by Jayla Kane
“No, it wasn’t,” I snapped. “Are you jealous, Master? Are you the only one that gets to—”
“Yes!” Jake roared the word, the tendons in his neck standing out. “Yes, I am the only one who gets to do whatever the fuck I want to you! That’s the fucking deal.”
“That’s not what I signed up for,” I hissed. “You haven’t told me anything. You haven’t shared the least bit of real information with me about the Society, my place in it, what we’re supposed to be doing—you’re so wrapped up in your little power play with me that you’re not playing the real game, Master.” I stalked over to him and poked him in the chest, his nostrils flaring, his pupils dilated. “I’m the fucking Sineater, not your plaything.”
“Oh?” There was something deadly in the way he said it, and I pulled my hand back and moved away from him instinctively. “You’re not? You’re just a plaything for any of the other Council members that smile at you?” I stopped, staring at him, my eyes widening. “You thought I didn’t know? Of course I fucking knew,” Jake sneered, then cocked his head, his eyes flashing. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you? You weren’t going to tell me Percy is the Song.”
“I—I didn’t—”
“You’re mine,” Jake hissed. “That’s not some fun twist I’m exploiting—well, it’s not only that,” he smiled, no warmth in it at all. “It says it, in the big, fucking dusty book they made me sign in blood—there’s a space under my name where I write yours, with the words pertinent es ad me. You belong to me,” he breathed, “and your submission to this arrangement is all that’s needed—you don’t have to sign, you see, because pertinent es ad me.” He grinned at me, a living flame, so much rage and hatred on his face it burned my eyes to look at it. “I sign for you, Sineater.”
“But—but what if—”
“You don’t get it,” he said softly. “All those books you read, all that studying—you still don’t get it.” He loomed over me, his face dark with grim satisfaction. “You signed up, but you didn’t really think it through.”
“I could quit now, it’s not like it’s impossible—if they—”
“Do you know where they keep that big, dusty book? Where I went to sign it?” Jake voice was velvet stretched over a knife, frayed and cruel and seeking to hurt me. “In the Vault.”
I stared up at him, swallowing. Fuck.
“You let Percy touch you,” he continued, staring down at me.
“I just—”
“You liked him. I saw it.”
“Yes,” I shot back, watching as his eyes grew darker and darker, his voice rough and low. “I did. I liked that he was civilized, that he talked to me like a goddamn human being.”
“He thinks you want to fuck him now,” Jake told me, indifferent to the way I flinched at his words. “He’s wondering if you’re a slut.” Jake took a step towards me, his hands clenched by his sides. I took a step back. “Do you?” Another step, and another stumble away. “Are you?”
“You know I’m not,” I said, and for some reason a wave of panic rose in my body… And arousal. That was definitely arousal—I wasn’t as familiar with the sensation generally, but lately I’d become pretty fucking acquainted. Jake’s eyes glinted in the dim glow of the corner lamp, the effervescent green completely overtaking the brown around his iris. He looked cruel. Predatory. And my body clenched with want, those expensive panties I didn’t buy slippery against my flushed folds. “I’m… I’m a virgin, Ja—”
“Do you want to fuck him?” He was staring at me, utterly still, gathering the strength to pounce again, his voice low and devoid of inflection. I remembered the day before, when he pinned me on the desk, his leg between mine, and began to sweat.
“I don’t know--maybe,” I said, and it was the truth—I didn’t know. I liked Percy; I liked his coy smiles and I was attracted to the quiet power he radiated. But I hadn’t even thought of taking it that far. How could I, when the only boy I’d ever kissed—the boy I loved—was standing in front of me right now, hatred painted over every feature of his face? I wasn’t thinking about sex; I was thinking about survival.
Jake froze, even his heartbeat stilling, the pulse disappearing into the cords of his neck. When he spoke again, the cold in his voice was glacial. “Turn around,” he said softly, “and put your hands on the desk.”
“What do you—”
“Your choice, Sineater,” he snarled; “you know the deal now.” I slowly turned my back to the predator in the room, every hair on my body standing on end, and flattened my palms on the oiled wood of his desk.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
I was losing control.
I could feel it—the taste in the back of my throat, like my mouth was full of ashes. The way the whole room seemed bathed in red light, even though it was creeping up on midnight. The way every single muscle in my body was contracted, tense and tight—especially my cock, so hard I could’ve used it as a hammer.
And I kind of wanted to.
I kind of wanted to, to do something, something so—
“Ja—Master!” I’d reached out and laid my hand on her, my fingers curling into the smooth fabric of her short pleated skirt before I even realized what I was doing. She sounded scared. “Jacob!” Raven twisted to look at me, not daring to take her hands off of the desk, and as soon as I saw those dark eyes I couldn’t stop myself. I spanked her. Hard.
“What?” My voice was full of broken glass, ashes and hate. “Don’t do this?” I spanked her again, harder, and left my hand on her cheek as she stared at me, her mouth dropping open…
Fuck.
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be hot. This was supposed to be about humiliating her, owning her, teaching her that not only was she Sineater to my Game Master, she was Raven fucking Keller, and she belonged to me, Jacob Warfield. Mine.
I wasn’t doing this to make her…
Raven’s eyes were welling with tears—genuine tears. Her face was fraught and pale, delicious vanilla skin with the softest hint of peach… Except now that peach was deepening into pink, mottling her cheeks, and her mouth was open, lips damp and parted. Pupils dilated.
Raven was turned on.
She didn’t want to be—she wanted to spit on me, to tell me to fuck off, like she had whenever we crossed paths back in high school.
She hated me, I could tell—no matter what had been between us once, the sweet childhood memories she might have cherished and used to somehow forgive my treatment of her… No. In this moment, here and now, this was hatred. But mixed with that…
I’ve fucked enough pussy to know when a girl wants more, when she wants it rough.
And Raven wanted more. She probably hated herself for it, too—that might explain the tears.
Good.
I used that justification to lock eyes with her as I gave her a cold smile and slid my hand down the back of her dress, slowly, so slowly, until I reached the hem. She started to speak again, but I shocked her by flipping it up—one flick of the wrist, and there she was, almost naked in front of me. “Master, please, you don’t have to—”
“To what? Do this?” I spanked her again, but this time it didn’t only work on her; I felt myself stiffen so abruptly in my pants that I knew I would be chafed. But I was past the point of caring. “Or this?” I slipped my hand over the soft fabric of her panties—black with a lacey edge, demure but with that sharpness that so defined her—and looped my fingers through the waistband. “Are you trying to tell me a slut like you doesn’t like the way this feels?”
“Master please—” I honestly couldn’t tell from the sound of her voice if she wanted me to stop or continue; her plea was so tense with desire and hate it was impossible to know.
But I knew what I wanted to do next. Felt the cord between us grow taut, felt my body begin to hum with heat as she panted, watching me.
“I can tell you do,” I snarled. “I can smell you, Bird.”
I could. But not because she was dirty—oh no, no
, to my eternal torment I could smell her because I wanted her so bad I could practically taste her already. I could smell the delicate fragrance—honeysuckle and vanilla, apples and malt—that essence of her, every inch of her skin emitting the light perfume that gave me my very first fucking boner. But the musk underneath… No, I could only smell that because my body craved hers so bad it turned me into a fucking bloodhound. “I think you might like it when someone uses your dirty pussy, little bird. What do you think?”
“Master, listen, I’ll do anything—”
“No,” I snapped, and when I spanked her this time I knew it would leave a mark. She bit her lip, her head snapping back in sheer pleasure before she realized it and twisted to glare at me again. “You’ll do anything I want, anything at all. That’s what you’ll fucking do, because you like it.” BAM! She grunted; her cheeks were turning red. “Fuck the Vault—you like this. Tell me I’m wrong.” She stared at me, the tears tracking down her cheeks as she bit her lip, and I hated myself. Hated her for making me hate myself. Hated her so much— “Show me,” I hissed, and before I could stop my hands were pulling her panties down, down, down, over that ripe ass, over the sweetest, palest vanilla skin, the most delicate petal pink slip between each creamy globe of her ass. “Show me you’re not turned on and I’ll cut you a break.” A sob caught in her throat, and I saw her knuckles blanche as I placed a hand on either side of her ass, forcing myself to take a deep breath instead of digging my nails into that alabaster flesh. I waited for her to tell me to stop… Nothing. When I was calm enough, I gently separated her ass cheeks and lowered my face so that I was inches away from the most guarded part of her body. My hands twisted, forcing her back into an arch, opening her to me even more; I stared at what lay before me and tried to control my breathing. I could hear the girl I hated sniffling softly on the desk… My heart faltered, my lungs froze. I did this to her.
I was doing this to her.
To Raven, the girl I thought I would marry when I was a boy—the girl I loved.
The girl who murdered my brother.
Fuck her, I thought ferociously, all of my hatred and anger glowing bright enough to eclipse my guilt. Fuck this murdering, lying, manipulative bitch.
She was starting to move, as if hoping that this was as far as I would take it, as if she thought she would wiggle away, and I couldn’t have that. Not her. She didn’t get to decide.
I owned her.
And she loved it—I understood the tears she shed, how long it would keep her awake at night, the shame of enjoying what I did to her—no matter that she’d never been touched before. I was looking at the most delicate, prettiest pussy in the world, but no matter that she’d been telling the truth, either; I already knew she was. I didn’t let myself stop to think that there was a chance in hell she’d been waiting for me—that I might be what made her wet. No. She was a slut this this, for the heat and the shame and tawdry touching and raw blasts of power against her ass, I told myself. She was thinking about Percy, about god knows what… She had to be—for me to get through this, to hurt her the way she deserved, she had to be the worst of the worst. “You’re wet,” I growled, and before I realized what I was doing, I ran my index finger down the length of her sensitive fold. I was losing control, I was chasing after my own impulses, and that shit was dangerous. But I couldn’t stop… I heard her gasp and watched as the tiny passage fluttered beneath my touch and knew I couldn’t stop—she didn’t want me to stop. “You’re so wet you’re dripping, little bird.” I watched her spine elongate as she arched into my touch, as helpless as I was to fight the desire coursing through me—but I had to have the power. I needed to control myself; I must. She was the Sineater, and a murderer, and I hated her. I hated her so fucking much. “I think that means you’re pretty turned on, you fucking liar.”
“Master, I just—”
“Don’t,” I hissed, and to emphasize my point I sank the same finger inside of her, slipping right past the rosy folds and into the tight, hot tunnel below. Fuck—I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to push a finger in there; I wanted to claim her, to bury my dick so far inside she felt it in her stomach. I wanted to cum in her while she screamed my name—in ecstasy, in agony, I was on the verge of not giving a fuck. I needed to calm down. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
I was losing it.
Raven’s whole body trembled when my finger entered her—her delicious creamy ass shook, her whole body shook, and her head whipped around so that her face was arched up towards the ceiling. I realized how close she was to an orgasm and felt my balls clench below. She didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of seeing her expression—and that’s because she wasn’t unhappy with what I was doing. Because she was ashamed of how good it felt. I knew if I was standing in front of her I’d see that she was biting back a whimper, her eyes clenched shut; I wished I could see her, her beautiful face in anguished ecstasy, then batted that traitorous thought away—I didn’t need to see her to know that shit. The point right now was to humiliate her, to own her. Not… Desire her.
Not the way I really did.
Because deep down in my soul I loved Raven Keller. Loved everything about her. Loved her so much I felt shame and guilt and I wished for the briefest second that the first time I got to see this secret part of her could’ve been a night in my bed, with her begging me to never let her go, saying my name over and over as she rode me, saying she loved me back as I tenderly taught her what her body could do, how good it could feel.
But fuck all that.
“You’re mine, little bird,” I growled, adding a second finger to the first. Raven moaned and shoved back against me, shameless as she trembled, needing it. She was so tight I had to pull back and suck on my fingers, getting them even wetter than her sticky juices could, relishing the taste of her as I pushed them in again and heard her bite back another moan. “Don’t fucking forget it. I know what you are—a lying, evil—” My voice caught, pain surging inside of me before I pushed it back down, down with the part of me that wished I didn’t love how she tasted. Vanilla cream. Fuck. “You belong to me, Raven. That’s what I know.” She was holding perfectly still, barely breathing; her tears had stopped as soon as I slipped inside of her, and now she was just waiting for more. “And you want me to fill this tight little pussy. Don’t you.” I didn’t make it sound like a question; it wasn’t, not really. But I couldn’t handle going further without at least giving lip service to the person I’d been, and the girl she still was—if you ignored the fact that she was also a liar at best and a murderer at worst, anyway. She held perfectly still.
“Say it.” I slapped her bare ass and watched the red hand-print swell, so intense and vibrant it looked painted on her delicate white flesh. Raven quaked, moaning again—“say it!” One more hand-print, on the other side, and I knew she might cum if I did it a third time as she shivered, helpless with desire.
“Yes,” she finally whimpered. I waited. “Please… Fill me.”
I pushed into her with my fingers, spreading her, reveling in the tight heat. She grunted softly as my palm met her flesh, and I started ebbing them in and out, slowly, watching with fascination as her legs shook and parted, just slightly, as if she couldn’t help it.
I couldn’t help it either.
I stood up and came closer to her, still slowly fucking her with my fingers. From up here, I could see her face—that beautiful face, so sweet underneath all the sarcasm and hard edges… I bit my lip to keep from groaning as I watched her eyelids flutter and felt her tightening, growing closer to an orgasm. I suddenly wondered if she’d ever had one before.
Jesus, I wanted to give her one.
I wanted to make her cum—just me. Only me.
“Say you’re mine, Sineater.”
I moved behind her and aligned my legs with her own, bringing my body closer; I bent my knees as if I was going to fuck her with my dick instead of my hand, but just stayed there, watching her pussy swallow my fingers. She was so sticky, s
o wet—her asshole twitched, the muscles convulsing in preparation—I brought my body up to hers, unable to stop myself, a sharp thrust against her mound with my cock, leaving my fingers in her hole and bending over her so that it was almost like… Almost… I needed to stop this—I needed to remember who she was. Goddamnit. “Yours,” she hissed, and I almost lost myself as I watched her head rock on her neck, loose with pleasure.
“You like that, slut?”
She moaned her answer, and I did it again—BAM! A hard pump from my tortured cock, rubbing against the stiff fabric of my jeans while my fingers had all the fun inside of her tight little body. Raven arched into it this time and I saw how beautiful she was—how turned on—and it made me furious. Filled with rage. I yanked my phone out of my back pocket and carefully covered the camera window with my thumb, then angled up and at her pussy with my hips again. BAM! “That’s it, you beautiful fucking liar,” I murmured. “Cum for me, Raven. Do it.” Raven shook her head, starting to try and form words as the sex flush crept up her vanilla throat. I pumped my fingers in and out of her even harder and swore when I felt her clench. One more, I thought—BAM! My rough thrust smashed into her swollen clit, and as I felt her succumb to the orgasm I let my phone take a picture with an audible click, over and over again, as she rode the wave of her tortured ecstasy. Her eyes popped open, tears in the corners of them again, as she twisted on the desk and stared at me over her shoulder. I took a picture of that face for real, moving my thumb a fraction of an inch, and the next one too, as I rubbed the front of my pants against her and watched the wave of pleasure overtake her shame and rage once more. If someone saw it, they wouldn’t see anything besides her fragile, hurt and angry face, flushed from whatever errand I’d forced on her. Nothing in the photo was incriminating, but she didn’t have to know that.
I hoped it kept her up all night. Fretting about who I would show it to, if I would show it.