Page 71 of Our Pretty Darling Psycho
It wraps around my senses like chains forged in velvet, possessive and unrelenting.
“Riot,” I manage, voice husky and edged with that manic lilt the orderlies once tried to medicate out of me. “If you keep that up, I’ll start believing you actually enjoy dessert for breakfast.”
He pulls back just enough to flash a wicked, slick-smeared grin, pale grey eyes gleaming with predatory amusement.
“Enjoy? Darling, I’m fucking worshiping. This cunt’s been hiding treasures. Tight enough to make a man question every rumor about Omegas getting passed around like communal property.”
I laugh, the sound bright and unhinged even to my own ears.
“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment wrapped in misogyny. My previous Alpha assumed the same—until I proved the only thing loose in that penthouse was his grasp on reality.”
His chuckle vibrates against my inner thigh before he dives back in, sucking my clit between his lips with just the right pressure to make my spine arch.
The mirror behind me fogs with the heat of my breath.
I watch our reflection—my pink-and-violet hair wild, the ridiculous white dress long discarded, his massive frame folded in devotion—and feel the mastermind in me stir beneath the lunacy. He thinks he’s unraveling me.
Part of me lets him believe it. The rest catalogs every tell: the way his shoulders tense when my scent spikes, the subtle hitch in his breathing when I clench around his tongue. Useful data. Dangerous data.
The kind that could topple empires if weaponized correctly.
But fucking heavens, the pleasure.
It drowns calculation for blessed stretches. He lifts me effortlessly then, hands cupping my ass as he rises, my thighs clamped around his head while he walks us across the room.
The casual display of strength sends fresh slick dripping down his chin. He sets me against the tall window overlooking the valley arches, cool glass kissing my heated skin, and resumes feasting as if the world outside—stone arches draped in moss, distant market bustle, the illusion of freedom—does not exist.
“Fuck—Riot—” My fingers scrape through his hair, hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth. Suspense coils low in my belly, the edge approaching like a blade on a wire.
One wrong breath and I’ll shatter again. He knows it.
The bastard growls into my folds, the vibration pushing me over. I come with a sharp cry that echoes off the high ceilings, thighs trembling around his ears, vision fracturing into mismatched stars of lavender and emerald.
He doesn’t let me descend fully.
Instead he spins me, pressing my front to the mirror now, my ass arched back as he rises behind me. The chill of the glass against my breasts draws a hiss; the heat of his cock nudging my entrance pulls a moan.
“Look at yourself,” he rumbles, voice gravel dragged through smoke. “Look how perfectly you take me. This pretty pussy saved itself for someone who knows its worth.”
I meet his gaze in the reflection, lips curving into a smirk that feels half-deranged.
“Flattery and fucking. You’re spoiling me, criminal. Most Alphas would have tapped out by now. Rent due on that stamina?”
He thrusts in with one powerful stroke, bottoming out so deep my toes leave the floor. The stretch reignites every nerve still singing from the knot.
“Rent’s paid in full when you scream my name again.” His hand snakes around to circle my clit while the other braces my hip, setting a punishing rhythm that rattles the mirror in its frame. Skin slaps against skin. Our scents merge into something heady and profane—burnt sugar and gun-oil, chocolate ganache and warm iron, a confection baked in violence.
I push back to meet him, bickering even as pleasure spirals higher.
“Cocky. What if I decide you’re still not worthy? I burned the last one for lesser sins than premature ego.”
He laughs, dark and breathless, leaning down to bite the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Not a claiming bite—yet—but close enough to send possessive fire racing down my spine.
“Then I’ll just have to fuck the doubt out of you, Violet. Again. And again. Until the only name you remember is mine.”
The angle is devastating.
Every thrust grinds against that perfect spot inside, his knot threatening at the base once more. I am dripping down my thighs, the evidence of how thoroughly he undoes me impossible to deny. Mastermind and madwoman war within: one plotting contingencies, the other surrendering to the bliss of being truly matched.
