I rode her body into the mattress, fucking her ass so hard she was sobbing silently before I was halfway done.
“Good girl,” I praised, tightening my grip on her hair.
By the way I had her face pressed into the bed, I knew breathing was a bit of a task.
Her muscles clenched around my dick, more blood running down my shaft.
I pulled out and lifted her up by the hair, brown eyes bulging as she was forced to double back.
Fresh tears were coating her cheeks when I shoved my dick in her face.
“Suck it,” I demanded, pulling her hair until her eyes were merely tiny slits.
Her lips parted, and I shoved myself down her throat. My balls swung into her chin as I fucked her face.
“Take it,” I growled when she tried to pull away, gagging and choking. She had foam damn near coming out the sides of her mouth.
My balls tightened, my release a few thrusts away.
“Fuuuck,” I groaned, pulling out and coming all over her face, chest, and hair.
Having got what I came for, I wiped myself off using strands of her hair, leaving her sputtering in the dark, covered in my come.
I drove home listening to soft jazz crooning from the stereo of my Mercedez.
Tapping my fingers and bobbing my head, I felt ten times lighter. That’s what Harper was meant for.
I could use her on my bad days, my good days…any day I wanted, however I wanted.
Father always told me, “Never fuck your wife like a dirty whore. That’s what pretty little toys were meant for.”
If you broke your wife, well, that wasn’t someone you could easily replace. A toy, however, was fixable, disposable, and replaceable.
As exceptionally special as my sweet Harper was, she still wasn’t an exception to the rule. One day, her body would be worn, her pussy and ass too familiar, the flicker of light in her eyes snuffed out.
One day.
Then, I would have to move on, for Minnie’s sake.
Or maybe not. I would still very much like to keep her around until her body withered into nothing, but Minnie wouldn’t understand that.
Father knew; he understood.
Mother knew; she understood.
They had nurtured my darker perversions.
Father was the one who taught me the correct way to obtain and detain the women I wanted.
Sometimes, I thought I missed the old bastard.
I had him and my mother to thank for my upbringing. If it weren’t for them, I’d never have turned out as well as I did.
–Chapter Thirteen–
Harper
-Present-
I drew the blinds and double checked that all four locks on my front door were in place.
My mom had a bad habit of waltzing right into my house without knocking.
I went from the living room right into the kitchen. My home was an open concept, with a loft style bedroom I could see from anywhere.
I didn’t like enclosed spaces; the bathroom and my den were the only exceptions. After pissing and shitting in buckets, the toilet became a holy grail. The other room kept my secrets within it.
“Get down, Toby,” I chastised, shooing the chubby tiger cat off my counter.
He hopped down, giving me a mean case of resting bitch face.
Ignoring him, I grabbed my frozen dinner of Salisbury steak, and made my way into the den, sliding the door shut behind me.
The room looked inconspicuous enough. There was a desk in the corner for my Mac, a black futon against one wall, and a coffee table with a vase of fake flowers on top of it.
Sitting my plastic tray down, I approached the thick butterfly canvas hanging on the wall. I’d made it myself to conceal things too easily found.
Running my fingers down the side of it, I found the nearly invisible latch and pushed it in, opening the canvas like I would the cover of a book.
I scanned over the contents.
A list of male names that started with ‘J’ hung in the upper corner.
Another one with all those names, plus addresses of those that matched in the area, hung beside it.
The majority were crossed out.
A bottle of Cool Water cologne sat on the ledge. I’d never forget what J smelled like, but I had a permanent reminder just in case.
Multiple other gatherings were inside, including a reward flyer with my face on it. My old face, the one with the sultry make-up, long hair, and wide smile.
Sometimes I looked at all I’d accumulated over the last few months and felt utterly defeated.
Then, I looked over at the silver stopwatch.
I could still hear it ticking even in the silence.
It reminded me of the vow I’d made to myself.
I would find him.
I never wanted another person to endure what I or any of the other girls had.
It had to be me who found him, not the police. The kind of justice we all deserved wasn’t one the system would approve of. Jail wasn’t good enough. A quick death was too merciful. He deserved to reap everything he’d sowed.