Page 17 of Injustice and Absolution

This time, her need is crystal clear. As darkness swirls around me, daylight is swallowed in its wake until she is the only thing I see.

The siren in her soul sings out, seeking the demon in me.

My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my pants. I begin to lose my senses as my hunger begs me to fold. To take a bite of her. To drink her in.

Get a grip. Stop this now.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to dowse my lust, leaving anger in its wake. Anger that I have no problem turning on Maggie, who conjured it in the first place.

Quickly, I tear my eyes and hands from Delilah and zero in on my daughter.

“Isn’t there anything else you can be doing? I’m sure you can find something more important than sweeping leaves off the deck.”

I feel Delilah’s presence leave me as she runs into the house.

“What the fuck, Royce? Why are you always such a goddamn dickhead?” Maggie shouts at me, tossing the broom at my feet before stomping down the few steps that lead into the backyard.

I deserve that … and more. But I’m angry. And I’m even more enraged for being angry in the first place.

Fuck.

Picking up the broom, I take over Maggie’s sweeping and vow to pull myself together before this party starts.

If I can't, I’ll need to stay far away from it.

And even farther away from Delilah.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ROYCE

Delilah is a different person tonight.

I tried my damnedest to be present during the party, considering the majority of the attendees are club members and friends of the club, but she’s captivated me more than ever.

More than by lust or my insatiable hunger for her.

She was smiling. She appeared happier and more engaged tonight than I’ve ever seen her before.

It makes me crave her more than I already do, if that’s even possible.

Her abnormal choice of clothing surely isn’t helping my situation. Getting a closer glimpse of her tits leaves me irritated because everyone else can see what I see. But fuck if it doesn’t make both my mouth and my cock drool with hunger.

Which is why I excused myself early and spent the last hour in my office, trying to distract myself.

And failing miserably. The only thing that may help is the self-induced torture that has become increasingly more a part of my everyday routine. Exiting my office, I climb the stairs and walk straight to my bedroom.

After I lock my door behind me, I strip out of my clothing and enter the bathroom, turning the cold water on full blast.

My cock aches beyond belief and is in desperate need of relief. But as always, all I’ll allow for is solitary confinement and ice-cold reprieve.

Sometimes, I choose an ice bath. Other times, I’ll torture my dick by wrapping it in the confines of a soft ice pack—which Maggie bought plenty of after she witnessed the rib eye substitute I gave Delilah on that day long ago.

Stepping under the freezing stream, my body barely registers the water’s unpleasant temperature. I’ve become more desensitized to the cold with each round of punishment I’ve inflicted on myself.

I’ve never been driven by desire before. Prior to my unyielding infatuation with Delilah, I would have relations with a club whore or a one-night stand here and there when I needed to get my dick wet.

But in the past year, instead of finding random pussy to cure my aching cock, I’ve tortured myself in this way for not being strong enough to put an end to my sinful cravings.

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