8 | Sneaking out

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There is one thing odd about us

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There is one thing odd about us. She is always crying whenever I am around. The only tears I want to see in her eyes should be the tears of pleasure when our bodies will be connected, hips adjoined, and pushing against each other.

I want her cheeks to be flushed and scarlet when I'm breathing down her neck, inhaling her fragrant rosary, and making my way with her, not because I'm crying for some shitty reason.

I know the reason. The reason behind her tears and what is actually making her anxious nowadays—I want to hear that from her.

I need her to trust me with each and every secret she poses and with every façade she wears.

I want her to show me the real her. The one that made me go berserk and got me addicted to her to the point of no way out.

Samaira is caged with me, and she will love each and every second of the thrill I'll be providing her.

Last night was tough for her. The way she clung to me like her life depended on it and how firm her clutch was on my shirt. I had to stay for hours just because she was not relaxing or stopping crying.

This is not something simple, not something that can be ignored. There must have been something that happened to her in the past that is triggering her in the present.

Perhaps she got too scared of the little act I pulled two years ago when she was in France?

Not even an ounce of guilt or second thought I had when I was beating that sorry fuck. He thought he could have her. He thought that he could have his way inside her skirt, and I would sit idle and enjoy the fucking show.

The fucker should have been dead because he fucking touched what belonged to me.

He touched my rose.

Was that acceptable?

If it were not for my dear brother, he would have been attending his meeting, which I scheduled with Satan.

F L A S H B A C K

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 : 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 | 𝟏𝟖+Where stories live. Discover now