Page 29 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

twenty-eight

Declan

Soren Palmer may be my toy, but she's got the advantage of having wrapped herself around me like some sort of pit viper.

She's consumed my every fucking thought since that article came out, a mystery that kept getting sweeter by the moment when she turned out to be not only a brass-balled brunette, but also somehow tied up with Tony D'Anerio, a man I've despised pretty much my entire life.

Growing up outside the city limits, I had to walk past him pedaling his shit on the corner to get to school.

He was easy enough to ignore when he was just an overweight teenage bully selling candy he'd stolen from the corner store.

But when he got in with the wrong people and started pushing drugs, he went from a bully to a fucking criminal.

I got the shit beat out of me once in all my life, and that was enough for me.

When his little gang came after me claiming I'd grabbed his girlfriend's ass, I tried to fight them off with my fists.

But I was twelve, pre-puberty, and they were grown men.

.. or at least, cretins in the bodies of fully grown men.

I knew Sadie from school— we were in the same year, despite the fact she didn't show up to class all that much.

I'd quietly shared my sandwich with her every day she did appear in the 4th grade when I found her taking lunches in homeroom.

She screamed at them to stop when they went after me, told them that nothing had happened. The thug who'd had his arm around her threw the first punch, claiming she was his sister. Tony was the one who delivered the final kick before I lost consciousness and Sadie's screams faded into silence.

I got the pistol from one of mom’s washed-up boyfriends when he was arrested for beating my mother the same night Tony's little gang beat me .

With injuries I couldn't hide, I told my mom I'd accidentally walked in front of a car.

Unlike how I didn't believe her when she claimed to have walked into a door, she bought my story and insisted on driving me for a month until her boss threatened to fire her if she was late again.

When Tony took the first step toward me, I whipped out the pistol and clicked the safety off, making sure he saw me do it.

He backed off quickly, because even though he was stupid, he wasn't stupid enough to want to capture police attention.

He's also a big enough pussy that just the sight of the gun was enough to convince him not to fuck with me.

He didn't even doubt whether I had the balls to pull it, which is good for him, because I did.

Tony's sister was the best thing about him.

Valyria D'Anerio was my first crush. The first person I emptied my balls to the image of, if we're being honest. She was a substitute teacher, so I only ever saw her completely at random.

A small and quiet woman, Valyria was far different than the other teachers.

She was on the young side, more relatable, and not as strict as the rest. When she walked into a classroom, we knew it would be a good lesson, because derailing the plan was so easy when you simply had to pull at all the right strings.

The minute someone would talk about music, she'd be lost to another world, happy to debate the greatest musicians of the last decade.

Apparently, she'd given up on her dream of being a singer to keep a roof over Tony's head when their mother passed unexpectedly.

She never mentioned having a kid, but why would she have?

It's strange, though. I run through the math in my head, trying to sort it all out.

Valyria would have had to give birth to her son at 15, by my estimate.

It's not unheard of, but the thought feels strange.

Of course, maybe that means the rumors back then were true.

.. that Valyria D'Anerio was a sex worker, that at night, she was selling her body on the same corner where her brother sold his shit by day.

I guess it would explain why she always looked so haunted... haunted, but beautiful.

Now that I think about it, Valyria D'Anerio may be the reason I enjoy broken things... things like Soren.

My head has been spinning with thoughts of her ever since I felt her soaking through the lace of her panties, so wet for me. I excused myself so I could lick her arousal off my finger, and then I emptied my balls of all the cum that had been making them ache for hours.

It's a temporary relief. I haven’t fucked my own hand since before college, but it’s all I’ve done since I saw her.

And yet, I never feel satisfied. I’ll make it a point to call someone this evening to come drain my balls properly.

There's a woman I hooked up with last year with a mouth like a hoover.

She sucked me and swallowed me until I was sore, using my cock like a pacifier.

I could really use her endurance now because Soren Palmer has got me feeling insatiable.

I could have taken things further and I have no doubt that she would have let me.

Her pussy was weeping for me, whether because she gets off on fear or because she's been over-exaggerating how much she can't stand me.

I don't know the reason, but I also don't care.

What matters is that she'd probably have let me bend her over the desk, strip her wet panties down her thighs, lay her tits out on the wood, and fuck her like a whore.

But that's not what I want. I enjoyed every second of watching her squirm in discomfort, trying to fight her own attraction to me.

I want her to beg for me, to plead for me to take her, for her to need me more than she needs air.

And after I give it to her, I'll take it away, leaving her to choke on the memory of my cock in her throat.

The thought of watching her shatter makes my balls tight again, so I dismiss myself from the office before I have to run into her again and go for a cold swim, letting the icy water work in my favor.

April weather in Illinois is fucking cold, but it hasn't snowed in weeks.

That hasn't stopped a film of ice from building on standing water, but I've got my pool heater set to run a few hours every night, keeping it from icing over without warming it too much.

In the summer, I take my ice baths in the metal tub in my own gym, but in winter, it would be foolish not to take advantage of my natural resources.

The only time my head empties is when I'm in an ice bath.

It's like my body shuts down so it can focus on the little bit of therapy it gets in microdoses.

I've worked my way up to several minutes, and it's the only rest I get.

Even when I sleep, it's never as peaceful as this.

.. which is exactly why I find myself pulling up the cameras I had installed in her home instead of slipping under the covers that night.

My silly little bird hasn't realized yet that I had the cameras put in when she was at work yesterday.

She also doesn't know yet that I bought her home out from under her.

It's a mercy, really, considering that it's been in foreclosure for months and she could have been tossed out at any minute.

No doubt she thought taking the job I offered her would give her the cash she needed to buy it back from the bank.

Unfortunately for her, the bank was more than happy to accept a generous amount of my cash. Generous enough to satisfy the balance on the loan and keep the loan officer who oversaw the transaction happy.

I watch her on the cameras I had installed in every room, follow her around her little place as she sheds her clothes and glances out the bathroom window, no doubt looking to be sure no one is there before she drops the blinds.

And I watch as she slips her hand between her thighs, stroking her clit as her mouth falls open for a moan to pass.

She's slow, torturing herself as she thumbs her slit, moaning and sighing until words start to tumble past her lips.

At first, it's just a series of 'yes' and 'please', but then I hear it… and I damn near combust.

" Declan ."

She's got me fucked up, rock hard and desperate... so desperate I'm considering driving to her house and busting the door down to take what I want, what I fucking need so bad that it's corroding me from the inside out. God damn it. Damn her , for being so fucking addictive.

I'm leaking before I even get a grip on my dick, and it only takes a few strokes as I watch her circling her clit fast, desperate. Her chest heaves, breathless as she chases what she needs, and I wait for my name to come from her lips again, to hear her whimper for me.

"Oh god." She moans, her voice throaty and unrestrained. When she says it again, it's higher in pitch, whining.

Say my name.

"Fuck!" She cries, shuddering and screaming and stilling with a hand braced on the marble counter.

Frustration surges through me when she comes without saying it again, a wave of disappointment overriding the pleasure suddenly waning.

For the first time in my life, I can't make myself come... no matter how hard I try.