Page 8 of The Cruel Heir

I’d been overseas for a long time, working on the expansion of my late father’s company. His death dragged me back here, back to this miserable town I’d tried to forget. And yet, the moment I landed, one name pulsed in my head, like a sickness I couldn’t shake.

Zara.

The same insecure, overweight girl, who used to flinch when I looked her way.

I hadn’t planned to follow her. But when I saw her tray abandoned outside the service hallway, something in me snapped. Instinct maybe. Or possession. I slipped through the back, quiet, until the hum of the dryer led me straight to her.

I used to make her flinch on purpose. Her tears used to amuse me. And now? Now she thought she could just blossom in my absence, and pretend we didn’t have unfinished business?

She was in my fucking way. In my space. And she looked like she was waiting for me. I moved before I even processed it, locking the door behind me.

“What a strange little gift,” I murmured, entranced by her curves. I pulled out the knife I kept hidden on me at all times, and cut away her pants.

I stepped up and fit my body against hers, like a lock snapping into place. She froze the second she felt my presence, but that didn’t stop me from pressing the thick length of my cock against her barely covered ass.

She gasped when she felt me behind her, squirming and wiggling, which only made my dick throb harder. Was she placed here for me? A trap to snap all my control.

“Go away.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry.

Bent over like an offering, her plush thighs shifting, as she struggled to retrieve whatever had gotten stuck in the drum. She wore a towel slung around her shoulders, but her pants clung to her thighs, still damp from work. Not exactly modest, not exactly covered. Just exposed enough to drive me wild. I glimpsed crimson lace; a pair of panties far too delicate for a girl who thought she could ignore me.

I moved closer, the air between us sparking, like it recognized something ancient. My belt rustled as I unfastened it, pants sliding down with a soft whisper.

She whimpered, barely a sound, but it lit a fuse in my chest.

I pressed my cock against her, dragging it along the soaked strip of cotton between her thighs. She was fucking drenched. Her body was betraying her already, hips twitching despite everything she wanted to believe.

She hated this.

Hated me.

But the heat between her legs told the truth she wouldn’t say.

“W-what are you doing?” she breathed.

I bent low, and rasped against her ear, “I can’t let this dark berry go to waste now, can I?”

Then I tore her panties down.

She jerked forward, tried to scramble away. It was instinct, not defiance. Her ass stayed up, spine arching like she didn’t know if she wanted to flee, or be fucked. That’s how I knew she was gone,mind spinning, body caught between trauma and something darker.

I gripped her hips and buried my face in her pussy.

Her moan nearly undid me.

She didn’t want this. Didn’t ask for it.

But her cunt was dripping, and I wasn’t stopping.

“Please,” she gasped. “Stop-”

I growled and slapped her ass. The sound cracked through the steel drum.

She cried out, the echo wrapping around us like heat.