Beastly: Dark and Twisted Tales Series by Tamrin Banks

Author:Tamrin Banks [Banks, Tamrin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamrin Banks
Published: 2023-10-30T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Victor

It’s been two weeks of pure hell waiting for her to give in, watching her from the two-way mirror that I put on the ceiling of the room where I hold her captive.

She doesn’t know that I see her sleep. I watch her stormy eyes close and I watch her writhing and begging for me in her sleep. She wants me, she just doesn’t want to want me and that’s not good enough. I want to storm into that room every night and fuck her until she finally acknowledges what I knew as soon as I saw her.

She’s mine.

But I refuse to blunt the pure hunger of our love with simple desire. I love the damn frustrating woman. And I want her to come to me willingly, with open arms.

I refuse to accept any less.

Although watching her come apart every night is like its own special torture. I’m so damn hard that my dick doesn’t even go down when I drag my hand across my aching length until I come all over myself like a school boy.

It’s not enough. It will never be enough until I have her under me, over me, around me, begging me to take her.

Her cheeks are flushed in sleep and she’s writhing around in the bed again, her sheets tangling around her curvy body until she’s trapped in them.

Her little hand goes down to her pussy and I want to roar at her that she’s not allowed to touch it. She’s not allowed to give herself relief when I can’t come in her.

Tonight feels different though. There’s a new depth of reckless desire to her moans that has my body rigid. I have to curl my hands into fists to keep from pounding on that door and then pushing my way through until she’s in front of me and I can sink into her, bury my aching cock so deep inside her silky depths that she’ll never get away from me.

Her eyes open on a hissed sigh and she whimpers. “Victor,” in such a pained, desperate voice that I can’t hardly hold myself together.

“Touch yourself, little one.” I growl it under my breath, sure that she can’t hear me.

But like the good little girl she is, she sighs and her wide gaze lifts to that mirror like she can feel my gaze. I’m a creeper. I’m glued to the floor of the room above hers, my body practically plastered to that floor as I watch her underneath me.

It’s sick. It’s fucking demented and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve come grinding into the floor, watching her twisting and writhing under me, calling out for me in her sleep.

The only time she calls out for me.

Until now. Now she’s staring right at that ceiling that she can see through it, see me lying there, staring at her and wanting her to pleasure herself.

And her hand reaches down and plucks at her juicy folds, slipping through them until I swear I can hear the squelching sounds in the silent room.

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