THE DEVIL IN MY SHEETS

(CARLTON’S POV)

A plug is buried deep inside my ass. Add the chain harness, G-string pants, and leather boots, and I look every bit like a harlot.

A twink moreso, due to my innocent exterior, but I’m anything but pure. If the tapestries of hickeys dotting my body are revelation enough, I’m as rotten as a corpse. 

All thanks to my Step-dad. 

I can kneel on lava to get a taste of him. 

Still, I’m not gay, right? 

Wincing, I skim through the files on my desk. I’ve come to terms with the pain; that’s why a cucumber can slip inside me with little restriction.

Mom writes a tag on her social media page: ‘Finding light requires patience. Be loving and kind, and your soulmate shall find you. Like mine.’

Below is a picture of me, Mom, Henry, and Amanda. Under the guise of a canopy in a French restaurant, we sip Piña Colada on a sunny afternoon with broad smiles. 

Mom believed the lie: Weeks-long business deals in Paris. Amanda wished us success. Neither suspected their dream family was rotting from the inside. It’s killing me, but I’m addicted. Can’t fucking stop. 

A pop-up on my screen. 

I tap the image, nearly choking on my tongue. 

Henry’s fat cock with an engorged purplish head, throbbing with veins. Metals glint along his length from root to tip. 

I love PRINCE ALBERT’S piercings. 

I gasp, nearly dropping my phone. 

The hell?!

‘Bunny’ Tattooed on his V-line, sensual and intimate. 

Another message. I click without hesitation. 

WIERDFIRSTTIME: ‘Spread for me on the bed with four fingers inside you. I’ll be there in five.’

ME: ‘AT YOUR COMMAND, SIR!’

WIERDFIRSTTIME: ‘Still not gay?’ 

ME: ‘Fluid is more appropriate.’

WIERDFIRSTTIME: ‘Get outta here.’ 

ME: ‘YES, SIR!’

Flinging my phone God knows where, I take off my gear and dive into the sheets.

I oil my body because Daddy loves me all shiny and slippery. 

Gritting my teeth, I plunge four fingers into my hole the way Daddy does it. My moan drags through the room like the cry of a whore.

Fucking my girlfriend was like searching for water in a desert, dry and hopeless. She’s pretty, but no connection, so we broke up. 

I stroke faster, lewd sounds filling the room. My cock slaps my stomach, leaving a trail of precum which slides down into my bud. 

I writhe on the sheets, “Henry, I need you. Please, come.” 

Eyes fixed on the door, I anticipate a 7ft hulk with an eleven-inch branch hanging between his legs walking in. 

The thought makes me CLIMAX. 

My head tilts back, galaxies exploding behind my eyelids, as I finger myself into oblivion. 

It ain’t your demure rom-com touch. This is sinful and shameful, like the audition of a pornstar. 

My body jerks.

I cum on the sheets. 

Pins claw at my breath. 

My bones turn jelly. 

Relieved, but not satisfied. 

The door creaks open, and I lock eyes with familiar gold ones. 

Popping out his head, he observes the corridor with the grace of a hawk before limping in. 

LIMPING?!

Red colors his white shirt, spiking my pulse. 

“HENRY!” I scramble off the bed, gleaming with oil, hard and hungry for him, despite the blood. 

Christ, what have I become?! 

Rasping, he props down on the settee, lighting a cigar. He billows gusts of smoke, coughs roughly, then sighs. 

His gaze rakes over me. 

A twitch. 

I look down, and he’s hard. 

“No questions. Suck my dick,” his voice reverberates, final.

Why’s he so grim? 

“We’ve lodged in this suite for one month. All I do is sign documents, get fucked, eat, shit, and sleep.” 

“Suck. My. Dick.” His eyes taper into slits. The kind when he broke a guy’s jaw for complimenting me. “Now.” 

I shake my head. “You told everyone we were going on a business trip with me as your P.A. You leave early in the morning, come back at midnight, reeking of alcohol, with bruised knuckles, blood smears, and a bad temper. At times, sex feels like punishment. Now, you returned—shot.” 

My tone sharpens. “This doesn’t look like a P.A job.” 

Flicking his cigar on the ashtray, he shrugs off his shirt. 

BANDAGE?!

What makes my lungs close is his nonchalant demeanour, as If It’s a mere cut and not a rifle shot barely grazing the kidney. 

“You exist to annoy me,” he rubs his temples. “Why can’t you follow simple fucking instructions?”

“Tell me what happened. After all, I’m your P.A right?” 

“Personal arse, Baby,” he groans. “That’s what I meant.”

“You're such a jerk!” I gesture at the door. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

He seizes my hand. “No hospital,” It isn't a request, but a command. “You know nothing, say nothing, do nothing.”

I yank my wrist free. “If bleeding to death amuses you, do it outside. But if we are to stay under the same roof, you must see a doctor.” 

“You must have forgotten who’s the dominant one here.” He lowers his zipper, a sinister flare in his eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Submission has been my motto. Not today. “I’m not your whore.” 

He flushes red. He’s never hit me before. I’m not sure about that now. 

A loud blast. “Anti-Crime Squad. Freeze!” 

Henry pales. 

I stiffen in shock. 

Selene aims a rifle at Henry, flanked by a dozen armed men in black. 

My best friend’s jaw drops with her gun. “Carlton?!” 

I’m naked, covered in oil and shame.

The officers gape at me. 

I want to break out in hives. 

Someone tosses me a blanket, out of help or disgust? 

I drape the fabric over my waist. “What the fuck is going on?”

Selene rolls her eyes. “You promised to end things with him after that night.” 

I snipe. “What are you doing here?”

Henry reaches for his coat. 

A shot rings.

He crumples with an agonizing yelp. 

My legs charge, hands jerk me back, holding me in place. 

Henry crawls on the floor, glaring daggers at Selene. 

I thrash wildly. “Why did you shoot him?” 

“That’s the devil!” Selene shouts, rendering me mute. 

“I’ve been tailing you for weeks. Waiting for the perfect fuck-up,” Crouching in front of Henry, Selene grins. “From the first day I saw you, I knew something wasn’t right.” 

“Doing Delinda’s bidding?” Henry’s breath shallows, but he clings to his smirk like a shield. “When did she find out?”

Selene’s fist connects squarely with Henry’s face. 

Blood splatters on the tiled floor. 

I scream like a banshee, hurling curses and pleas, yet Selene won’t let Henry go. 

“He’s innocent!” I yell. “So this has been your plan all along?”

Selene ignores me, her rapt attention on Henry. But her lashes still, unblinking, like she’s practiced this moment a million times. “Scars, tattoos, new face in town. A billionaire with no backstory. Too perfect to be true.”

The minute I’m free, I’d rip this bitch to shreds. 

“So you’re the little girl?” Henry bellows. “You remember everything. You know their names. You’re covering their misdeeds.”

Selene’s pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Does your so-called best friend know?” Henry’s voice darkens. “No, he doesn’t. He won’t survive it.” 

What the fuck are they talking about?! 

I pant raggedly. “Selene, for the sake of our friendship, what the hell’s going on?” 

Two men step forward, slamming cuffs on Henry’s wrists. 

Selene's eyes are bloodshot. “Tristan Alister. Aka–Mad Bishop. You’re under arrest for cultism, felony, the murder of your sister, and” her gaze darts to me. “David Dickson.” 

The earth trembles beneath me. 

Henry’s eyes flare.

Hatred crashes into me. 

My legs wobble. “I-It’s a lie.”

Selene plays a video on her phone: Hounds tackle Dad to the floor while Henry smokes weed. He stands outside the cage, face stone-cold, savoring Dad's screams and pleas. Watching my father being ripped apart like it’s a live cosplay. I’m going to DIE.

His late nights, blood smears, nightmares, and occasional violence. It makes sense now. 

His lips were fangs, every ‘I love you’ was venom. The man who brought me heaven on earth is the man who killed my father. And I let him inside me. I let him… 

I’ve been having an affair with the devil. 

Blood pounds in my ears. 

Selene shouts. Officers struggle. The chaos of the world. 

All I hear are Dogs barking from the video. 

Dad screaming.

Henry walking away. 

The officer beside me loses focus for one second— jabbering into his radio, occupied by Tristan’s protests. 

I snatch his gun, feeling the weight of the metal in my hand. 

I should’ve pulled the trigger the nights he sneaked into my room. 

This time, I won’t miss. 

“Go ahead, Baby.” Henry stumbles to his knees. “Shoot me if you believe them.”

BANG!!!

Henry collapses with a gasp. “I-I didn’t…” 

Hands shove me to the ground. Voices call for medics. 

I’ll go to jail, but he’d rot in hell. 

The last thing I see is Henry’s eyes on mine, and everything blacks out.