Page 8 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

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.”

Heat scorches through me, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. My hand only jerks harder, faster, chasing the edge with my teeth clenched.

Takoa smirks wider, tilts his head. “Don’t let me interrupt, mate. Finish what you started.”

And I do. With a guttural sound ripped from my chest, I come undone, hips thrusting up, cock spilling hot across my hand and stomach, vision white and blinding. Her name almost tears itself from my throat, but I bite it back, swallowing it down into a groan that could be anything.

Takoa chuckles low, shaking his head. “Fucking reckless. Could’ve fooled me into thinking you were alone.” He smirks as he turns away, voice fading down the hall. “Next time, try not to moan so loud. Don’t want the others thinking you’re desperate.”

And he’s gone.

I collapse back against the sheets, chest heaving, cum sticky on my skin. Shame curls low in my gut, but it doesn’t smother the hunger. If anything, it sharpens it.

Because it’s her. Always her. And when I finally get my hands on her, I’ll ruin her exactly the way I’ve ruined myself tonight in only the best ways.