Page 57 of Wicked Vile King
But I do, I know I do. I feel it in the hollow pit of my center that splits open even further as I watch him fuck her, rocking her against the desk. I can't stop watching, even as my stomach churns and I think I'm going to be sick, even when the woman grinds her ass on him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and he lets go of her mouth to grab either side of her hips.
The world stops when he turns and looks at me.
The lady moans again as molten strings curl together and then unfurl low in my belly, knotting together and then untying. I wonder what it feels like, having him inside of her. It must be good, obviously, but she's acting like it's the best thing she's ever felt as he looks at me, pinning me where I stand with those unreal blue eyes.
Look away, Willow!
But I don't. I can't look away, though I'd give anything to, though everything in me screams that this is wrong.
Saint looks at me while he fucks her, his hips jackhammering fast and tight. Tears flood my vision, but it's not enough. I can still see them, and I don't want to see them.
Over and over again, faster and faster, he fucks her until I can smell it, the stench of them, the desperation, the flesh-on-flesh, the sweat.
I tell myself I don't want to see this even as the slickness between my thighs burns my skin with the lie.
Look away, Willow. Look away!
I don't. I keep watching, and he keeps staring at me, his mouth falling open as pleasure loosens the features of his face, making them almost soft. Then for a moment, his eyes shutter as he grips her hips tightly against him and empties himself inside of her, pumping once, twice, three times with a guttural moan.
A moment later, his eyes open, and when he sees me still watching, he smiles broadly, like the savage god he is.
16
SAINT
Ijerk one last time, feeling the lady's ass clamp down hard on my dick. I should be enjoying this moment. Hell, when's the last time I fucked anyone?
Months ago, I think, before my pet.
At least Isla won't be following me around like a lost puppy when it's over. She knows exactly what this is and doesn't care. She might've cared if she had known my pet was playing voyeur from the aisle over, but she's always accepted being sloppy seconds, me screwing her like an animal all over the stacks. Fuck, though, if this time I could feel the boredom creeping back into my brain again. I had to look at my pet just to not go all soft in the middle of it, and that look on my pretty girl's face—pain and pleasure, hurt and suffering, all rolled into one—it kept me going and made me explode.
But then she ran away as soon as it was over. The girl's the walking fucking definition of a non-listener. I'd told her not to move until I said so, and what did she do? Oh yeah, she ran away, even though I didn't excuse her yet.
I fought the fucking boredom to teach her a lesson, not that she's the least bit grateful for it. She can't send me to the goddamned hole and not expect a slap on the nose in return.
I knew fucking Isla would hurt her. It's easy to hurt the good girls.
She can pretend she doesn't care, but I saw it written all over her face the first day of classes, when she found out I paid her student guide very well to stick her with me for the day, better than she should have been paid, and all because her parents cut her off because their god sees their daughter as an abomination.
Then I confirmed she cared when I locked her inside one of the old tunnels and she clung to me after I saved her from the dark.
But my naughty pet couldn't admit she was mine and then couldn't even stand there and watch like a good girl. She fucking ran before I permitted her to leave.
Fuck if her disobedience doesn't hit like a zap of adrenaline straight to the dick.
I pull out, cum slipping from Isla's ass and jerk my pants back on, fastening my belt and tucking in my uniform shirt. Isla says something that sounds likeasshole, but we both know she loved it. Plus, I don't really care. I have a naughty pet to catch, so I leave. Predictably, I find my pet in the hallway, bolting straight for her dorm.
She's a mess, her face all red and pouty, snot clogging her nostrils and fresh tears still sliding down her cheeks. She looks absolutely horrified to see me, her mouth gaping open in an unfortunate imitation of fish. The reaction is expected but entertaining. If she thinks I don't know every way she goes back to her dorm by now, and which passageway to use to intercept her, she's crazy. Then again, we are all crazy in here.
She looks like she can't believe I'm real, open-mouthed and still gawking at me, before I take three steps, grab her by the elbow, and bare my teeth.
"Time to pay for your sins, pet," I say before I spin her around and head for the nearest classroom.
"Stop it!" she manages, trying to take a swing at me, which is impressive given how bloodshot her eyes are from all the crying.
She's . . .pathetic.
Beautiful.
