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Her eyes track it and she jolts, but not before I’ve gotten both her wrists behind her back.

“You’re the reason,” I fluidly cuff her wrists, “I was handcuffed in front of the whole frat, shoved into a car, and carted off to county.”

She twists to glare at me, her face flushed and drawn. “They don’t send people to prison because of a few perverted videos!”

I pull her arms back, snarling, “But they send them to prison for felony wire fraud.”

She freezes, her green eyes filling with confusion. “What?”

“That’s what they found, Rosilocks. That’s what your panicked little bullshit tip-off led them to.” I drag her forcefully against my chest, my cock nestled so deeply inside of her that I can feel her tremble. “Wicker and Lex keep saying I shouldn’t blame myself, but the truth is, I don’t. I blame you for every day.” I thrust my arm out in front of her, sleeve pushed up to reveal the tattoos there. “All five hundred and fifty-three of them.”

She stares at it, mouth parted in horror. “Is that…?”

“A tally for each day,” I confirm. The tattoos are short and crude stick-and-poke lines, each one made late at night in my cell. Sometimes, it’d take me a while to get ink, so I’d have to save them up, doing five or ten at a time. But mostly, it was routine to slump on my cot, carefully stabbing the ink into my skin. With each prick of the needle, I’d think of her.

It wasn’t all anger and vengeance, though. The longer I sat in there, the more I grew urgent with the need to know what she felt like. It seemed just. Eye for an eye. I’d already paid the price. Might as well have some of the reward, too.

My dick throbs, the desire to end this racing through my bloodstream. But practice makes perfect. On the ice. In Father’s office. With my tech. And even this, dragging myself to the edge of pain, until I reward myself with dark, delicious pleasure.

Willing my dick to stand down, I gain back my control and wrap my arm around her waist. I hold her tight against my body, forcing her to watch the screen as the camera view shifts from her shocked expression at being named Princess, to her long walk into the ceremonial chamber.

Every nerve in her body tenses up, inside, and out.

“I didn’t know any of that was going to happen,” she says, chin wobbling. “Please don’t make me watch this.”

“Why not?” I push my fingers between her folds, teasing over her clit again. It’s hot, pulse beating under the hot skin.Fuck. “Because it makes you uncomfortable? Do you think I give a fuck about your comfort?”

On screen, Verity is easing herself down on the phallus, an expression of shock and horror marring her pretty face. I see myself holding her by the wrist, and then my breath catches when Wicker shoves her down. Her pussy clenches, in pain or something else, I don’t know. “No clenching,” I say in her ear. “What did it feel like to be ripped apart like that? To feel the blood running between your thighs?” A quiver runs through her body. “Answer me, Rosilocks. What did it feel like?”

“It hurt.”

“How much?”

“M-more.” She clenches around my shaft. “More than anything I’ve ever experienced.”

The image moves along to Father bending over and gathering her blood. She looks worn out, exhausted, and traumatized. The pretty girl from the balcony transformed into nothing but blood, sweat, and tears. Her hand trembles as she signs the paperwork.

“Oh, this is where it gets really good,” I whisper, feeling under her dress and roughly taking her tits in my hands. I squeeze hard, forcing her to cry out. “Goddamn, my brother–he’s just… relentless, isn’t he?”

A flicker runs through me. Jealousy. Wicker only ever fucked with her because he knew who she was–what she did to me. To the three of us. But she was mine first. She should have been. If things had gone differently–if she’d never reported me for those videos–I would have made her mine.

Wholly.

“I wish I could be so detached,” I confess, basking in the weight of her heavy tits in my palms. “But I can’t. I have a lot of rage inside of me. A lot of anger for what you did—what you started—and how it’s fucked up my life.”

On screen, Wicker pounds into her in that steady, manic rhythm and my hips rock upward of their own accord. I reach out and hit the volume, allowing the soundtrack of that night to join the images. The room fills with the scrape of the table as he pushes her across the floor, hips powerful. My cock thickens, stretching with every small thrust. I listen to thethud, thud, thud, of Wicker’s beat, the soft, sad cries coming from Verity’s lips with every punch.

“I don’t regret it.” In the reflection, she’s watching with a blank expression, her eyes trained to the screen.

“You wouldn’t,” I say bitterly. “Even a rough fuck from Wicker is probably a good fuck.”

“Not that.” She shakes her head, jaw taut. “I don’t regret turning you in. I wish you’d been in prison longer. I wish your brothers would have gone with you. I wish–” Her voice cuts with a cry as I suddenly stand, dumping her forward onto the desk.

I shove the flat of my palm into her head, and it’s fucking amazing. “Look at you now, Rosi. Face down, ass up, hands cuffed, that flicker of fear in your eyes.” I growl, grinding my cock into her. “How does it feel?”

She never gets a chance to answer. Even fucking her like I am, barely dragging an inch of my dick from her cunt, the constricting glide is too much. I’m too desperate–too fucking starved.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, fingers clenching a handful of her hair as it begins. “Oh, god–” The first wave is like getting punched by a goddamn live wire. My body erupts with it, lips pulled back in a snarl as I seize, slamming my hips into her.