Filthy Little Games

Ch. 2: The Lifeboat

EMERY

A part of me thinks I should feel gratitude toward him. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for letting me live a little while longer. Thank you for killing my would-be donor. That last one makes me nauseous. He's a murderer. That's a fact. Not a cold-blooded murderer, but does that even matter? It's his fault someone died. But... it's also his fault that I lived. Someone would've died that night anyway. Or a few nights later. It was only a matter of time.

Perhaps a part of me is grateful. The part that clings on to the fantasy of hope. The part that's a survivor. A warrior. It's not like I didn't know that my new heart would come from someone who died. I was prepared for that reality. I was ready to live with the knowledge that death would always reside inside me. I couldn't have prepared for this though. I can't bring myself to process its meaning. I can't allow myself to wander into the realm of wondrous fate. Those emotions are too difficult, too messy, too fucking painful to even comprehend.

But anger? A sense of betrayal? Those I can handle. Those feelings bubble in my veins. Slither from my tongue. Control my actions. My words. My need to hurt him where he'll feel the same degree of pain. He lied to me. He looked in the fucking eyes and lied. He has his secrets.

It's time for me to weave my own.

"On your knees."

Quinton rises from his seat, towering over me like a phantom of my subconscious mind. The truth of my effect on him stares me in the eyes. It's undeniable. I can see his honest nature. I can almost hear it throbbing for me. There's no deception in the way he looks at me, forboding and raw. It's no secret that he wants me. It's not hidden under layers of carefully curated veils of fiction. There's something sexy about his sincerity. Something that ignites my core. Makes me wet. Almost desperate for a taste.

My chest expands with murky anticipation as I sink down on my knees in front of him, the light vibrations of the cabin reverberating through my bones, rattling my moral compass. Quinton cups my cheek, tilting my head up to the heavens, his thumb firmly stroking the underside of my jaw.

"Do you know how many times I've fantasized about this mouth?" he rasps, dipping his thumb between my lips as I fumble with his belt buckle. "About these lips?" My insides clench as I draw down his zipper and slowly tug on his briefs. Quinton sucks in a sharp breath as I coil my hand around his base. "Fuck..."

"Tell me what you want, doctor," I breathe out, slipping one hand in between my legs, the slickness from my arousal coating every fucking finger.

Quinton's breath hitches as he looks at me, his desire evident in his hungry eyes. I feel a surge of power at this moment, knowing that I hold control over him, just as Damon once held control over me.

"You..." The word escapes like a vulgar prayer, like a scream into the darkness that no one worthy could ever hear. His fingers rake through my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he holds me sturdy, unyielding in his plea. "I want you, Emery."

My pussy pulses as I manage, "So take me."

His hooded eyes darken as he rasps, "As you wish, darling."

Before I have a chance to react, Quinton snakes his hand around the back of my neck and lifts me to my feet, slamming my back roughly against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist. His head dips toward my ears, his nose feathering against my cheek.

"Use me," he grunts, leaving a trail of sloppy openmouthed kisses across my buzzing skin. His forehead rests against mine, his gaze flitting down to my parted lips. "Fucking use me."

At that moment, my mind blanks with delirious nothingness, and I slam myself down on his cock, my nails digging into his shoulders, my lips colliding with his into a frenzy of unspoken punishment. His hips rock in rhythm with mine and I can taste his sweet desperation as our tongues twist and flick and devour all the pain inhabiting my soul.