Scarred (Never After #2)(29)

Once I reach my chambers, I fling open the door, the echo of the slam reverberating in my ears as it closes behind me. I make my way to the table beneath the large bay window and grab the glass container placed in the center. Sitting down, I open the jar and take out the rice papers and a few buds of hash, knots tangling in my stomach and my cock straining; begging for relief that I won’t allow.

I will not make things worse than they already are by coming to thoughts of her.

My fingers tighten around the paper’s edges as I pour my focus into the task, hoping that if I do, the leftover feelings surging through my body will fade.

I bring the joint to my lips and grab a match, striking it against the box until I hear the sizzle of fire. The first inhale swirls down my throat and into my lungs, the tension in my stomach easing.

The heat warms my fingertips as it chars the small wood stick, and an image of my little doe spread out on the table, submissive and pliant, while the flame licks against her skin flashes through my mind. I groan as my balls tense, my length growing rigid.

My hand glides into my lap, fingers wrapping around my shaft through the fabric, but instead of readjusting, I stroke to the thought of her pretty pink lips and how stunning they would look stretched around my cock while I cut off her air by sliding it down her throat.

My teeth bite into the end of my joint to keep it trapped between my lips and I widen my legs, slinking down in my chair as I unbutton my trousers, my abs tensing as I imagine fucking the insolence out of her; of showing her what domination feels like as it splits her from the inside out.

Her ass would be red and tender from me forcing the apologies out of her little lying mouth by pummeling her with my palm.

Lust clouds my reason as smoke curls around my face, and suddenly, gripping it through the fabric isn’t enough. I need more. Need to feel the rough friction of my calloused palm as I close my eyes and pretend it’s her tight cunt, sucking me in and pumping me until I explode.

Pleasure tiptoes from the top of my thighs and into my abdomen as I run my hand up the shaft, squeezing the tip until a bead of cum drips out. My balls tighten when I think of her tongue running along the underside of my length, tracing the throbbing vein, and the tension coils even tighter when I picture my dick stuffing her so full she can’t even breathe as she swallows every drop I give her.

The joint falls from my mouth, the end singeing the skin of my stomach, but I let it stay, throwing my head back and groaning through the pain.

And then, right before I’m about to explode, I remember that she’s marrying my brother. That he gets to experience every curve of her body and every lick of her tongue.

My hands jolt back like someone has electrocuted them, and I stare down at my lap, my erection angry and throbbing as it begs for relief.

I won’t allow a female to interfere with my plans. Especially not one who doesn’t belong to me.

She wants power?

She’ll have to kill me to take it.





“You look spooked, sire.” Xander’s voice trickles through the door, and I press myself farther into the hallway wall, not wanting them to know I’m here.

It’s a rare moment. There are no guards around, and I shouldn’t be here. But I couldn’t sleep, and while I was preparing to slip through the tunnels and go roam the forest, I saw Xander slinking through the darkened halls and followed him instead.

And now we’re here, outside of Michael’s private quarters, in the middle of the night.

Xander rushed through the door, not even bothering to close it fully. But his mistake is my good fortune.

I lean against the jamb, straining my ears to hear.

“Would you like some dreamless sleep potion?” Xander asks.

“No,” Michael scoffs. “That stuff makes my mind fuzzy for hours.”

Xander sighs. “That’s the opium, sire. If it would help keep the nightmares away...”

“Don’t speak to me like a child,” Michael snaps. “If you want to help, figure out how to talk to spirits and make my dead father stay dead instead of tormenting me.”

My stomach flips. Michael has nightmares of our father?

The resounding silence is thick.

“What?” Michael hisses. “I see that pathetic look in your eyes, Xander. Either say something useful or get the fuck out of my room.”

There’s a vile undercurrent to his tone, one I’ve heard whispered in my ear since I was born.

In public, Michael has a charming—if not overbearing—personality. But it’s in these private moments that the snake sheds his skin and comes out to play.

Perhaps Lady Beatreaux and he are better suited than I thought.

My chest twists at the realization.

“Have you…”

“Spit it out,” Michael snaps.

“Have you seen him again while you were awake?”

The resounding silence is thick. Shock punches through my middle, my mouth dropping open as I eavesdrop.

“Have you given any more thought to what I’ve suggested? To speaking with someone?”

“I’m speaking to you.”

“Yes, but… I mean someone more equipped to help you with them. To figure out the root cause.”

Another long pause, so heavy with tension that it bleeds through the walls.

“They would call me mad,” Michael whispers.