Page 26 of Kane

“That’s it,” Cock Daddy purrs as he grips my hair in his fist while he slams his cock into the back of my throat. “Be a good little slut and make Daddy come.”

He doesn’t waste time as he pummels my mouth, my throat, and I try to keep up with him, but between his motions and the drinks I’ve had, and the fact I haven’t come yet—because he told me not to—I’m not feeling so good.

My stomach twists, and then his hand tightens in my hair as he keeps up his rapid pace, and just as I brace myself for his cum down my throat, he pulls out of my mouth with a loud pop, and comes with a low moan.

All over my face.

And that’s what does it.

I push him away, needing to get up and find the nearest bathroom, but as soon as I try to move, I realize I can’t because I’m still bound.

Shit!

“What the fuck?” he barks, as I turn over, and let out all my bad decisions. Right onto his carpet.

I groan as the room spins, and finally when I find my voice, I ask him to untie me.

“Sorry,” I say, my vision blurry as I rub my wrists. The rope marks are bright red, and I know I’ll have to wear something to cover this up tomorrow at work.

I wait all of ten seconds for him to tell me it’s okay, that he’ll take care of me, or that I should drink some water. I wait for him to offer to cuddle or hold me until I come down properly.

But the seconds drone on, and so does the silence. He picks up my clothes, and I think maybe this is it. Maybe this is where he tells me to get in the shower or the bath, and he’ll make everything okay.

He holds my clothes out to me and slowly I take them.

“You need money for a cab?” he asks, his voice cold. The snow is still falling outside. It’s late.

“It’s like… two in the morning,” I say like an idiot.

“Yeah, I know. And now I have to clean up my cum and your fucking puke, so when my wife—”

The world thins around me, and I just nod, putting on my clothes. I said I wouldn’t do this again.

But here I am.

Here I fucking am.

I should demand money, more than the standard cab fare to get me back home, but I don’t have the energy.

I just want to go home… though, I’m not really sure I know what home is anymore. Not really.

Instead, I get dressed, pull on my coat and boots, and make my way out into the cold. The roads are a slushy mess, but there’s still some traffic; mostly cabs and rideshares coming back from the bars. I manage to hail one, which is a damn miracle.

The whole way home, I feel like I’m going to throw up again. I lean my head against the window, watching the snow taper off, the streetlights shine over the sparkling white powder covering everything with a perfect layer, like lace. When I finally make it back up into the apartment, I am surprised to see Tori sitting on the couch, fully awake, remote in hand, bowl of popcorn in the other. Her dark brown hair looks almost black in the light, piled into a bun on top of her head, which exposes her elegant, old English 13 beneath her ear. I know she has several tattoos, because I’ve seen them, but most of the time she keeps them covered up, so when she doesn’t… it’s rare.

At least for me. I’m sure my sister’s seen every one and then some.

I eye her bowl of popcorn as my stomach growls. The scent of the butter smells awful and delicious at the same time. The television light pours on her, bathing her in a brightness that only adds to her creep factor.

She glances up at me with those dead eyes, and her smooth voice cuts through the silence.

“You look like shit, Ryder.”

I scoff as I drop my coat over the armchair, kicking off my boots. I sink down into the opposite end of the couch, running a hand over my face.

“Thanks. I was going for rock bottom.”

Tori chuckles. Fucking chuckles! Which sounds weird as hell, but also… kind of oddly normal, too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh. At anything.