The initial sensation of pain gives way to stretching and ultimately to fullness.
He works his cock against my ass until he's all the way in. He then begins to fuck me so deep that when another orgasm hits me, I almost pass out. In fact, the moment he pulls out and flips me on my back, I'm entirely too powerless to do anything.
I watch him get to his feet, his hand fisting his cock as he takes himself to completion. Hot spurts of semen burst from his shaft and onto my face and neck.
He crouches once more, looking at me almost affectionately before saying.
"Good girl."
Then he retrieves his clothes, puts them on, and leaves.
I am still on the floor, fucked within an inch of my life, and struggling to keep my eyes open.
CHAPTER XXII
I flick the light on as I enter the apartment. After leaving Bianca at the Palace, I'd gone around driving to clear my head. Having my way with her like that should have made me feel better. But if anything, I feel worse.
I feel… cheated.
I slowly make my way inside, not really thinking whether Bianca is home yet or not. I’m honestly not in the mood for a confrontation right now.
But as I reach the living room, it’s to see her sitting quite daintily on the couch, a book in her hand.
"Theo! I was worried." She says, a mask of concern on her face.
"Really? Why?" I ask dryly.
"It's late, why else. After what happened at the lake house..." She trails off.
"I'm fine." I simply say and make for the bedroom. Halfway there, I stop, turning slightly towards her. I don’t know what comes over me when I say the next words.
"I fucked a whore tonight." I watch her face slowly morph into a combination of expressions as if she’s trying to find the right one to fit my confession. She settles on an amused one, regaling me with a fake laugh too.
"Ha, ha, you're funny, babe." I just raise my eyebrows at her, waiting for her to continue.
"You're not mad that I fucked another woman?" I repeat.
"Theo, what are you saying." She makes another attempt to laugh it off.
"Or maybe." I start as I walk towards her, planting myself in front of her. My thumb goes to her freshly scrubbed face.
"You're not mad because that woman was actually you."
"Theo..." She stammers, and for the first time, I see a trace of real emotion on her face.
She knows she's caught.
"Whatever are you saying? Have you been drinking?" She puts the book next to her and stands up, attempting to bypass me.
"Really? That's all you have to say?" I grab her hand and fling her back on the couch.
"What about these handprints on your lovely throat?" I move her hair to the side to trace the evidence of her guilt.
"Theo... I."
"No." I cut her words. "Let's have it now that we started it. I know... Pink."
I watch her eyes widen, her head shaking in denial.
"Don't insult me further by denying it. I know... everything."
"How?" She finally composes herself, and the change is immediate. It's like she's an entirely different person.
Neither Pink nor Bianca.
Her expression is cold, detached.
"Your apartment." I simply state.
"I see. Marcel?" She asks, probably realizing who'd done the investigation. I nod.
"What do you think you know, Theo?"
"What... you've got to be kidding me," I say, suddenly pissed at her. How dare she be so calm, so uncaring?
"I know you are Pink. I know about your drug problem, and I also know that you are some sort of Russian killer. Does that cover it?" I ask her sarcastically.
She gives a mirthless laugh.
"Wow, I have to say I never imagined this day would come. Or how it would proceed."
"Just tell me one thing... Why me? Why go through so much trouble just to get to me?"
"I wanted you." Her answer shocks me.
"I wanted you, so I got you, the only way I knew how."
"By playing a hooker. For God's sake, B!"
"I told you. I wanted you." She shrugs.
"Then, why the whole innocent act?"
"I wanted to keep you, too."
"So what, you figured the hooker could fuck me while the innocent could marry me?"
"Well, isn't that exactly how it happened?" She has the gall to smirk at that.
"You lied to me. God... I don't even know what's true anymore. You told me I was your first kiss, your first everything. Shit..." I curse out loud.
"I do admit that maybe I wasn't entirely truthful. But I didn't lie about that. You were and still are the only man who's ever touched me."
"Entirely truthful? Are you hearing yourself? What's wrong with you? Our entire marriage is a lie," I say, exasperated and watch her eye twitch.
"Since everything is out in the open, I might as well be honest with you" She raises her eyes to look at me.
"I'm not normal. You are correct. I don't feel remorse. I don't think I ever have. One psychiatrist diagnosed me with Antisocial Personality Disorder. I guess in popular culture that’s what you’d call a sociopath." She is completely serious as she talks. "I'm not a Russian assassin, by the way. I am mostly a freelancer. Although... I do have close ties to the Russians." She says this proudly, and I'm just standing in front of her looking flabbergasted. "I used to take on more assignments in the past, but I haven't worked as much ever since I married you. Now I just do it to take the edge off every now and then. Like a hobby." The way she speaks about murder is how any other woman would talk about a grocery list.
"You killed Martinez," I state, and she shrugs.
"I'd kill anyone to keep you safe."
"What the fuck... B, that's not normal."
"I told you. I'm not normal." She frowns.
"Those bugs were yours, weren't they? That's how you knew about Martinez in the first place. How long? How long have you been tracking me?"
"Since we got married. I had to keep you safe." Arguing further seems like a moot point when her reasoning seems to be mainly keeping me safe... by killing people. I push that thought away and bring up the other topic.
"What about drugs? I still can't believe I never once suspected you used..."
For the first time, she appears to be ashamed.
"That... I'm trying to quit."
"Fuck!" I say once more, pacing about the living room.
"Now that all is out in the open, we can improve our relationship. I can be Pink for you every time you want.” She licks her lips suggestively, and I'm just… stunned.
"You really don't understand, do you?"
"What? You know the truth now. I don't have to hide anymore."
"You hurt me, Bianca. You lied and manipulated me into marrying you. You're a fucking killer for God's sake. And you want us to just continue as if nothing happened? As if I'm not looking at a stranger right now?"
"Well... yes." She cocks her head to the side as if contemplating the idea.
"This isn't real..." I throw my hands in the air.
"There is no relationship anymore, Bianca. There never fucking was one, it seems." I tell her even though my own heart is breaking as I say this. "There is no us. I want you out. Out of the house, out of my life. I never want to see you again. It's over."
"But Theo..." She starts protesting, but I've had enough. I don't recognize my own voice as I yell at her.
"Get the fuck out. Don't even think about coming near me again. You disgust me."
I turn my back and leave her, heading into one of the guest rooms for the night and locking the door. Isn't it funny that now I'm worried she might even kill me?
I laugh at my own stupidity and maybe at how this all fits. Perhaps it's fate after all.
My own wife, a sociopath... a cold-blooded killer. A pretender.
Yeah, maybe it is karma.
Since I am the biggest pretender of them all.
CHAPTER
XXIII
I don't know how I left the apartment or where I am. I'd never seen Theo so upset, so inconsolable. When he'd told me to get out and that I disgusted him, something broke inside me. My chest cavity feels constricted for some reason.
I stand for a minute and punch myself in my breast to alleviate some of the discomfort. Am I having a heart attack? There is something to be said about the state I'm in... I've never felt like this before. Can someone feel like dying when they are very much alive and physically uninjured?
I've had my fair share of wounds throughout the years, caused by different weapons and to varying degrees of concern. Not even the worst pain I'd withstood when Vlad and I had been stranded in New Mexico with no medical equipment but a bottle of whiskey and our knives.
He’d dug out a bullet from my thigh with his blade and poured alcohol on it, and I'd somehow refrained from crying out. Now?
I shake my head and stumble forward, gripping the wall of the building near me for support.
There is something wet on my face. I touch my hand to it and realize it's tears.
I'm...crying? I've never cried unless I was pretending.
Never.
I panic, my breathing out of control. What's happening to me? Did I finally break?
I try to put one foot in front of the other to make my way to my other apartment, but my entire body is too stiff. Why I'd walked instead of driven, I don't know.
Out of the fog that shields my mind, I hear a whistle. I frown but keep walking. The whistling seems to intensify. I take a second to look around and realize I passed the 5th Avenue Station, so I must be around 62nd Street. I keep my pace until the whistling comes directly from behind me. Just as I’m waiting for it to pass me, a hand grabs my arm painfully and shoves me towards the alleyway.
Great.
I jerk my arm around to free myself, but it only makes my assailant treat me more roughly. I hit the wall, and pain starts radiating from my shoulder blade.
Shit. I wince.
Raising my head up, I see an older man with an unkempt appearance leering at me.
"Let me go," I say, quickly taking in all escape routes.
"Now, little girl. Out at this hour ain't safe." He slurs his words but what hits me is his appellation—little girl. My mind hones in on that word, and everything seems to fall away.
His hand goes to my shirt, his hurried movements aggressively ripping the bottom material. It's enough to wake me up from my mental fog. My arm shots out, and my elbow catches him under his chin, causing him to fall backward.
At this moment, I could run if I wanted to. I could leave him here and take off.
But I don't.
My eyes must be glazed with a crazed look because as he sees me approaching him, he takes a step back.
My punch goes next, hitting him in the stomach. Then I knee him in the balls until he's curled up at my feet.
"Please..." He whimpers.
I don't stop.
My fists go at his face for what seems like forever. I hit and hit and hit, all of the pain in my chest intensifying and making me go harder and harder.
I feel bone-crunching.
The skin on my knuckles is slowly peeling away as I slam into him. His zygoma is crushed, bits of it flying as I keep hammering. I only stop when I feel a softness swallowing my knuckles and realize I've likely reached his brain. With a harsh breath, I let myself fall next to his body. Dead. He's dead.
I killed him.
I'm a monster.
I'm disgusting.
Theo's words keep replaying inside my head, and my tears fall uncontrollably.
It doesn't take long for me to realize I need to do something about this, so I quickly grab my phone and dial Vlad.
"I.. killed him," I say in-between sobs and hiccups.
"Little Goddess?" He asks, concerned, and I hear movement. "Where are you?"
I give him what I think is my location, and he tells me to wait. The hand holding the cell drops, and I stare at the massacre in front of me.
I'm disgusting.
I keep looking at my handy work that I don't realize when, sometime later, a car pulls over. Vlad and his bodyguard Maxim step into the alleyway. I turn to look at him and see that he averts his gaze as soon as he spots the bloody corpse, his hand shielding his eyes. I can only imagine what seeing this is doing to him.
"Harsh, little goddess, harsh!" He shakes his heads and barks some commands in Russian to Maxim.
He notes my almost catatonic state and takes me into his arms to bring me to the car. In the meanwhile, Maxim is collecting the corpse and placing it in the trunk of the vehicle.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, and he sighs.
"Don't worry about it now."
That's the last thing I hear before everything goes black.
When I come to, it is to find an unknown man tending to the wounds on my hands. I struggle to snatch my hand away and get out of bed, but the man just gives me a strained smile.
"Yeshyeo net." Not yet.
"Pochemu?" I croak, asking him why.
"Est eta." He gets a pouch and rummages in it for what looks like some pills. I shake my head. I don't think I need anything else.
"Est!" He commands me to take the pill.
"Shto eta?" I ask as he peels off the foil and hands me a glass of water.
"Za galavi i protiv infektsi" His voice is matter-of-fact, and I don't protest anymore. I take the pills, and that's when Vlad comes into the room.
"Sposiba Sasha. Idti." He nods to the man, Sasha, and comes to stand next to my bed.
"You fucked up, malyshka."
I hitch my knees up and rest my back against the headboard of the bed.
"Theo knows... everything." I sigh, realizing this is still the reality I find myself in. I kept hoping it was just a bad dream.
"How did he take it?"
"He kicked me out. Said he never wants to see me again."
"Will he go to the police?"
"I... I didn't even think about that..." I mutter. "but I don't think so..."
"This isn't you malyshka," Vlad says, his tone full of disappointment.
"I... I need help, Vlad."
Vlad purses his lips and regards me skeptically.
"Help?"
"I need to detox. I need to show him..." I say, my voice trembling a little. "I can't give up on him. I won't."
"Don't you think the ship's already sailed?"
"No...no," I shake my head furiously. "I can't let him go..."
Vlad sighs out loud and gets up.
"If that's what you want, I'll help you."
"Yes, it's what I want."
"Well, then. Gear up for the worst week of your life, B." He leaves me alone, saying I need rest.
What I need is Theo. I want him to hug me to sleep. I want him to tell me it's going to be alright.
I can't control my tears as they spill once more down my face.
I once thought I had absolutely no feelings.
I still do, but there seems to be an exception.
Theo...
CHAPTER XXIV
After last night's events, I'll be the first to admit I had the worst sleep. Hearing everything from Bianca's lips had been like a punch to the gut.
I'd neglected my work the whole morning; instead, I looked on the Internet at information on sociopaths.
The more I read, the more I realized how everything fit - the drugs, the violence, the lies.
What broke my heart the most was reading that sociopaths aren't capable of feeling love. They can pretend, but they will always value themselves above all else at the end of the day. Bianca had said she'd wanted me. And so, she'd done everything to get me, violating every moral law possible in the process, some legal ones as well.
Now the question was what to do next... Marcel's been the only one I've told about my problems with Bianca, and I've yet to talk to him about confronting her. Considering all she's been involved in, the natural course of events would be
to turn her in.
She is, after all, a killer.
My mind is telling me that such a person should not be left roaming around free, but my heart can't even fathom the notion that Bianca would be locked behind bars for manslaughter... if not even worse. I don't know what that says about me. Here in my lofty position within NYPD, and I'm basically fostering a murderer.
So many times, I found myself glancing towards the phone, ready to make the call. But I just couldn't. It seems that no matter how many times I try to live righteously, I always give up.
It's around noon when my phone rings.
"Mr. Hastings, a Mr. Quinn Gallagher here to see you." My secretary informs me. I freeze for a moment, my first intention being to not see him. But considering the circumstances, it might be more beneficial to see what exactly he knows or thinks he knows.
"Bring him in," I reply and close the connection.
I really don't know how I'm still functioning, caught between my duty and the mob, Jimenez gunning for me, and then my wife turning out to be a fucking sociopath.
Honestly, if only I could bring myself to turn her in, I'd be rid of two problems... both the mob and her. And therein lies the issue.
I can't.
I look up to see Quinn Gallagher stride in my office, looking as menacing as he did on Sunday. His dirty blonde hair looks uncombed and disheveled. Although I think the length is supposed to hide the many scars marring his face. He's wearing a basic black T-shirt that outlines his outrageous muscles, and nondescript jeans. He'd be a handsome man if he didn't look like he's escaped jail. Or maybe he has, who knows.
"Mr. Gallagher." I motion for him to take a seat. He doesn't say anything, his light blue eyes staring at me. He finally nods and sits down.
"To what do I owe this visit?" I ask, folding my hands in front of me. Quinn's lips slowly drag themselves upwards.
"I think you know well why." He finally replies.
Morally Corrupt: A Dark Romance (Morally Questionable Book 1) Page 14