ログイン[CARLTON’S POV]My hands find her chin, slamming her back against the cot. Not beating her. Not yet. Just holding her there."Why do I feel you're lying about Father's death? If you hid your true colors all these years, what else are you hiding from me?!"Her eyes glitter. "You want to know? Ask him yourself.""No. You'd tell me all that there is or I'll—""You'd what?" She chuckles darkly. "You'd kill your own mother over a villain who gives you orgasms? Go ahead."I'm squeezing her jaw, watching her pulse flutter under pale skin, remembering every time she made me feel small. Worthless. Wrong.My breathing is ragged."You reek of him, Carlton." Her voice is conversational now. "Tobacco. Whiskey. Blood..." She inhales. "Oh my. Holy flames, is that... is that Mad Bishop's cum I smell on your breath?"Shame detonates inside me. "You fucking cunt!"I've never called her that. Never would have dared, but the word tastes right. Feels right.Her grin is all teeth. "Oh, I am that cunt who w
[CONTENT WARNING ACKNOWLEDGMENT] This chapter contains: maternal abuse, psychological manipulation, non-consensual touching (non-sexual but violating), references to trafficking/rape, gaslighting, power play, and dark family dynamics proceeding with execution.[CARLTON'S POV]The water doesn't wash it off.I scrub until my skin turns raw, pink and angry under the scalding spray, but I can still feel him. Tristan's fingerprints branded into my hips. His cum dried in places I didn't know cum could reach. The phantom weight of his body pinning me down.The soap smells like cedar and smoke. His soap because everything in this penthouse is his. Including me.I grab the generic hotel bar from the back of the cabinet instead. Something plain. Something that doesn't smell like tobacco and sex and poor life choices.By the time I step out, my skin is scrubbed almost bloody and I still don't feel clean.The robe I choose is simple: Navy blue, no embroidery, no initials. Not one of Tristan's.
[CARLTON’S POV] Mom.Fuck.I'd forgotten.For a moment, in the haze of humiliation and arousal, I'd actually forgotten that my mother is locked in the basement, chained, helpless., and waiting for judgment.And I'm up here playing degradation Olympics with the man who's going to kill her.The realization crashes over me like ice water.What the fuck am I doing?The knife moves before I fully register the decision.I slash at his abs. The blade parts skin and blood blooms.Tristan grunts but doesn't move back.I slash again. His thigh this time.More blood."Carlton."His leg, deep enough to matter."Bunny."I scramble to my feet. He's bleeding. Three cuts. Not fatal but enough.Enough to make me feel something other than shame.The knife is slick in my hand, piss and cum and blood making it slippery.One more. Just one more and I could—Tristan moves.Fast. Faster than a man his size should be capable of.One second I'm standing. The next my wrist is caught in his grip. Twisted. The
CONTENT WARNING: Explicit sexual content, watersports, knife play, blood play, degradation kink, consensual non-consent, violence, psychological manipulation. [CARLTON’S POV] The word "dare" detonates something rotten in my chest. Ammonia stings my nostrils. The sharp, acrid reek of piss soaking into leather, into skin, into whatever's left of my dignity. It's pooling in the divots of my collarbones, dripping from my hair onto my thighs. The harness is ruined, darkened with bodily fluids like some fucked-up Jackson Pollock. I helped him, got on my knees like a good little husband and sucked his cock to ease his pain. And this is what I get?! Pissed on like a fucking fire hydrant. Mom would have a stroke if she could see me now. Her perfect son, the one she groomed and molded and showed off at charity galas, kneeling in a puddle of his stepfather's urine with a knife pressed to said stepfather's bleeding cock. And Selene. God, Selene. I can feel her ghost in the room, perche
[TRISTAN'S POV]My cock is on fire.Not the good kind. Not the "I'm about to fuck my husband into the mattress until he forgets his name" kind.The bad kind.The "someone rubbed Satan's asshole all over my dick" kind.I grip the bathroom counter, knuckles white. Water streams from the faucet. Cold. Arctic. Doesn't matter. The burn spreads like acid eating through flesh."Blyat." The word hisses between my teeth. "Yob tvoyu mat'."I splash water on my cock. Once. Twice. A hundred fucking times.Nothing.The spices cling like napalm. Every nerve ending screams. My shaft throbs, swollen and angry. The piercings feel like hot coals embedded in meat.I'm going to kill him.No.I'm going to fuck him first, then kill him. Or fuck him to death.Same result.Water drips from my cock to the tile. Pink. Diluted tomato sauce mixed with precum. Pathetic.This is what I've been reduced to. A mob boss washing sauce off his dick like some idiot who can't handle basic dinner.Carlton's laugh echoes fr
[CARLTON'S POV]I sit cross-legged on the bed, my ass still burning from where Tristan grabbed it earlier. His handprints are probably tattooed into my skin by now. Permanent. Like everything else he does to me.The nail polish brush glides over my thumbnail. Red. Deep, blood red. The same shade as the wine I poured earlier and didn't drink because I knew he'd need the bourbon more.I blow on my nails, watching the polish dry in the candlelight.Five years ago, I would've laughed if someone told me I'd be here. Painting my nails in a compound run by the Russian mafia, waiting for my psychotic stepfather-turned-husband to finish showering so I can seduce him with spaghetti and a g-string.Life's funny that way.I giggle. Can't help it.Because I remember scrolling through Grindr at two in the morning, my girlfriend Jessica asleep beside me in her floral pajamas. She never knew. Never even suspected. Our relationship was so dry I could've fucked half the city and she wouldn't have notic