Romance

GLYNDON

I don’t know how I drive home.
There’s definitely crying and some blurry vision as I strangle the steering wheel. But the persistent feeling is the constant need to follow in Devlin’s footsteps and just hit the gas to the nearest cliff.
I shake my head.
Thinking about Devlin under the current situation is about the worst step I can take.
The best step I take, however, is stopping across from a police station with the intention to report what just happened.
One thing stops me from opening my car’s door. What evidence do I have?
Besides, I’d rather die than have my family battle a media war for my sake. Yes, Dad and Grandpa, and even my mum, would probably shred the stranger to pieces and be willing to battle all types of wars for me if they knew.
But I’m not like them.
I’m not antagonistic and I sure as hell don’t want them to be in the spotlight because of me.
I just can’t do th

“Thanks.” I bury my face in his chest, and I must dirty his clothes with all the oil paint, but I don’t release him.
Because for the first time since the ordeal, I can finally let go.
I feel safe from everything.
My own head included.
My fingers dig into my brother’s back and he holds me. Silently.
This is why I love Bran the most. He knows how to be an anchor. He knows how to be a brother.
Unlike Lan.
After a while, we break apart, but he doesn’t allow me to leave. Instead, he perches down to stare at me. “What is it, little princess?”
That’s what Dad calls me. Little princess.
Mum is the original princess. The one Dad worships at her altar and makes all her dreams come true.
I’m the princess’s daughter and, therefore, the little princess.
I wipe at the moisture in my eyes. “Nothing, Bran.”
“You don’t sneak to the basement at five in the morning, paint this, and then say it’s nothing. I

“Lips,” I strain, unsure of how I manage to get the word out.
I’m not even sure how the hell I’m still conscious, considering the raw power he’s holding me with.
It’s only after the word leaves my mouth that he slowly eases the brute force of his fingers from around my neck. But he doesn’t release me and continues imprisoning my whole being in front of him.
I inhale a copious amount of air, my lungs filling with oxygen to the point of feeling burned, caught in a chokehold and stabbed in the chest.
He raises a thick eyebrow, appearing beautiful, gorgeous even, but it’s the type of beauty that notorious serial killers use to lure their victims. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he kills for sport.
And that’s definitely the wrong thought to have under the circumstances.
It’s insane how I’ve often thought about death but when push comes to shove, I’m terrified of it.
The stranger from hell slides his thumb against my upper lip, sensually, almost lovingly, and it’s even more frightening. Because from the way he’s behaved and talked, I’m almost sure there’s not a gentle bone in his body.
“You’ll let me stuff my cock between these lips and fill your throat with my cum?”
My neck heats since I’m not used to being spoken to this way, but I lift my chin. “I’m not doing it because I want to. I’m doing it because you’re threatening me with worse. If it were up to me, I would’ve never let you touch me, you sick bastard.”
“Good thing it’s not up to you.” Still keeping his hand around my throat, he slides down his zipper with his free hand, the sound eerier than the crushing of the waves and the whooshing of the wind.
When he pulls out his penis, I try to turn my head the other way, but his grip on my neck forces me to watch every single detail.
He’s big and hard, and I don’t even want to think about what made him so hard.
Something warm presses against my lips and I clamp them shut, glaring up at him.
“Open,” he orders, his hand clenching my hair, allowing no room for negotiation.
But I hold on to the fight in me. To that glimmer of hope that maybe he’ll change his mind and this whole nightmare will be over.
I should know better.
A monster can’t be changed or derailed.
A monster’s only aim is to destroy.
“I can always use your ass and cunt. In that order. So unless you’re willing to soak my dick with your blood and lick it clean, I suggest you open your mouth.” He hits me across the lips with his dick and I have no choice but to loosen my jaw.
If I don’t, there’s no doubt that he’ll keep his word about the other option and I’m not ready to find out how far he’ll go.
How far he’ll escalate.
The tip of his dick slips through my lips and my stomach coils in short intervals. I swallow down the revolting need to vomit all over him and myself.
“Don’t gag when we haven’t even started yet.” He strokes my lower lips with that fake gentleness again. “You can enjoy this if you want, but if you fight, I suppose it’ll only feel inconvenient. Now, suck and make it good.”
He wants me to suck?
Fuck you. I’m a King, and we don’t get told what to do.
Despite the fear that paralyzes my limbs, my gaze clashes with his as I bite down on his dick.
Hard.
With everything in me. I bite with enough force that I think I’ll cut his penis off and swallow the tip.
The only reaction that comes out of the stranger is a grunt and… He’s getting harder. I can feel him growing in my mouth worse than earlier.
But I don’t get to continue biting.
Because he tugs on my hair as if attempting to tear it out of my skull.
Bursts of pain explode all over my body, but that’s not all.
He tilts me back so my upper half is bent backward and he’s looking down on me with manic eyes that could kill.
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t even appear to be in much pain.
Shit.
Maybe he really is a robot and I’m stuck with an unfeeling machine.
“Use your teeth again and I’ll switch to your ass. I’ll tear through your tight hole and use your blood as lube while your head hangs over the edge.” There’s a strain in his voice as he pushes more of his dick inside my mouth. “Now, fucking suck.”
I don’t dare to defy him. One, I’m on the edge, literally, and two, I have no doubt that he’ll keep his word.
Problem is, I’ve never given head before, so I’m completely out of my league here. But I attempt to suck the crown of his dick. If his groan of pleasure is any indication, my tentative licks seem to please him.
So I do it again, and again.
“You’ve never given head before, have you?” There’s an appreciative quality in his tone as if the wanker approves. “Hollow your cheeks and loosen your jaw. Don’t just lick, suck,” he instructs in a lust-filled voice as if he’s speaking to a lover.
I’m so tempted to bite his dick off completely this time, but the threat of actual death forces me to abandon the idea.
Instead, I follow his command. The sooner I’m done with this, the sooner I’ll be out of his deadly orbit.
“That’s it,” he breathes out, his tone loosening for the first time. “Use your tongue.”
I do, mechanically, not even thinking about it. I also try not to think about the position I’m in. On the edge, on my knees, about to fall back, with a maniac using my mouth to get off.
If he slides my body back even an inch, I’ll have no one to save me but the same person who put me in this position.
His hold on my hair stiffens, and I think I’ve used my teeth again, but I soon find out that’s not the case.
He’s done with attempting to take it easy. Or maybe he’s bored.
Whatever the reason, he’s just decided to take things into his own hands. Using his grip on my hair, he seizes my jaw with his fingers, forcing me to open as wide as I can.
“I like your adorable attempt at sucking cock, but how about I show you how it’s properly done?” He thrusts all the way to the back of my throat. “Hmm. You have a pretty little face that looks erotic when being fucked.”
I splutter, choking on my saliva and his girth and length. I haven’t come across many dicks in my life, but this, without doubt, is the biggest I’ve seen.
And the way he drives it to the back of my throat is nothing short of a show of domination. He keeps it there, choking me until my eyes nearly bulge out. I think I’ll die with his dick in my mouth.
His gaze remains on mine and he gets even harder as he watches me, my eyes bulging with tears gathering in them, and face probably turning red.
The sick bastard is going to kill me and get off on it.
But then, he slides out enough to allow me to take a sliver of a breath.
I don’t even drag a whole inhale before he’s ramming in again, more violently than before.
More intense.
More…out of control.
Tears sting my eyes and fall in rivulets down my cheeks. Drool and precum trickle down my chin and neck as he thrusts in and out of my mouth, still holding me at the edge with a hand.
Over and over.
And over.
Matching the brutal sound of the crushing waves below.
I’m lightheaded, my fingers throbbing and my legs shaking. I refuse to think about what’s happening between them.
I’m just not that fucked in the head.
Right when I think he’ll never finish, a salty taste explodes in my mouth.
My knee-jerk reaction is to spit it all out in his face, so I try to do just that. The moment he slides his dick out of my mouth, I splutter the cum all over his designer shoes.
Rugged breaths rack my chest and I inhale and exhale in rapid succession, but I don’t break eye contact.
I glare as I wipe the remainder of his disgusting cum from my mouth.
At first, he watches me with a blank expression, but soon after, a low chuckle comes from his lips and for the first time tonight, light shines in his eyes. It’s not black-on-black this time.
It’s pure sadist light.
The light of someone so utterly pleased and satiated.
He releases my hair and jams his middle and ring fingers into my mouth. I hold on to his wrist to keep from stumbling backward and he uses the chance to smear the rest of his cum on my lips.
His fingers choke me, invading my mouth as if they have every right to, over and over.
And fucking over again.
When he seems satisfied enough, a flash blinds me.
I stare up at the camera that’s covering his eyes.
Did this bastard just take a picture of me in this position?
Yes. Yes, he did.
But before I can try to snatch away his camera, he pulls his fingers from my mouth, then uses them to tuck my hair behind my ears and pats the top of my head.
“You were a good sport, Glyndon.”
And then he effortlessly tugs me away from the edge, turns, and leaves.
I remain in a frozen state, unable to wrap my head around everything that just happened.
The most important of all is, how the hell does that psycho know my name?

GLYNDON

I don’t know how I drive home.
There’s definitely crying and some blurry vision as I strangle the steering wheel. But the persistent feeling is the constant need to follow in Devlin’s footsteps and just hit the gas to the nearest cliff.
I shake my head.
Thinking about Devlin under the current situation is about the worst step I can take.
The best step I take, however, is stopping across from a police station with the intention to report what just happened.
One thing stops me from opening my car’s door. What evidence do I have?
Besides, I’d rather die than have my family battle a media war for my sake. Yes, Dad and Grandpa, and even my mum, would probably shred the stranger to pieces and be willing to battle all types of wars for me if they knew.
But I’m not like them.
I’m not antagonistic and I sure as hell don’t want them to be in the spotlight because of me.
I just can’t do that.
And I’m so damn tired. I’ve been tired for months, and this will only add to the weight that has

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