Page 110 of Soulless Deeds

I let her see it all, pouring everything into that one single look—passion, love, affection, obsession. “Watch me,”I vowed. “Feel me.”

And as those words settled between us, Spencer erupted, squeezing and pulsing until I plummeted over the edge alongside her.

As we came down and caught our breath, I readjusted my length inside my pants. Spencer remained on the counter, thighs spread wide, giving me the magnificent view of her dripping centre and wet lips.

My tongue peeked out, and arousal made me half hard already.God, maybe I should bend down and suck on her clit, clean her up with my tongue.

That thought stuttered to a halt when I watched my seed leak from her magical cunt. Enchanted, I collected our cum with two fingers and slipped them back inside, pushing as deep as I could.

Spencer whimpered as her walls fluttered against the intrusion, causing a possessive growl to erupt from my chest. “I live inside you now,” I said. And I meant it—all the way down to my blackened, fucked up soul.

After I was sure she had accepted every last drop, I sucked my fingers clean while Spencer unwrapped a post-sex lollipop.

Surprisingly, Spencer bypassed her mouth, lowering the sugar candy between her legs. And I swear, the neurons in my brain completely misfired. Spencer smirked as she swiped the ball of her lollipop through that glistening pussy, pressing down on her swollen clit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I gulped. She wanted to fucking kill me.

Spencer purred from the subtle pressure before raising the candy to her lips. Before she could latch on, I gripped her wrist and wrapped my tongue around the burble.

I groaned, about to combust from the sickening sweet taste of my beautiful girl mixed with pure sugar. “Fuckingdelicious.”

Spencer tsked, fingers lacing through my hair as she pushed me down to my knees. “Clean up your mess.”

“Long live the fucking queen.”

How many times could she make me come? I’d lost count.

You’d think my balls were completely drained by then, my dick blowing dust mites. Yet, she always found a way.

We were sated, euphoria waning from our latest round when a choked scream reached us from the cell next door.

I pressed a quick kiss to Spencer's lips. “Our prisoner’s awake. Want to finish this?”

“I want to finish this. Will you give her to me, Echo? Will you give me this gift?” she asked me with innocent green eyes and a devilish soul. She was testing me, putting out one final feeler to see if I would sacrifice what I had garnered for so long.

Pinching her chin to bring her closer, I bit into her bottom lip, the aftertaste sugar sweet from her gum. “I’d gift youanything,sweetheart. Destroy her. For me. For us.” And I meant it. The former me would have had an aneurysm, passing over the opportunity of revenge. But when I looked at my girl...I just didn’t give a fuck.

I didn’t give a fuck about anything else except her.

Spencer gave a pleased nod, then straightened the hem of her dress, not a wrinkle in sight. I perked a brow at our polar opposite appearances.

I looked like a rugged invalid, our fuckfest leaving me bedraggled with stained bandages. However, Spencer was pristine, goddamn immaculate as if she hadn’t worshipped my dick for the past forty-eight hours.

Lacing our hands together, we stepped out to visit Camilla—well, what was left of her anyway.

As we entered her cell, the stench was atrocious. She was strapped flat on her back to a plastic gurney (easier to clean with all the mess).

Days of pleading, begging and outright slander didn’t save Camilla from becoming a cask of broken bones, bruised flesh and open wounds.

We were near the end, her breathing laboured beneath the onslaught of her injuries. Her devotion to Khaos was noted, and had garnered an ounce of respect. Yet, she never stood a chance against our method of questioning.

The Kings had ventured down into the basement a few times—which they soon gave up on, after finding their sister in a compromising position or two. With a few threats and disgusted barks, they gave us a three-day deadline to gain information before we were kicked off the interrogation.

They needn’t have worried. We’d meet our quota. We only had one question left—the most important.

Spencer perused the table layered with bloody instruments, palming a snapped rams horn she had brought back from the arena as a trophy.

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