Page 121 of The Devastation You Reap

His calloused hands run up my thighs, pushing my skirt up around my waist.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy. It’s such a shame to have to ruin it.”

“Oh fuck,” I cry when he rips the lace from me, drops to his knees and sucks my clit into his mouth. “Fuck, fuck.” I writhe, trying to get away from his wicked mouth but needing more at the same time. “Leon,” I scream when he pushes two fingers inside me and reaches up high, finding the spot that drives me crazy.

He eats me like he’s starved, like he can’t get enough of me as he builds me higher and higher until I shatter, screaming his name and twisting my fingers in his hair to pull him closer.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are still as dark and intense as before, but his face glistens with my release.

“You shouldn’t taste so sweet, Red. You should be bitter, poisonous,” he spits.

My head spins from my release and I struggle to get a grasp on what he’s saying to me.

What’s happened to him? Where has my Leon gone?

Then all my insecurities from the last two weeks hit me all at once.

He never really wanted me, did he?

The sweet Leon I got to know, the one I fell for, he doesn’t really exist.

The wicked guy from Charlie’s room that night who was getting off on hitting her, making her scream, he’s the real Leon and I was stupid enough to fall for it.

Tears burn my eyes as he snaps open his belt, rips his fly open and pulls out his hard cock, violently fisting it for a few seconds as his eyes run over me.

I should get up. I should get up and run.

But what would be the point? He’d catch me.

H-he said he’d been looking for me.

Why? Why me?

What did I ever—

“Oh shit,” I gasp as he rubs the head of his cock against my sensitive clit.

“I’d stay nice and relaxed if I were you,” he warns.

“Leon, what are you—”

My words are cut off when his eyes connect with mine.

Tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I stare at a man I don’t know. A man full of hate and need for vengeance for—

“You don’t remember me, do you, Macie?” he asks coldly.

“I-I don’t kn—”

“It really would have been in your favor to have looked a little harder back then. It might have prevented all of this.”

“What are you—”

“Showing you how it feels.”

I know what he’s about to do, but still, I don’t tell him no, I don’t demand he stop, and I know that it’s because deep down, I know. I know what he’s talking about even if I refuse to accept it.

It can’t be him. It just can’t.