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ADRIAN

I couldn’t fuck her. Not until I was sure we’d get there together. Otherwise, all the chemicals in her brain would associate sex with disappointment and frustration, making it that much harder for her to achieve climax the next time. And the next.

It was an amazing organ, the brain, shaped by external stimuli and emotion in a way no lump of tissue should be.

It was also what made it so complex, so infuriatingly difficult to navigate.

Because what worked like a well-tuned clock one moment could be suddenly out of sync.

Like someone had hit reboot. Except instead of a factory reset, we were looking at an entirely different model.

It didn’t matter, though. Because the thing was, I loved all of them. I loved Marisela, every model, and in all forms. Loved. Not liked. And she loved me too. She just hadn’t figured that out yet.

I could tell my little lamb had enjoyed what I’d done to her in that bathroom, what I’d done to her again that night, what I was doing to her several more nights later after each time I crept into her room.

She enjoyed the way my tongue swirled around her clit, gently so as not to overstimulate her.

How I alternated between the heat of my mouth and the cool air of my breath.

How I kept my glands salivating and her body hydrated and how I shaved extra close to ensure my face remained smooth against the softness of her thighs.

The repetitive ECT treatments just dulled that enjoyment over time, messed with her neurons.

Practice was key. Rewiring her brain so that it remembered what it liked or discovered it liked something else. Didn’t matter to me one way or the other as long as I got to see her face when she finally gave in. Those sounds she couldn’t stop herself from making…

I was addicted to it. And to her. Her taste. Her smell. All of it.

Which only added to my growing annoyance whenever I had to watch her with Tate. Not that the fucker seemed all that interested in the actual engagement. Just in making me squirm. Almost like he knew something he had no way of knowing.

Speaking of squirming…

Marisela began bucking her hips, moving them in time with my slow laps and urging me to pick up speed as her freshly-painted nails clawed themselves against my scalp.

I waited until she was panting, climbing but not too high, before I removed the suction toy I’d brought with me from a pocket.

Replacing my mouth and tugging her thighs higher on my shoulders.

She wasn’t expecting it or the feel of my tongue flicking around and then carefully piercing the tight little ring of muscle around her asshole.

There were so many things my girl had yet to experience, so many nerve endings I’d yet to light up. I just had to be patient. We had to be patient. And there was nothing wrong with being patient. It didn’t make you weak; it made you determined.

Her legs were trembling, her toes curling against my back as I plunged my tongue deeper into that forbidden hole.

Coaxing her orgasm to the surface with a mix of double penetration with my fingers and stimulation of the toy and my mouth.

Her spine arched off the mattress, her body twisting and contorting like it was possessed.

And it was. She was. She was mine and so was every bit of her I was drinking down.

I didn’t stop my efforts, didn’t change them in any way either. Worried that the slightest deviation would send her spiraling in the wrong direction.

I grunted against her skin, not caring how loud either of us sounded or if the noise carried down the hall to Tate’s bedroom as his bride fucked herself on my tongue, until Marisela slammed a palm down on the mattress.

Her leg yanking back off my shoulder as she pressed a bare foot on my face to pry me away.

Her juices coated my cheeks, dripping down my chin and hands so that I couldn’t help but continue to smell her, no matter how much distance she was presently trying to put between us.

“Enough, Adrian.” Marisela shook her head as she paced back and forth across the bedroom floor. “It’s over. I’m done.”

I eyed her for a moment. Taking in how wild her hair was, even with a few patches still missing. How puffy her cheeks were after she had been biting on them for so long. And how beautiful she looked in a state of almost undress. Like a present you were too eager to unwrap all the way.

“It’s done when I say it’s done, little lamb.” I kept my tone calm, controlled. “And we are not done.”

She crossed her arms over her chest as I stood from the bed and took two long strides towards her.

I could see the distress in her eyes, the desperation and despondence too.

It wasn’t just about sex, some form of it at least, or about orgasms. It was about what Briarwood had taken from her.

What they had taken from me too. Because getting lost in this woman was more satisfying than anything I’d ever felt before.

Pain. Self-gratification. Revenge. Someone else’s blood on my hands… nothing compared to the feel of her coming on my lips.

“We are done. We have to be done,” she tried again.

“Why?” I lowered my mouth to hers, forcing her to taste herself as I kissed her soft again. She melted into my arms but only long enough for her stubbornness to settle in as she attempted to shove me back. I didn’t let go .

“Because I’m broken,” she whispered, repeating that same mantra she’d been telling me for weeks.

“Then let me fix you,” I whispered back as I forced her chin up to look at me.

“Sometimes you can’t fix people, Adrian.” She was wrong. I could fix people. I had been fixing people. “Sometimes it’s better to just put them down.”

It took me a moment. A moment too long to realize what she was asking of me.

The same thing she’d asked me that night in her room…

the sudden blur of images confirming what the DNA tests had told me a few days ago.

The body I’d tossed in that well was her mother.

And I’d sliced her throat because my little lamb couldn’t bring herself to do it.

But I could. I’d never even questioned it.

And now I could feel her grip on the knife in my pocket, stroking it like I wanted her to stroke me. I grabbed Marisela’s wrist, squeezing until she had no choice but to pull her hand away.

I wouldn’t do it. I refused to do it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Adrian?” she huffed.

“Don’t ask me to do that. It’s not going to go the way you think it is,” I warned her.

“And what way is that?”

“You already know I’m willing to kill for you. What do you think I’m willing to do to ensure you stay alive for me? To ensure I get to keep you?” I watched her eyes widen. “Whatever you’re picturing, yeah, I promise you it’s much, much worse.”

“I’m not yours to keep, Adrian. I’m getting married. To your boss. In less than a month.” She sighed. “And I’m pretty sure he’s gonna notice some creep crawling into our bed at night.”

She was trying to be funny. She wasn’t.

“Not my boss.” I shrugged while twirling one of her curls in my hand. Careful not to tug it too hard. The vitamins I was slipping into her orange juice were doing wonders to bring my girl back to life again.

“What do you mean?”

“Tate’s not my boss, little lamb. He’s my brother.” I didn’t give her a chance to respond before I was silencing her with another kiss.