Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions)

Chapter 53 (Kylie)

My mind is fighting the reality of this, it is belittling what I see. I need Vincent, I need him to make me

feel.

Is this part of it, is this me feeling.

His feet march toward me, before I would have coward, now, now I just glare at him.

Thick fingers grip my jaw, his hands sticky in blood. I know because I smell the iron, feel the liquid gum

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“I just got started, Kylie, you have to watch, see my masterpiece, you are my muse, have you forgotten

sweet girl.”

He gives me a proud smile at that, and before I have a chance to think he tilts his head to the side,

closer to mine and kisses me.

And then I feel it, that spark, that warm feeling that I have been craving since he left me alone on that

balcony.

His tongue dips carelessly into my mouth, hungry yet skillful.

For a drunk man, he doesn't kiss me like one. He consumes my mouth taking me to heights of pure

unaltered ecstasy.

I forget what I'm supposed to be doing. My brain shuts down as my body enters the blissful state that I

have craved since last night.

His fingers holding my jaw goes around my neck, and for the first time since I was raped by thirty-three

men for twenty-one two days, my pussy clenches in need.

Losing my standstill, I become a participant in this taking.

My own fingers tugging the back of his hair. My lips sucking on his bottom one. I am not sure how it

happens after that, I can't really think about logistics as Vincent lifts me up against the wall, my legs

wrapping around his back, our mouths and tongues locked in a dual of lust.

I don't stop and think about the dead in the room or the blood of these people on my skin. Relishing in

this feeling, this deep need for this man to spark life back into me.

Legs locked tightly around his back, fingers stuck in his hair as his mouth fucks my own in a promise as

my now drug induced state makes me feel so much.

He turns us around, carrying me to the dinner table where the dead people sit in wait watching this man

take my body to heights of explicit bliss.

Laying me down gently on the big light wood, I grab at his tie as his smoldering eyes lock on to mine

with his dark intent.

Climbing up the table on top of me he grips my neck in a hard choke. I am too high on him, this man

who is my own personal drug to care if he kills me.

Death is not something I fear. My cunt too wet with the promise of his kisses to think of the already

dead people witnessing our acts.

The only thing I care about as his fingers suck my oxygen out of me is my need to feel him inside me,

maybe then I will be fixed.

“I am going to fuck you Kylie right here, and you're going to let me aren't you.” It isn't a question, it isn't

an answer but a destination.

He pulls down his zip and without warning, without any sort of extra foreplay, he squeezes my neck

until I am choking, until my eyes feel like they're popping out of my head.

As he drains my life out of me, he pulls my panties aside and seconds later I feel it, the head of his

dick, teasing my entrance, making sure I am wet enough.

He lines his body a bit to the left and then shoves his dick deep in my cunt.

My breathing slows, as I feel the pinch of pain, the reminder that not so long ago I was a victim by men

who hurt me, the same men Vincent, this man who is on top of me now hunts down, with one ending in

mind, a TORTUROUS death.

That thought powers up the need in me for this man. It erases all the wrongness, the guilt, it erases

everything besides the freeing feeling of power as he thrust into me.

Vincent glides his dick hitting the walls of my cunt, some of that sanity I have lost since my kidnapping

rises in me. With every glide, every pump of his hips a spark of life comes into me. And I have never

felt better than at this moment.

I watch him as my eyes roll backward, so close to passing out from the lack of oxygen he has taken

away.

His own gaze is locked on me, with a malicious smile as he pounds inside me, marking my body.

Obsessing me yet again but in a much different way. Just when I feel like I am going to pass out he

releases my neck, allowing my chest to expand as I suck in deep pulls of oxygen, he is relentless,

pounding me harder.

Then it comes. They say addiction is one's downfall. You only need one hit. One good solid hit to feel

that high, and I get it, as my body contracts, crying out as an orgasm I have never felt before rushes

through me, from out of nowhere.

He moans as my cunt convulses around his dick, pulsating in this new high I've just experienced.

Thrusting three more times in me, he comes with a groan. I feel it and watch his mouth part and it is in

this moment, something akin to addiction for him locks tightly within my soul.

And that part of me whispers, God help me, forgive me for I have sinned.

It was the first time Vincent Stone took my body and it wouldn't be the last. I was once again obsessed

with him, only this time I was on fire. My obsession wasn't stemmed from love, it was my desire to feel

something. His touch became my drug, as he became my owner. I was stuck in a maze and I didn't

want to think too much about the consequences. Sometimes a robotic version of yourself is the only

way to survive and that is what I became. But even then, one goes through stages of healing, I was in

the denial stage, soon will be my destruction.