𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 [𝟏𝟖+] ✓

15

Her frown deepened. "Why would he hate you for that? You didn't cook it."

"It's an eternal mystery, Spitfire," I replied, squeezing her upper arm. She shifted in my lap, unconsciously grinding her arse against my dick. "We have to go somewhere. Show yourself out."

And he did without questioning my words.

"Why did you fire me? It was my dream job." Her focus shifted to me.

Keeping her in the dark would've been easy if I didn't need her trust, but I did, so I told her the truth. "To keep your head intact, I needed to isolate you from me. And I didn't let you work."

"He sent someone to rape me. He wants me dead. You shouldn't have saved me-"

"No, you won't talk anymore. Nothing will happen to this..." I tapped on the pulse on her wrist. "On my watch."

"Will you come with me?" Fear circled her eyes. Today was her friend's funeral. While I had tried to stop her, she insisted I let her go. Of course, I won't let her go alone.

"I will."

Gazing at her dark blue knee-length frock, I reminded her, running my fingertips on her kneecaps. "The theme is black, Spitfire."

"I'll change into one," she uttered, voice too low. Her stance was coiled, her hands were shaking, and I recognised the signs of her mental breakdown. Raising to my feet, I trailed after her. She managed to make it to her bedroom, open the wardrobe door, and throw a few dresses away before she sank to the floor, breaking into tears.

"I can't find it. The dress..."

Kneeling beside her, I pulled her closer, and she latched onto my shirt, burying her face in my neck, soaking the garment with tears. Like every other time, I drew circles on her back, cajoling her and soothing her.

"Spitfire,"

"It should have been me." Her voice hit an octave, the trembling intensified, and I held her as she let it all out. I didn't know if this would last for minutes or hours, but if crying and weeping could help her piece herself back to normalcy, then so be it.

I threw in comforting words now and then, knowing how much those words helped her the past few days before I started asking her about the Beatles, diverting her attention to something else.

"I'm a horrible friend," she whispered when the last of her tears left her wrung out. Rising to my feet, I extended her a hand and helped her stand. Tracking the dress she had thrown away before in panic, I picked it from the floor. She frowned. "I- I couldn't find it."

How would she do it if she kept drifting into a pit of guilt all the time?

Wordlessly, I closed her bedroom door and came back to her. Unzipping her blue frock, I pushed it down, revealing her body in only a pair of black panties and a bra. Goosebumps coated her skin, and a blush tainted her cheeks. Her eyes flared with the desire as though to feel the glide of my cock through her wet pussy. Her chest heaved and my blood pounded with the awareness of her pebbling nipples.

Our breath mingled in the proximity, heating the space between us, crackling the air with energy. Desire fired through my veins and I was tempted to descend my mouth on hers, sweep my tongue over hers in sheer dominance, and pull a moan from her which would go straight to my blood and simmer it until lust was a wildfire thawing my icy resolution. But she was broken, and I didn't prey on the broken.

Before she could protest, I pulled the black dress down her body, making sure it fit her properly, from the curves of her breasts to the slope of her waist and the span of her hips.