He didn’t touch his wife anymore. Barely looked at her.But he kissed Clarabelle’s forehead every night. Sometimes her hands. Once — her shoulder. Mommy saw. Always. And so she planned. One night, she waited. Waited until the lights in Clarabelle’s…
They didn’t talk about love in that house. Not out loud. But it was there — thick as perfume, clinging to everything and choking the air. Clarabelle always smelled sweet. She made sure of it. Lip gloss on the rim…
Mommy never wanted her. She made it clear in little ways. A too-tight braid. A sigh when Clarabelle spilled juice. The way she’d sneer at her in the hallway and say, “You’re going to be nothing, just like your mother…
“Please, Bastian,” I panted, shame and need twisting together as I arched back, offering myself fully. “Fuck me. I need your cock now.” The words were raw, desperate, and they shattered the last of my restraint. With a guttural curse,…
His eyes flashed with something feral, a dangerous thrill, and before I could blink, he’d backed me against the balcony railing, the cold iron biting into my spine. His hand slid down my side, possessive and deliberate, until it gripped…