Page 512 of Lessons in Cruelty

I wince the moment she shows me her teeth because I know what’s coming.

Not me.

Not yet.

If she keeps up this experimentation of hers, maybe never.

But even as I’m wincing, I give her the smallest nod, and she takes that as permission to slowly drag her teeth over the head of my dick.

“Fuuuck,” I groan, my entire body clenching as I try not to pull away.

She glides her tongue over the spot, and my muscles melt. Another scrape of her teeth, making everything tense at the delicious agony, then a slow lick.

Ten seconds later, I’m shuddering from head to toe.

“Stop,” I manage through clenched teeth, not sure if I’m grimacing with pain or pleasure.

She obeys, but only because she’s grown bored with that experiment.

Phase two involves her spitting on her hand before she massages my balls, alternating between soft squeezes and dragging her short nails over my scrotum.

But only with one hand.

The other she keeps clamped over my dick, ever so slowly sliding her fingers up and down my length.

I’m fighting valiantly not to go into full-body convulsions, but the odd shudder and shake still make their way through. Haven watches me with zealous ferocity, especially when precum leaks out of the slit in my dick.

I don’t bother holding back the groan when her hot, wet mouth closes over my crown and sucks me deeper inside.

But hesitantly. Cautious, even as her tongue swirls against my shaft.

“Jesus,” I mutter, one of only two words in my current vocabulary.

She was innocent. She was always fucking innocent.

I’ve been an asshole to her since she got to Agony Hollow College, thinking she deserved nothing less, but all this time I’ve been wrong. This whole time, I’ve been calling her a whore, pushing her buttons, slut-shaming her like I needed her to want anyone but me.

How am I supposed to fix something like that?

Can I even fix it?

I could eat her pussy for every time I called her a whore. If she’s into that, of course. But I’d enjoy it too much, so it wouldn’t be punishment.

I could let her slap me. Or punch me. She seemed to like it earlier, when she was trying to end me with her fucking Activity Log.

I can’t stop shaking—even now, I can feel my cock twitching as she strokes me—but it’s not just the pleasure wrecking me.

All this time, I’ve been wrong.

Dead fucking wrong.

Guilt digs at me, threatening to overwhelm the pleasure, the lust, the deep-seated need I have to come.

Because it’s too late.

I’ve dug myself a hole so deep, who the fuck knows if I’ll ever be able to crawl out?

Every cruel word I’ve ever said to her crashes through my mind. Every time I called her a slut, every time I made her feel like dirt—and she was innocent the whole fucking time.