Fable of Happiness (Fable #2) by Pepper Winters

But it could be faked.

She could be playing you for a fool—

I snapped upright.

My nausea vanished.

So what?

So what if she did? So what if I stumbled right into her game?

At least, I could find some smidgen of happiness along the way. I could enjoy a few soft touches, a couple of calm moments from the shitstorm of my mind.

I suddenly didn’t care.

So what if it was all a sham? So what if this was her delivering the worst agony of my life? By the time she twisted the knife in so deep I finally figured out her intention, it would be too late.

It was already too late.

Turning slowly, I caught her wrist as her hand fell away from my back. Not looking up, I focused on her elegant fingers as I twined them with mine. I did something as innocent as hold her hand, yet it gave me a deeper satisfaction than driving hard inside her.

She gasped as I brought her knuckles to my lips and kissed the delicate skin covering them. She shivered as I grazed my mouth over each, worshiping, memorizing, angling her hand until her fingers went taut.

I slowly inserted her middle one into my mouth.

“Oh,” she breathed.

She surprised both of us by almost collapsing to her knees.

I lashed out with my broken arm, catching her before she tumbled. My teeth caught on her fingernail before sucking it back onto my tongue. I flinched against the throbbing in my injured arm.

She cried out as I clutched her close, trembling as her perfect body pressed against mine. But that wasn’t right. She wasn’t perfect. She was skinnier than when she’d first arrived.

Because of me.

Because I’d not given her the nutrition she needed—both physical and emotional. I’d failed her all while she’d been kind enough to forgive me.

If this was the woman who would eventually make me pay for all my sins, I would gladly bow at her feet. I would idolize her until the day she destroyed me.

Running my tongue around her finger, I dared to look into her eyes. I braced myself to see conniving manipulation, to witness the truth that she wasn’t overcome by my mouth but merely feigning desire.

But her eyes glossed with heat. They positively burned with need. Desire like that couldn’t be counterfeit...surely. Her little pants and pebbled nipples couldn’t be fabricated if she hated me as much as I feared.

I sucked harder, tasting her skin, cleaning her of all my wrongdoings. Her eyes snapped closed as she swayed into me. Her skin flushed with fire, burning me up, making me hard, causing whispers of lust to curl through my mind.

I could have her again.

I didn’t think she’d deny me this time.

It could be mutual.

It could be good.

It could be explosive and intoxicating and yet another arrow through my heart.

“Kas...” she moaned as I slowly licked my way to the tip of her finger and blew on the wetness left behind.

And I knew what I could give her to equal what she’d given me.

She’d given me a release.

She didn’t have the same affliction that I did. I could leave her be, and she could satisfy herself. But...I also had the skills in which to break her apart for a change. I’d been well trained. Well disciplined.

I could apologize in so many sexual ways.

But first, I needed her clean. I needed to cleanse her of the dirt I’d left on her and the cum I’d spilled inside. That orgasm had been full of shame and heavy guilt. I wanted her free of it. Just like I wanted to be free of everything that’d made me into the bastard who’d raped her.

Her eyes flickered open as I pressed a final kiss to the tip of her finger and let her hand drop to her side.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I didn’t deserve to touch her. I was beneath her in so many awful ways, but I didn’t have the power to stay away. If she gave me permission to apologize tonight, then I would do whatever she commanded.

She blinked, still hazy with want.

I found pride in that. Pride that I’d made her drunk just by sucking on her finger. Proud that, regardless of her threat that I was doomed the moment I entered her body, I’d somehow made her feel a tenth of the lust I suffered.

And also proud that she kept using my name, regardless of my orders for her not to. She’d ignored me. She’d been brave enough to ignore me. And in that, she fully deserved to use it.

“I know you aren’t looking for my permission—especially after what I did—but...I want you to know, I—” I cleared my throat, finding it harder than expected to say such simple things. But that was because they weren’t simple. This wasn’t just me allowing her to use my name. A slave name that labeled me as a belonging, a piece of trash, a toy to be used and discarded, but I was effectively giving myself over to her.

I was giving her the right to own me. To summon me. To use me however she liked.

“I’d be honored if you use my name, even if it isn’t my real one. After what you did for me tonight...” I coughed again, unable to get rid of the lump in my throat. “For you to welcome me inside you after I—”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to—”

“No, we do.” I slashed the air with my broken arm. “I don’t care what drove you to do it. I don’t care if you hate me, and it was a ruse to make me fall. I—”

“What?” she scowled. “A ruse? There was no ruse. What are you saying—”