Page 51 of Silent Oaths
Isuck on my thumb and lower it to her entrance, taking some of her arousal up to her clit.Isabel’sbody twitches, a quiet moan slipping from her lips, and the sound sends a jolt of heat straight to my cock.
Rubbingdelicate circles over her pussy,Ifeel my climax building in my core.
Thistime,Idon’t stop.Irub my dick in an assaulting pace, feeling the tingle of my orgasm cresting.
Ilet my cum spill all overIsabel’sbare cunt.
Shestirs, and my heart pounds violently in my chest asIgaze at my perfect siren, her body marked with my seed.Satisfactionreverberates deep within me.
Ibring my fingers back to her pussy, slowly shoving my cum inside her.
Mine.
Theplan had been clear—useIsabelas a sacrifice to finally rid myself of my adoptive father.Thatwas all it was supposed to be.ButwithLioneldead and her here, in my possession, something inside me shifts.
Thethought of letting her go now feels... impossible.
20
ISABEL
Iwake up with a strange feeling.
Mybody feels stiff, my skin damp with sweat, but it’s not the usual discomfort of waking up in a place that isn’t mine.Somethingis off.
Myfirst thought is thatMaxwellcame into my room again.He’sbeen pushing boundaries, testing my limits, butIsworeIlocked my door last night.
Stillgroggy,Iturn my head toward the door?—
It’scracked open.
Motherfucker.
Ithrow the blanket off, ready to march out and berate him for breaking into my room again, when a sensation between my legs makes me freeze.Sticky.Warm.Mythighs press together, andIinhale sharply.
Whatthe fuck?
Panicflutters in my chest, butIforce myself to breathe.Didhe—?No.Hewouldn’t dare.
Ishake my head, trying to push past the bizarre thought that maybeIhad a dreamIcan’t remember.Ithas to be in my head.Toomuch time in captivity, too much stress.Mymind is playing tricks on me.
Irun a hand through my tangled hair and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but my eyes catch something near the window: another drawing of me, carefully placed on the small wooden table.Nextto it,Isee something familiar.
Iscowl before even picking it up.
Anote is tucked beneath it inJulian’shandwriting.Gotyou some more obleas, since you seem to like them.
Oneday,I’dfound a package of the thin wafer cookies filled with creamy dulce de leche sitting on the kitchen counter and devoured them beforeIeven realizedIwas hooked.I’dnever tasted anything like them before.
Andthen it kept happening.EverytimeIfinished a pack, another would appear.
Igrip the note so tightly; it crumples at the edges.
It’sembarrassing, knowingJuliannoticed.
Enough.
Enoughof the games, the stolen moments, the pathetic attempts to make this place feelnormalwhen nothing about this is normal.
