Page 133 of Malicent
“It won’t stay quiet for long,” I reply, sliding my hands to her hips again and lifting her effortlessly off my lap. She gasps, delighted by the strength.
I’m going to pull answers from this one. Behave,I think toward Kalix.
Kalix lazily raises his glass in acknowledgement then downs another long sip. He’s drinking more than usual. My confidence in Iris’s role starts to falter. Maybe making her play a harlot wasn’t such a good idea.
Morana leads me up the same staircase Millicent took. My eyes scan each door. Which one is she in?
Morana pauses near the end of the hall and opens a room with a small brass six on it. She pulls me inside.
The room practically screams indulgence. Red walls. A circular bed draped in black silk. Sex tools of every kind hang on display like artwork.
Morana drops to her knees without hesitation, her lust-filled eyes lock onto mine as she unfastens my belt.
I’m still hard, lingering from watching Millicent and the eager girl kneeling before me. Morana’s resemblance doesn’t help. Blue eyes and black curls. She plays the part well.
I didn’t intend to let her touch me, but I’m already aroused and she’s too willing.
It isn’t Millicent; it’s just like any other girl I have used for release.
When she frees me, her eyes widen in surprise. “You look delicious,” she purrs, fisting the base of my length before slipping her lips down my shaft.
My breathing deepens as pleasure coils tightly through my abdomen.
“Don’t talk, I have better use for this mouth.”
I grip her hair and thrust forward both rough and unrelenting. She gags as I stretch down her throat. I don’t look down. I see now that her eyes are the wrong shade of blue, her hair devoid of wild curls.
She’s a beautiful girl but my hunger is drawn to someone else.
I look up, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and pretend it’s Millicent. The fantasy hits hard, and I thrust harder, tripling the pleasure and unraveling what little restraint I have left.
“Such a good girl. You can take it all,” I groan, catching my breath as the fantasy blooms.
I remember the weight of my little witch’s breasts in my hands, the softness of her thighs, how easily they bruised under my grip, and the way her reluctant moans slipped past her defenses.
Touch me.
She had been so needy that night, I barely held myself back. In my mind, I sink into that memory, into how tight she would be, her taste, how hard she would milk my cock when she came.
And the way she’d scream my name until it burned in her throat.
“Fuck, Millicent.”
Her name bursts from me and I bury myself deep, spilling my release in this girl’s throat. My grip on Morana’s hair doesn’t loosen until I’m done.
When I finally let go, she pulls back, gasping to catch her breath. The haze lifts, and clarity cuts like ice.
I curse myself.
I hate when I gaze down at her to see she is not Millicent.
Fuck. What the fuck?
Irritation pricks so sharply at my skin I feel the need to itch. No. I don’t desire a lying, murderous, manipulative, bond-forcing bitch.
Morana rises and reaches for me. “I can be whoever you want me to be, baby.” Her eyes gleam as she leads me to the bed.
I shove her down onto it roughly.
