All Chapters of Their Beautiful Madness: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

I'm already hard for her, my body primed, my need for her sharpened. If this—me, inside her—is what she needs right now, then I'll give it to her. Gladly.I grip her hips, spinning her to face me, my back blocking the spray as I press her into the slick tile. The water rushes around us, but all I hear is the thud of my heartbeat and the subtle catch of her breath. My hand comes up, wrapping around her throat. No squeezing, just enough pressure to remind her she's exactly where I want her. Her pulse flutters against my palm, a steady drumbeat of trust and want.She tips her chin higher, her mouth parting in anticipation. I lean down, my eyes locked on hers until the last second before my mouth claims hers. This kiss isn't rough. It's slow, deep, and achingly tender. I pour every ounce of patience and possession into it until she melts against me, her body pliant, her breath coming faster, and every soft sound from her mouth making her a needy, desperate mess

BeatriceSebastian's hand rests lightly on my back as he steers me through the front door. The scent of something warm and savory drifts through the air, growing stronger with each step until we round the corner into the kitchen.Kathy stands at the stove, her hair pulled back, the soft sizzle of bacon frying filling the space. The second her eyes land on me, her face lights up with a smile. She slides a plate into my hands. "You must be hungry, dear."I glance down at the neat stack of toasted bread, crisp bacon, and fresh tomatoes. "Thank you," I say softly.Sebastian's eyes drop to my plate, his lips curling into a grin. "That looks delicious."Kathy shifts her weight, one hand going to her hip. "That's because it is. Make your own if you're hungry.""I'd rather you make it for me," he drawls, throwing her a wink that's so casual it almost feels practiced.My brows lift. Are they... flirting? Si

His hands move, sliding my pants down as mine fumble over the buttons of his shirt. His hands guide me, spinning us until I stumble backward, the back of my knees hitting the mattress. The soft give of the bed beneath me is nothing compared to the weight of him pressing into me. He follows me down, never breaking the kiss. His forearms anchor me on either side of my head, caging me in place. His lips travel, ghosting along my jaw, brushing the sensitive skin on my neck in slow, lingering kisses that make my back arch."Do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice trembles with a mix of frustration and need. "I can't do anything without thinking about you, without wanting you, needing to be inside that perfect pussy."I can't respond. My mind is a blur of heat and desire. My body answers for me, pressing into him, craving the undeniable pull of him. My legs are spread wide, clinging to his hips. His hand slides between us, fingers wrapping around what I'm aching f

I stand over my last masterpiece. A Ponce scumbag sits tied to a chair in front of me, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion. Hours of work has turned his face into something non-human. His breaths rattle through the gurgle in his throat.On the table beside me sits a vase made out of crystal. I take a bundle of fresh white roses, their petals soft, and dip them slowly into the pool of blood collecting at his feet. The red seeps in, darkening the petals, turning them into such a beautiful shade. I arrange them carefully, making sure each stem sits just right, each petal stained evenly. I'll be having this delivered to the mansion later today for my doll face.The bastard in front of me laughs. Even through the pain, through the mangled mess I've made of his face, he laughs. It's not nervous or desperate. It's genuine. I can almost respect it. This one might be almost as unhinged as I am. I place the last rose into the vase, the petals dr

The length of a hose lies coiled beside the flowerbed, slick from the mist. My fingers close around it, cold rubber bending easily in my grip. I loop it once, twice, letting it hang loose until I'm close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath. In one fluid motion, I whip it over his head and jerk him back hard. The hose bites into his throat, his cigarette tumbling from his lips. His body convulses, heels digging into the ground as his hands claw at the constricting band.I drag him backward until his weight hits the grass with a dull thud. His windpipe strains beneath the tension, his panicked gasps rasping wetly. I lift my boot and bring it down on his throat. The sound of his vertebrae snapping is like brittle twigs. The fight drains from his limbs, the life gone before his brain can process the end. The cigarette lies on the ground beside him, its ember dying with a faint hiss against the damp blades. I drop the hose, the rubber slipping from my fingers, and step over