Page 52

Veronica

“Y ou’re just as fucked up as me, ladybird.” Kael’s breath is harsh, hot, and ragged as it fans Veronica’s ear, his fingers tightening around her throat, pressing not enough to hurt but enough to make her gasp. He stills inside her, thick and pulsing, stretching her walls as though he owns her body, her pleasure.

“Look at you.” His voice is rough against the storm. “So pathetic and needy. Still squeezing me so fucking tight while riding my cock on your stepmother’s grave.”

A violent tremor rips through her, shame tangling with something darker. Her nails claw at the wet earth, dirt grinding beneath her fingertips as her hips jerk, desperate to meet his next thrust. And when he pulls out, leaving her empty just for a second, she barely has time to blink before he slams back into her, knocking breath from her lungs.

“I bet you want me to tell you all the details.” His words slither down her spine like a sin while her moans slice through the clasp of thunder as his pace quickens. The wet sounds of their bodies rival the rain pelting on the headstone, soaking them both in a chill, illicit baptism.

“Should I tell you?” His nails dig into her hip as he pounds into her, each thrust maddening and provoked.

“Answer me, you fucking slut, or forget about coming tonight.” He growls, yanking her head backward by a fistful of her hair until her lustful eyes stare up at his hollow and dark ones through the ghost mask.

His cruel promise, however, causes her pussy to clench possessively around him, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Do you want me to tell you how I erased that fucking bitch from your life, Veronica?” His fingers flex around her throat.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice barely above a whisper, but her body screams it loud, her pussy slick and quivering around him as he rolls his hip, grinding deep inside her.

Like a deranged motherfucker, there is a weird excitement in his voice, a sick grin curving his luscious lips as he narrates how he murdered Marlene Mendes in her living room. The way her scream had echoed through the night yet no one heard her. The way he pressed the dagger to her palm and forced her to hold it to her neck, aiding her hand in dragging it across her throat, the horror in her eyes as she felt the power in her own destruction.

As he tells the tale, his eyes gleam, depraved, and alight with something wicked, yet Veronica doesn’t recoil. Instead, something shifts inside her. Something twisted, blackened and rotting, stirring awake.

When Kael reaches the part where Marlene takes her last, shuddery breath, a sharp cry tears from Veronica’s throat. Her entire body locks, legs quaking, spine bowing as pleasure—hot, vicious, and all-consuming—crashes over her in a brutal wave, drowning his cock in the sickest, most intense orgasm she’s ever had.

The loud shrill of a bell snaps Veronica back to reality, and like a thief caught stealing, she freezes, eyes blinking rapidly, cheeks hot.

She feels the moistness between her legs, and she instantaneously presses her thighs together, shame slicing through her chest, stirring a bitter feeling in her gut.

This is probably the hundredth time Veronica is thinking about that night. That sick and twisted night. The night she calls a day of awakening because that was when she finally accepted that indeed, there is a darkness inside her, and that darkness has been stirred awake.

That night, she left without telling Shiro goodbye even when Kael gave her the sweet chance to. She simply couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face him. Because if Shiro were to find out the depraved and sadistic thing she had done that night—how her pussy tightened around Kael’s throbbing cock whilst being told the brutal murder of someone she once knew—he wouldn’t want to look at her too. Maybe he would even spit at her, finally calling her a monster to her face. And she wouldn’t be able to take that—Shiro’s rejection. So she left without a goodbye.

Five days later she’s still here, a prisoner in her supposed husband’s house, and no phone. Kael confiscated it.

The night they arrived in Russia was the last night Veronica saw neither Kael nor Raidon. According to what she heard from Riccardo Gambino—the closest to being nice amongst the soldiers—Kael traveled for business, and he would be making stops in three countries, which means he might be gone for a week or more.

Riccardo Gambino is apparently her caretaker. He told her that if she needed to speak to Kael, she should let him know, and if Kael ever needed to speak to her, he would bring her the phone. She has nothing to say to Kael. She prefers it if he doesn’t even come back so she can have time to plan her escape from this hell hole.

But as a man who dragged her to a strange country, it’s only responsible that he checks up on her, right? But he hasn’t. Never did. Because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about her at all. She’s just a means to an end for him, a pawn in his wicked game of chess, an object of his twisted desire. She’s only here to fulfill his sexual urges and for sport, for haunting down, and for devouring. He will probably engage her in a game of prey versus predator as a hobby.

Her days have become mundane. All she does is wake up, shower, stand at the balcony of their room, which she realizes is at least 48 feet tall, and watch soldiers move robotically with weapons hanging around their bodies as if they’re preparing for war. Then at 10 a.m., Mr. Putin will knock on the door and echo breakfast with those feathery wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as he tries to give her a warm smile.

The farthest the soldiers watching her every move have allowed her to go is the garden. And even in the garden, she is surrounded by five armed men. And when she looks to her right, at least ten armed soldiers are hanging on the guard tower, which oversees everything happening on the ground.

Where will she run to? The soldiers are trained snipers. All their sense organs work like magic. They can even hear the footsteps of a ghost or an ant. How will she escape without them catching her?

She misses Shiro so much she thinks she will die. This is the longest time she has stayed without seeing her best friend. She wonders if he’s okay. She hopes he isn’t so worried about her. And Carla.

She might not have really gotten along well with that woman, but she was kind-hearted, just a disciplinarian, and maybe a little prude.

Her heart aches, guilt pressing against her chest knowing the poor woman is unaware that her only daughter is dead and that she is married to the man who killed her.

A heavy sigh breaks out of her lips as she leans off the metal railing, her fingers whisking away the hair that the wind plastered across her face. She wraps her arms around her body as a gentle shiver travels through her.

She steals one glance at the soldiers disappearing into the large building where they usually go for training. Every morning at 7 a.m., the bell tolls, and the rhythmic stomp of heavy boots as hundreds march to the training ground, echoes.

A loud knock suddenly comes on the door.

She slides the glass door shut, her feet padding against the floor as she crosses over to the door. She pulls it open, her brows pinched when she sees no one. She glances down at the hall but sees nothing.

Shaking away the strange feeling, she proceeds to shut the door but something on the floor catches her eyes fleetingly.

It’s a folded paper.

Bending over, she moves to touch it but retrieves her hand cautiously.

Is it a bomb?

‘It’s just a freaking paper,’ Veronica, a snarky voice in her head says.

Glancing down at the dark and empty hallway, she lifts the paper with such delicate hands, as if the faintest of pressure will shatter it. Shutting the door behind her, she walks to the black leather couch and sits.

She takes a deep breath and unfolds the paper.

It’s a note, of course, in black ink.

It has no name.

~A golden cage is still a prison. I see you, French bird. I see the way your wings twitch, the way your eyes dart to the door you’ll never open because you think you’re not brave enough. But trust me, you don’t have to belong to him just because he said so~

Veronica is asleep, but she can swear someone is touching her. Maybe it’s just a dream, but her body is on fire, heat pooling low in her stomach, and there’s an unquenchable burning ache between her legs.

A gasp echoes in the room, her eyes snapping open. For a split, she feels disoriented, unable to make up anything in the poorly lit room. Then she hears it, a satisfied hum so close, almost like it’s happening in front of her.

Then a zap of pleasure wracks her body, her chest heaving as her eyes fall on the mass of white hair buried between her thighs.

The head lifts, a sly grin stretching across the lips of the perpetrator, the lips that are covered in her juices.

“What the—”

“Do me a favor and keep quiet.” The word rumbles from his chest as he tucks out a tongue, swiping it across his lower lips. “I’m trying to eat.”

Heat pools low on her stomach as his face disappears between her thighs again, his tongue diving back into her pussy.

“Get away from me.” Her voice is merely a whisper, which is disappointing because she wanted to sound firm and in control.

“I already did that,” he says between wet kisses along her thigh. “For seven days, Mrs Volkov. I’m not usually that generous, you know.”

“Don’t…” She takes in a sharp breath, stifling a moan when the pad of his fingers brush her throbbing clit. “Don’t touch me.”

Rolling his fiery eyes, he lifts himself from the position he is in, stretching his large body over her petite one. His lips dive between her neck, brushing against her skin, leaving behind a trail of flame.

“In case you didn’t realize it,” he whispers huskily against her ear. “I miss my wife dearly. I miss her scent, her body, her fucking moans, and god help me, I miss her perfect pussy.” Veronica clenches her thighs to nurse the burn.

“So forget touching, ladybird.” His teeth sinks into the soft flesh below her ear, his tongue swiping out to numb the sharp ache. “I’ll be inside you tonight.”

A soft gasp is all she utters as his lips claim hers in a possessive, lingering kiss. And as much as she wants to fight him off, to not be like this with him—weak—she finds herself kissing back, catching up with his pace, opening her mouth when he demands access, her fingers intermingling in his silky hair as the kiss turns hungry, deep, demanding.

Briefly, he breaks away from the kiss to pull the soft material off her body, tossing it aside before his lips find her again. His hands are all over her body, kneading her breasts, gripping her hips as he grinds his clothed cock against her opening.

His low groan vibrates against her lips as he presses his body to her searing one, his heat overwhelming, his weight pinning her down in the most overwhelming way.

The rough friction of his clothed length brushing against her bare, aching core sends a jolt of pleasure up her spine.

“Do you feel that?” His voice is husky, his lips brushing hers. “That’s what this pussy fucking does to me. Five nights without it, I felt like dying.”

His hands move with purpose, fingers mapping her skin, gliding down her sides gripping her thigh as he spreads them wide. A shudder wracks her spine as he shifts, his cock pressing harder against her entrance, teasing but refusing to give her what she now craves.

“Kael…” She sounds breathless, needy, desperate, but her protest is swallowed by another searing kiss, deep, possessive, and consuming, breaking every ounce of her resolve.

His tongue swipes against hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip, but he soothes the burn with a slow, deliberate lick.

He is intoxicating, a mixture of whiskey and sin, then a hint of coffee. And when he pulls back, Veronica is left panting, lips tingling as her body thrums with anticipation.

His eyes roam her face, and something stormy and fiery settles in them, and another thing she can’t name. Then he lifts his body off her, ripping his shirt off his body, and then his pants and boxers.

The dim light casts a shadow over his pale and inked skin, highlighting the ridges of his muscles.

His skin is warm when she touches him, burning when his body presses against her naked one, his chest brushing her breasts and swollen nipples.

“I wish there’s a mirror where you can see yourself right now.” His fingers trail down the valley of her breast, her flat stomach, and stop where she desperately wants him the most. “So flushed, desperate, fucking mine.”

The last word is a growl as his hand slides lower, fingers dipping between her folds, spreading her pussy lips and circling her throbbing clit.

Veronica arches off the bed, a gasp slicing past her lips as pleasure crackles through her nerves like a fire licks at dry wood.

“You know you’re a fucking hypocrite right?” He looks at her through the curve of his frosty lashes, his fingers stroking her slowly, lazily, making her whimper and nearly beg. “Always making a villain out of me. Telling me not to touch you. Yelling that you don’t want this. Making it sound like I’m taking advantage of you, and yet here you are, as always, dripping, begging me to fuck you, to bury my cock inside your needy pussy and fuck your little brains out. You’re so fucking fake, ladybird.” He rolls her clit between his fingers, earning a desperate cry from her. “But don’t worry, we have enough time. Soon, I’ll straighten you out.”

His words are true. There’s not a lie there. Even she hates herself for how quickly her body answers his touch when all she wants to do is stay away from him. But she can’t seem to control her stupid body the moment he is in the picture. Even now, she feels ashamed. She wants to push him off, but when he slides two fingers inside her, curling them just right, she falls apart.

Her hips roll against his thrusts, her thighs quaking, a series of moans echoing off her lips while he groans in response to her body’s reaction to his touch.

“Yes, that’s it.” His coaxes, his thumb circling her clit, his fingers working her open. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Let me own all your pleasures.”

Her fingers tighten around his shoulder, her free hand tangling in the sheet as pleasure coils tight in her stomach. She’s at the edge now, burning, teetering. She is falling apart around him.

And then he pulls away.

“No, please,” she whimpers, shaking her head, eyes glassy and filled with need. He smirks.

“Don’t worry, ladybird,” he murmurs, positioning his cock between her thighs. “Remember I said we’ll be doing this all night? I’m just getting started here.”

He fists himself in his large palm, the thick and throbbing head of his cock dragging through her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal.

“Ready?”

She doesn’t get a chance to work up a reply as he thrusts in, slow, deep, stretching her out inch by inch because no matter how many times he fucks her pussy, she can never truly take him at a go. He is so big and she is so fucking tight.

She feels every ridge and every pulse, a loud moan tearing from her lips as she claws at his back, her nails dragging against the flesh, her heels digging into his toned ass.

Kael let out a shuddered breath, his fingers flexing around her throat, forehead pressed against hers. “Fuck, still perfect. Just the way I left you.”

He pulls out, only for a moment before he slams back into her, harder than the last thrust, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through her.

His pace is slow but deliberate, each thrust designed to make her feel every inch of him, to remember how much she loves to have him inside her no matter how much she tries to disagree, drawing out every little gasp and moan she tries to swallow.

“Now, tell me,” he murmurs against her lips, his dark voice a mixture of command and plea. “Tell me you miss this. Tell me you miss my cock tearing through your tight pussy like this. Tell me you love me throbbing inside you, owning your fucking pussy.”

Veronica clenches around his silky length, her body answering before her lips can.

“Fucking say it!” he growls, his thrust punctuating his words, deep and devastating.

“I—” she swallows hard, her pride warring with a need she can’t curb, not when she is so full of him, not when she can feel him throbbing inside her, just the way she likes it. But when he angles his hip just right, hitting that spot that always makes her toe curl, she shatters around him. “Fuck, I missed it.”

His lips curl, his groan satisfactory. “Good.”

Then he picks up pace, fucking her like an animal starved—raw, and hard—leaving her teetering on the edge. He fucks her as though he is determined to make up for all the days they spent apart. And she lets him, let him use her the way he pleases

She lets him ruin her for every other man.

And as the pleasure builds, sharp and unbearable, she realizes it. She might hate him, despise him for taking her away, locking her up here, and for all the terrible things he has done, but she is addicted to him. Addicted to his fucked up self, his depraved mind, and his cock.