You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 88

A smile slithered up the corner of my lips. The kind you wear when the world finally folds the way you told it to.

The stubborn woman. She'd rather let her clit beg for death than admit she needed me to save it.

I let my eyes drink in the sight of her juicy fingers even though my tongue was the right organ for that purpose. From up here, I could smell it—that maddening flavor that belonged to Rali's pussy and Rali's pussy alone.

I was tempted—so fucking tempted—to pull them to my mouth and worship them with my tongue.

But not today. Today was all about putting my pretty girl in her place.

"You've been a good girl," I eased into my seat as I picked up my tea again.

She opened her eyes, no doubt wondering why I wasn't unclipping the collar yet. And there it was—the tears she'd been trying to hide. They shimmered but didn't fall.

"I think it's only right you get rewarded."

I kept my gaze on her as I took a sip from my mug. She didn't understand what was coming. But she kept her lips shut. No, I wanted it open.

Leaning in, I dragged my fingers along the seam of her lips.

Another sip.

My thumb tugged at her lower lip and my fingers pressed into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.

Another sip.

Then I leaned forward and let the tea trickle from my mouth to hers.

Despite the shock and resistance in her eyes, she knelt there and took it. Fucking took it like humiliation was her mother tongue and I was the only one fluent enough to speak it into her.

A tear finally slipped through her eyes that went shut again. I tracked the movement of the tear like it was gold until it stopped on her lip.

"Please," there was a small crack in her voice. "Please, take it off."

If shame had a face, it'd be hers.

I wanted to capture this very moment, put it in a frame and stare at it every night before I go to kill. I wanted the memory to stick so each time I came across a victim who looked pathetic, I'd know my Rali looked worse for me.

She only opened her eyes when she felt the collar being lifted off her neck. Another tear slipped, and every cell in me growled to catch it, lick it, and savor the taste of her shame.

"Have a good day at work, Green," I said with a smile so clean, you'd think I was just a husband packing lunch.

I reached for my bread and bit into it like I hadn't just undone a woman from the inside out.

****†****†

RALI

"...So, we'll have to work on a remake of the Prima Donna dress—"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The butt of my pen tapped against the table.

"...and other deadlines to be met by month-end—"

«Spread your legs, Green. I need to see my pussy while you fuck it.»

My legs twitched.

"...to keep up with stock details. This is very important."

«Such a slut»

The moment my fingers slipped through and found the slick center of my heat, I moaned so fucking loud like a woman possessed. If someone stood outside, they'd hear every drop of my disgrace.

I had that tiny voice in my head reminding me I was shameless. But fuck if I cared. The monster had left me with a burning need between my thighs; with a fire I knew would torment me for hours un-end if I didn't quench it.

As my fingers shamelessly pumped in and out of me, my eyes fluttered close and my moans consistent, I thought of him and all the wicked things he's done to me.

It was insane how easily they came—the memories of being choked by him, making him tea while I was naked, fingering myself at his command and moaning around him while I had his collar around my neck.

How the hell had I become so lost? What started off with me being pissed about the collar on my neck ended up as something that nearly ruined me.

I recalled the degrading words he called me, and before I knew it, I was coming on my fingers.

Shit.

I bit my lips so hard to stop my cry from breaking out. I was a damn screamer, but this wasn't the place.

My fingers pumped harder as I rode out the waves of the agonizing orgasm, the whole time, ignoring the lady before me. The lady staring at me with pathetic eyes, shaking her head at me and mourning the pathetic vessel I'd become.

It was the old me. The me who'd fought real hard against the monster from the foster home.

The me who knew the monster had actually won.

.....

My limbs felt like they'd been stitched from sandbags as I trudged out of the restroom. What I didn't expect to find was my boss leaning against the corridor wall, hands buried in his pockets.

No, no, no.

He hadn't been standing there the whole time... had he? He couldn't have heard...

Oh, God. Please, tell me he didn't hear anything.