Page 3 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

I wasn’t a good man. Hell, I didn’t even know what it meant to be good in the first place.

I’d always been different that way, unable to feel the full spectrum of human emotions.

That was why my parents pushed me into the seminary.

The God-fearing people that they were, they believed following his divine teachings would somehow fix me.

As if it were that simple.

And besides, God and I had an agreement.

He looked the other way as I masqueraded as one of his shepherds, cloaked in the protection that being a man of the cloth afforded. And in return, I indulged my tendencies by dispensing with those not fit to join him in the afterlife.

Men like Jason Redding, who had a one-way ticket to the house of the fallen son.

Movement caught my eye, and I peered up at the window of apartment 19.

There she was.

Layla

Her name tasted sweet on my tongue.

It was easy to find her. Too easy, really. I’d sent her a message on The Wild Hunt, attaching a link to what looked like my profile.

It appeared innocuous enough.

Harmless.

Familiar.

Something she’d click without a second thought. It was curiosity, pure and simple, and I’d counted on that.

With one tap of a button, the program went to work.

Minutes.

That was all it took to access every corner of her life.

Layla moved about her room as she readied herself for bed.

I watched from the shadows of a nearby tree as she pulled her long brown hair over her shoulders and brushed it.

A vision of her silky strands wrapped around my fist as I forced my cock to the back of her throat assaulted me, and I groaned as I adjusted myself.

Once she was done, Layla set her brush aside, and a moment later, the lights in her apartment went out, casting her room in darkness.

Good.

It was almost time.

I pressed my cigarette to my lips and drew in a deep breath.

The smoke unfurled in my lungs, and I relished the slight burn before tossing the remnants to the ground.

I watched as the red embers glowed brightly against the shadows crawling across the damp earth.

It seemed so vibrant, so commanding as it burned.

Then, I lifted my boot and crushed it into the dirt.

It was always cathartic to take something toxic and destroy it, no matter what form it took: murderers, rapists, cigarettes.

The minutes ticked by as I lurked in the darkness, waiting for Layla to fall asleep. Half an hour passed before I was confident that I had waited long enough. I was practically vibrating with anticipation as adrenaline flooded my veins.

I stuffed my hand in my pocket and traced my thumb over the cool metal of the lock pick as I stepped closer to her building. The apartment complex was old and in desperate need of maintenance. Paint peeled from the door frames, and the stairwells reeked of mildew.

I stopped outside a red door with cream trimmings. It looked slightly more presentable than its neighbors, but not by much.

Apartment 19.

I ran my fingers over the cheap wood, and anticipation rushed through me, knowing that I was about to invade her sanctuary, her world.

How many of her secrets would I uncover?

The hallway was empty and silent. It was the type of silence that begged to be broken, that demanded intrusion.

And I was happy to oblige.

I crouched down and started on the lock. My hands moved with practiced ease, and the sound of the mechanism disengaging rang out loudly in the quiet corridor. I paused, listening for any sign that someone had heard me, but the building remained still.

The door swung open soundlessly, revealing the dim interior of her apartment. As I stepped across the threshold of her home, I inhaled deeply, and the faint aroma of burnt food greeted me.

I chuckled to myself and closed the door behind me.

So, my Little Sinner wasn’t a cook.

Her living room was small but cozy. A blanket was draped over the couch, and a coffee mug rested on the table beside an open book. I silently moved through the space, drinking in every detail.

The wall displayed countless photos of her and another woman with similar features. The sister, I presumed.

Moving toward her desk, I rifled through some scattered papers, kicking aside the shoes that had been haphazardly left on the floor.

From what I could gather, Layla was a freelance editor.

I flipped open her laptop and checked her search history.

Now, that was interesting.

She’d searched primal play dozens of times, the results growing more twisted every time.

At least to a normal person.

Layla wanted to be hunted down and fucked by a stranger. Someone who would chase her, overpower her, and not take no for an answer.

My cock hardened against my jeans at the thought.

Down the hall, I could see the open door to her bedroom, taunting me. Impatience flowed through me, and I worked quickly to install my spyware.

At least my hobby from secondary school was good for something. Some kids joined their local basketball teams or played chess in the park. As for me, I’d spent my time learning how to break into the school’s network and tweaking grades for anyone willing to pay.

Once the upload was complete, I shut her laptop and headed down the hall.

When I reached her room, I opened the door with deliberate slowness.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the woman sleeping in the bed.

Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and I could make out her pointed nipples beneath her T-shirt.

I moved closer. My footsteps were barely discernible against the soft carpet. Layla’s face was turned toward me, her lips slightly parted, and her hair fanned out across her pillow like a halo.

But I knew better. Layla was no angel.

My eyes traced the curve of her jaw, the delicate slope of her neck. I imagined pressing my hand to her throat and squeezing. I could almost feel the warmth of her body beneath my palm as her pulse beat rapidly, warning of the danger lurking nearby.

The thought sent a shiver of pleasure racing through me, and I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to stifle a groan.

I reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. My fingertips barely grazed her skin. It wasn’t enough, though. I needed more.

I carefully peeled her blanket down her body, revealing the swell of her hips as I exposed her to me. A lacy scrap of fabric was the only barrier between me and her pussy. I wanted to run my tongue up her slit before diving inside and making her scream.

Soon, I promised myself.

I tugged her T-shirt up, letting her breasts bounce free, and she shivered as the cool night air assaulted her flesh. When she didn’t stir any further, I leaned down and took one of her perky nipples into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the bud, and Layla moaned in her sleep.

The sound was deep and erotic, and I was hard as steel.

I straightened, then reached into my pants to free my cock. I ran my palm up my length, paying special attention to the head. A bead of pre-come glistened on the tip, and I swiped my thumb over it before dragging it down my shaft.

I squeezed the base of my cock, and a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through me. My hand glided up and down as I worked myself into a frenzy. Layla’s breasts rose and fell in time with each pump of my fist as though she was experiencing this euphoria right along with me.

My breath became choppy as I quickened my pace, and a tingle erupted at the base of my spine.

I took a step closer just as hot ropes of my come splattered across Layla’s chest. I continued to pump my shaft, milking every last drop for her.

Once I was done, I tucked myself away and then leaned forward to smear my come all over her.

Marking her.

Lifting my fingers to her mouth, I traced her lips with the last remnants of my release.

I stared down at her for a long time.

She was beautiful, and I felt the urge to touch her all over again.

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help the slow grin that spread across my face.

This was only the beginning.

She belonged to me now, and soon enough, I would stake my claim.