Page 38 of Deviant

Ipull the trigger before we even come to a stop. I don’t give a fuck if it’s my guard or an outsider. Either way, they shouldn’t be where they are, so that makes them a dead man.

We bundle out. My men immediately moving to secure the house. But it’s a bloody big house to do so and frankly, right now, I don’t give a fuck about my valuables, my antiques, any of it.

Someone is in my basement, taking what is my most treasured possession.

I storm down, my feet slamming onto the limestone flagstones as I push past every servant, every person.

When I get down the stairs, I can hear it. I can hear her screams. That bitch has never once screamed for me, and yet she does so easily for him? I feel a streak of jealousyat that.

And then I get to her cell and he’s there, his body engulfing hers, just as I saw in the footage.

He groans, thrusting away, forcing himself inside her as her legs jerk and kick out.

For a second I just stand there, watching, almost intrigued. Is this how I look when I fuck her? Is this how she cries and whimpers?

No, when I fuck her it’s more majestic, more devastating too.

When I fuck her it’s not just for dominance, it’s not just for my pleasure, it’s so much more than that. It’s about the shame, the degradation, I need her to feel every bit of my hate, I need her to endure it, to drown in it. To truly suffocate.

What Anthony is doing right now is a piss poor attempt. It’s pathetic. Amateur, just like he is.

I snarl, stepping forward, and I haul him off while he’s still mid-rut. Stupid fuck looks around half confused and then his eyes land on me and that only too familiar grin spreads, morphing those features into a clownlike image.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

He tilts his head, his cock starting to go flaccid already and, as my eyes glance down, I can see the few streaks of blood there. So he made her bleed, too? More jealousy unfolds. I swear I’m so close to cutting his dick off for the insult.

She whimpers, scooting away, only he’s still got one hand on her and he’s apparently refusing to admit defeat.

“I deserved a go.” he says, yanking hard enough that she almost falls face first on his cock. “This bitch cost me enough…”

“We made a bet. Just because you ended up on the poor side of it…” I grind out.

“Poor side?” He spits, “Poor fucking side? This bitch cost me ten million. The least I deserve is a good fuck.”

I can’t hold in the snigger. He thinks that was a good fuck? No wonder he is the way he is. Clearly, he doesn’t even know how to satisfy himselfproperly.

“Get out of my house.” I retort. He’s lucky the rules are what they are. If I had my way, he wouldn’t be leaving at all, but I’m not so stupid as to do something right now. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is, but he won’t get away with waltzing in here, messing with my things like there won’t be repercussions.

“I want more,” he practically pleads. “You’ve clearly had some fun already, I want in.”

My hand wraps around his throat, I haul him out, tossing him onto the unforgiving flagstones and with one hard slam of my foot, I give my reply.

It’s not that I’m adverse to sharing, but why would I even consider with someone as disrespectful as him? And besides, the guy can barely fuck, what would be the point in bringing him along for the ride? I’d die of boredom before he even got himself off.

“I said get the fuck out.” I bellow, just as the guards come racing down the steps.

One grabs hold of him, pulling him away and his bare arse drags along the floor. I’ll have to get the maids to clean that. I don’t want his disgusting remnants left anywhere on my property.

When I walk back into the cell, I can see she’s curled up in the corner, her face screwed up like she’s doing everything possible not to cry.

I crouch down, grabbing her chin and see the obvious signs of bruising along her cheek.

So he beat her, too. That pisses me off more. Now, I’ll have to look at those marks, knowing he put them there. My eyes drop, examining her body, seeing more evidence on her breasts, her hips, the smear of blood on her thighs, all of it screams at what happened.

I tut, a part of me blaming her for this. She’s a fighter, we both know that, if she’d been better, then maybe we both wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that Anthony fucking Wallis was inside her.

Her eyes seek out mine. I don’t know what she’s expecting to see. Guilt? Sympathy? She’ll find none of that here.

---