Page 57 of The Tenth Circle
She cries out, partially in pain, because most girls need me to ease them into the size of it.
We both know what this thing is between us.
I need to blow off steam, Seven comes running.
Giving it her all each time in hopes a great lay will be enough to make me want to name her One.
So typical it’s pathetic.
Right now I’m in no position to be picky, not when I need to get my non-homicidal groove back. Sex being the only way, besides wanton violence, to do the trick.
Lifting her again, slowly this time, I slam Seven down even harder, watching as she throws her long hair back and begins gyrating.
I allow her a moment of reprieve before taking control again, lifting my hips to fuck her senseless.
Instinct has me reach out to fist some tits, but Seven’s are always squashed behind a stupid push up bra. It’s sad, really, knowing she’s insecure, and if she wasn’t such a raging cunt I’d probably try to convince her she doesn't have to be.
But Seven is.
And I’m not in the business of coddling anyone.
“Oh, that Royal Cock feels so fucking good,” she moans, exaggerating each syllable like a cheap porn star.
I don’t know why she tries so hard to prove this point, since I’m not the one here who needs any gratification.
My dick is legendary.
Along with her skank reputation.
Nevermind the fucking fact her whining irritates me.
“Yeah?” I fist her hair. “Then take it like a good little whore.”
Her eyes are hooded as she says, “Mhmm…and how’s that, baby?”
My hand switches to covering Seven’s mouth, lowering my eyes to slits. “Quietly.”
Pain edges across her face, but she continues to fuck away her dignity.In silence.
Flipping Seven onto her back, I drive into her deep, with every thrust growing more and more harsh. Deliberate.
I need to rid myself of Vicious—because his voice is still lingering in my head. Growing loud enough to send chills along the nape of my neck.
Nothing in this life scares me more than my broken, fucked up pieces. The horrible things I'm capable of, the good things I’m not.
How none of it matters when there’s a score to settle.
Seven is back to low moans when I secure both of her legs over her head, debating whether or not to grace her with a little asshole action.
The debate is cut short, though, when I hear my name beckoned from the hallway. Seconds later, my door gets swung open by my dad.
“Oh, dear Lord.” I hear him panic.
Seven, caring more about my attention than embarrassment, ignores him, keeping her eager eyes on me as I respond, “A little busy at the moment!”
The door slams shut before the words, “Yes, I can see that you are,” come from behind it.
“Was referring to your Lord and Savior!”
