediction, the truth settles deep in my bones.
I know, Our Pretty Darling Psycho. I know.
CHAPTER 29
~Silas~
Iarrive for our scheduled outing wearing my composure like a well-cut coat, which is to say impeccably, which is to say it conceals the fact that I have been quietly vibrating with anticipation since dawn.
Crowe would make a production of it—a flourish, a riddle, a theatrical refusal to say where we’re going until the reveal could be milked for maximum drama.
But it isn’t Crowe steering today.
Today it’s Silas, the quieter architecture beneath the showman, and Silas simply wants to give her something.
Not a jewel, not a dinner under chandeliers, not the elegant romance the other men reach for. Anyone can buy a woman a beautiful evening.
