Page 4 of Pride: Kneel Before None

I sauntered past the rows of slot machines, my fingertips skimming across the buttons as I got sporadic and brief glimpses akin to a strobe light in my brain. Seeing which machine was going to strike the jackpot next, I found myself a bit surprised. Most appeared to be duds, more than your usual electronic gaming device. The rumors were turning out to have some merit, as these machines were going to eat far more money than average.

It looked like someone wasn’t being properly audited for proper win/loss ratios.

Tsk, tsk, Sevenfold.

Continuing to casually stroll through the casino, I made it to where the majority of the table games were located, each filled with people eager to lose their hard-earned money.

I paused and watched over a woman’s shoulder as she placed her last chip on the roulette table, opting to bet on the red thirty-six. The familiar tingle came over me again, and for a split second, I felt sorry for her when I foresaw the little white ball barely missing her desired target.

Without saying a word, I walked away to observe the other games being played, only vaguely hearing the roulette attendant shouting ‘black thirteen’ behind me.

Like I said, I’m never wrong. About anything. Especially when it came to money and family.

Seeing someone get up from the blackjack table, I recognized my opportunity to make a mockery of the house odds. I slid into the vacant seat and tossed my money onto the table to be traded in for a precious stack of chips.

Leaning back in the chair, I kept up my air of confidence as I used my mind to get a sneak peek at what was to come. To the other players at the table, I probably looked like a young twenty-something who just came home from a semester at Brimgate University and didn’t know a damn thing about gambling.

My fair skin, which was graced with a splattering of some faint freckles over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, often gave off the illusion that I was innocently gullible.

The way I dressed didn’t exactly give off the impression that I was particularly a high roller or one of Superbia’s class of wealthy snobs either. The skinny blue jeans I wore had a few fashionable tears on the thighs, and my violet cropped tank stopped right at the dip of my waistline, leaving a few inches of my slim stomach exposed. It wasn’t upscale attire, making me stick out like a sore thumb when everyone else looked dressed in their Apocalypse best.

A middle-aged woman with graying hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head sat next to me. The crooked angle of her nose, skin spotted with subtle turquoise splotches, and the scent of seawater wafting off her suggested she was some sort of water creature. She must have been desperate for money if she preferred this desert climate.

The woman looked me up and down before rolling her dull, milky eyes. They widened quickly, however, when I shoved half of my chips into the betting area.

“Oh, honey, you do realize that those are fifty each, right?” she said with pity at the assumption I was making a rookie mistake.

“Oh, really? My mistake!” I pushed all but two of my chips forward to join the rest of my funds. I flashed a cocky smile as I glanced sidelong at her.

The man on the other side of her coughed violently as his beverage went down the wrong pipe in reaction to my bid being carelessly increased.

Not wasting another moment, my talent was put to the test as I opted to hold my cards, which totaled to an abysmal nine.

The dealer unexpectedly busted.

One win for Eve, one loss for Sevenfold.

So much for rumors of terrible odds when it came to little ol’ me, huh?

I continued to work my precognition to my benefit. I won hand after hand, substantially growing my stack of funds.

Somewhere along the way, I felt a strange sensation along the back of my neck. It came off as warm and welcoming, yet underneath that intense and old. It was everywhere and nowhere along my body, like invisible fingers dancing over each and every inch of my flesh and licking deep into the marrow of my bones.

My hand lifted to trace my fingers over the side of my neck, unable to pinpoint the source. Turning my head, I scanned the area around me, but nothing appeared out of the norm. No pervy creepers staring me down or security guards lurking and ready to pitch me to the curb for breaking their silly rules.

But yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of someone’s eyes not just glued to me but sinking deeper past the surface. I had somebody’s attention, and I wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse.

CHAPTER 2

I growled through gritted teeth, “You’re going to take my damn cock like the little whore you are. That’s it, baby, keep stroking me. Show me how much you can take.” The filth continued to pour out of my mouth between each labored breath.

The strained words never graced the ears of my obsession as I stood alone in my shower, my hand furiously working over my raging erection. Every damn stroke sent a surge of pleasure that fed my obsession. It wasn’t just about the feeling itself, it was about her. My fucking goddess that lived to torment my dick from within the deep recesses of my mind.

Feeling myself drawing closer to my release, I braced a hand against the slate wall in front of me. The scalding water beat against my back, the muscles drawn taut from the familiar coil on the verge of snapping.

My eyes remained screwed shut, I needed to latch onto the memory of the way her lips curved, how her fingers traced over my markings, and—fuck—that sound she made that landed somewhere between a gasp and moan.

Crafting my fantasy from memories of my vision, I imagined my Little Spade handling my thick cock. I could almost hear her sinfully sweet sounds inside my head as she cried out my name over and over.