Page 21 of Vengeful Melodies

“God, you’re tight,” I pant, gripping his hips, slamming into him again and again.

“Don’t stop—fuck,don’t stop—”

I wrap my hand around his cock, jerking him in time with every deep thrust, feeling him pulse in my palm.

“Look at you,” I whisper against the back of his neck. “Falling apart like this. What would your precious mother say?”

“She’d cry—fuck—she’d cry herself to sleep.”

I slam harder. “Good.”

His moans go higher, raw and uncontrolled. I bite his shoulder hard enough to bruise, my other hand squeezing his throat as I pound into him with punishing rhythm.

He comes first—legs shaking, cock spurting across the sheets, crying out my name like it’s the only word he knows.

I’m not far behind, groaning into his neck as I spill deep inside him, collapsing on top of him with a trembling exhale.

For a long beat, it’s just breathing. Sweat. Skin. Silence.

Then Bash whispers, breathless, “Still mad at me?”

I chuckle against his shoulder. “Not until tomorrow.”

Chapter Eight

Alix

The suite hums like a fucking hive. Bash and Kaiser are already at it down the hall — headboard knocking, muffled moans seeping through the walls. Grey’s out cold in his own room. Takoa’s out on the balcony, probably inhaling another cigarette.

Which means I’m alone.

Or at least, I think I am.

I stretch out on the bed, the quiet pressing down heavy, and the image of her burns behind my eyes. The way my shirt clung to her tonight — tight cotton hugging her tits, hem riding high on her thighs — like she was wearing me and daring me to do something about it. Her lips wet, eyes daring, smile sinful.

It should’ve been enough to see her like that. It never is.

My hand finds my cock, already hard, already aching. The second I wrap around it, the fantasy detonates in my head.

She’s there — bound to the headboard, wrists raw from leather cuffs. Blindfolded, trembling, begging. The shirt is shredded down the middle, chain links dragging cold and slow across her chest, her ribs, her stomach. She arches up like a fucking offering, and I press the flat of a blade to her skin, just enough to make her shiver and whimper.

“Open wider,” I snarl in my head, stroking harder, faster. “You’re not here to think. You’re here to take it. All of it.”

She gasps, spits curses at me, and I choke her until they fall into silence. My hand slides between her thighs, fingers bruising her open, teasing her until she’s sobbing for cock. And I don’t give it. Not yet. Not until she screams my name like it’s the only word she’s ever known.

The thought makes me groan, hips bucking up into my fist. I can almost hear it — her voice breaking, begging, her throat raw, body wrecked and ruined under me. Mine. Every filthy, ruined inch of her is mine.

The slick sound of my hand fills the room, obscene, loud. I don’t care. My head’s gone, lost in the vision of her gagging on my cock, mascara streaked, face soaked with spit and tears while I call her my good little whore.

I’m close. Fuck, I’m so fucking close I can taste it.

That’s when I hear it — the faint click of the balcony door. A shift of air.

I snap my eyes open.

Takoa’s there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, shadows cutting sharp lines over his grin. He doesn’t look surprised. Just amused. His gaze drops, takes in the way my fist is working my cock, shiny and desperate, and he lets out a low, mocking whistle.

“Well, well,” he drawls, voice dark silk. “Didn’t peg you for the type to get off solo.”