That's what he continued to tell himself, though the sight of her in a long, oversized shirt did things to his body, waking him from the slumber he usually found himself in.
At the sound of the door clicking in place, she turned, gasping as she took in his appearance.
He knew he looked good and that she liked what she saw, which only increased the size of his ego as he saw the clear signs of arousal in her eyes.
She stood up, her long legs bare. Her shirt barely reached her ass, and he noted a blush staining her features as she tugged on the hem, trying to cover herself.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in a breathless voice, not daring to meet his eyes.
She was shy. He knew that. She was even shyer in his presence, a fact which he enjoyed tremendously because it spoke of how much he affected her.
"We need to talk," he snarled. Tugging on his leather gloves, he let them fall as he strode towards her.
She whipped her head up, her eyes widening in worry as she regarded him, her teeth slightly grazing her bottom lip. She looked like a fucking temptress and he found himself growing harder by the second. He liked the look of fear on her—it fed his inner demons in a way nothing else could.
"What…what happened?" She stammered ever so slightly, backing away from him.
In two steps he was in front of her, his hand on her jaw as he gripped tightly, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"I saw the picture," was all he said and her eyes immediately widened with awareness.
"It wasn't…it wasn't what it looked like. They were just making fun of me," she whispered, looking down.
"Making fun of you?" He asked skeptically. She nodded, her lips trembling.
"Tell me," he commanded her, and she did.
She recounted how she was known as the loner at her school. That some of the girls had wanted to make fun of her by having someone pay attention to her and then humiliating her in front of the entire school.
"What did they say?" He asked, a sudden tick in his jaw at the mental image she was painting.
"That I was pathetic and that no guy would ever be truly interested in me," she sighed.
The more she talked, the more he understood what it had all been about, and for a moment he felt a sliver of guilt make its way into his chest at the fact that he had been the one to turn her into an outsider at her school. But he shoved it away. He didn't do guilt, just like he didn't do any type of emotions—except for anger. Anger was always good.
"Don't mind them, pet. You know you have me," he cooed in that sweet voice of his, a stark contrast to the tone he'd used when he'd first walked through the door. But seeing that his pet was only the victim of a malicious prank, he couldn't exactly find fault with her.
He smiled at himself. He was nothing if not magnanimous. And his mood improved considerably the more he heard her talk about the bullying that went on at her school, and how now, more than ever, he was her safe space.
It was what he'd wanted from the beginning.
And because his anger was slowly melting away, he decided he wasn't going to be too tough on those kids either. He was going to be just—though that didn't exclude murder. He'd have to think about that in more depth later.
Now? He was in the same room as his pet. Hard. It was only fitting that she'd make it up to him for the upset she'd caused him at thinking she'd allow another to touch her.
"I'm glad to hear that, pet," he told her affectionately, brushing his hand over her soft hair. "Because you'd never do something to hurt me, now, would you? You'd never let another man who is not me touch you, would you?"
"Of course not," she immediately replied, her voice spry, not the dulled one she'd used to recount the incident from school.
Like a flower in spring, she bloomed under his touch, and the more he murmured sweet things to her, the more she purred her approval, almost nestling into him in her desire to get closer to him.
But he couldn't allow that. Not when he found most human touch repugnant. He supposed his pet was the only one whose touch had a little more sweetness than bite, but even that was too much for him.
He gave her a strained smile, slowly disentangling her from him.
"Why don't you show me you're only mine, pet?" He asked, his hands on her shoulders as he pushed her down, her knees hitting the floor.
She peered up at him through her lashes, confusion simmering in those lovely eyes of hers.
He didn't give her the chance to protest—not that she ever would. His hands went to his belt, quickly unbuckling it and taking his rigid erection out, he thrust it into her face.
"Open your mouth," he instructed, his thumb parting her lips as he guided the head of his cock between her lips.
Eyes wide, she did as she was told, opening her mouth wide to take him inside.
He watched through hooded eyes as she started working on his cock, her hands stroking his shaft while her sweet mouth was sucking on the head, her tongue playing with the underside like she knew he liked.
He didn't think he was going to ever tire of this sight—of her on her knees, absolutely at his mercy.
He had never let another this close to him, touching him so intimately. But with her—with her sweet natured submission—he knew there was nothing to worry about. She would do just as he told her, and she'd never push the boundaries.
She was just…perfect.
A sigh escaped his lips as she took him deeper in her mouth, and he placed his hands on her head, guiding her movements. His fingers lodged into her scalp, he tugged at her hair until he was the one controlling her movements, using her mouth as his very own fuck hole—thrusting in and out as he sought his pleasure.
"Relax your throat, pet," he groaned as he hit the back of her throat, the warm heaven of her mouth making him shudder from an onslaught of pleasure.
Holding tight, he started thrusting aggressively into her hole, feeling every inch of that wet cave, but more than anything, enjoying having her at his mercy.
Tears were gathered at the corners of her eyes, spit dripping down her chin, yet she held on. She made not one sound of protest as she received his entire length—gagging loudly but still not trying to get away.
He closed his eyes, reveling in those sounds of distress that escaped her, the way he knew he could choke her to death with his dick and she wouldn't protest.
"Fuck," he cursed out as he felt himself near completion, his balls tightening before he released his hot seed into her waiting mouth.
He held her tightly, her lips near the base of his shaft as he shot his cum straight down her throat. Only when the last tremors had subsided did he let go, hearing a deep intake of breath as his pet struggled for air.
"Good girl," he praised, patting her on her head. He quickly tucked himself in his pants, his eyes still on her small form on the floor.
She looked so tiny, so helpless. It would be so easy to kill her… Sometimes, visions of her lifeless body plagued his mind, and he didn't know whether it was his subconscious telling him he should kill her sooner rather than later, or just his ever-at-work mind trying to prevent that in order to complete his plans for revenge.
She brought her hand to her mouth, wiping the remnants of saliva and cum from her lips, her eyes big and innocent as she gazed up at him.
Fuck, but he could feel himself growing hard again. It was always her eyes. The way she looked at him as if he was her everything—as if he could take on the world for her, and win.
He'd never reacted to a woman like that in his life—to anyone. Before, even getting an erection had been out of question. The only way he'd ever gotten hard had been by mentally willing himself to do it, a fuck you to the world and what it had taken from him.
But with her? His body had stirred from the beginning, her innocence calling to him in a peculiar manner, making him want to preserve it and defile it at the same time. Even now, as he stared at her, the decision was still pending.
He'd defiled her alright. He'd made her his whore, and he wasn't ashamed of that—because she was only his. Despite the things he'd made her do, despite the humiliations he'd put her through, there was still a glaring, almost intoxicating innocence to her that had nothing to do with her physical purity.
It was all in her eyes—in that trusting way she gazed upon him. For all her anger at the world and her abandonment issues, there was a purity to her soul that couldn't be erased by anything—not even by his debasing touch.
He was perplexed. He was amazed. He was pissed.
He alternated between yearning for that purity of hers and wishing he could destroy it once and for all, step on it—step on her—until there was nothing else left of her.
Nothing.
His lip twitched the more he studied her, an ugly desire to see her battered and bleeding rearing its head.
"Do you love me, pet?" He asked, stooping down on his haunches, finally on eye level with her.
She gave a tentative nod, blinking as she gazed at him in confusion.
"You'd do anything to make me happy, wouldn't you?" He continued, his fingers on her jaw as he stroked her soft skin.
Another nod.
His smile widened.
"Good," he purred, removing a knife from his jacket.
Her eyes widened when she saw the blade, and she instinctively moved back. He didn't let her retreat, though, his hand still holding tightly on to her jaw.
"Shh," he murmured, placing the blade at her throat and tracing it down her skin. He could see her pulse hammer against the column of her throat, her terror unmistakable.
He inhaled deeply, the scent of her fear so alluring and oh, so arousing. "I need to put my claim on you, love," he cooed, bringing his face close to hers and nuzzling her cheek. "What better way to show you're taken than by having me with you at all times?" he whispered in her ear, his hot breath fanning on her skin and melting some of her apprehensions away.
"What do you mean?" She asked in a small voice.
"You'll see. Don't you trust me?"
"Of course," she replied right away, confirming the fact that for all her fear, she'd never turn away from him—never.
A twisted smile pulled at his lips, the satisfaction he felt at knowing he owned her even more potent than his orgasm.
"Good," he rumbled, leaning back and taking her hand.
Before she could realize what he was trying to do, he ran the blade in the middle of her palm, the sharp edge cutting deep into her skin. Blood immediately started pouring out, and he was quick to remove the other items from his jacket—something he'd bought just for her.
"What…" she trailed off as her eyes zeroed in on the small vials.
He popped off the cap on one, bringing it under her palm and filling half of it with her blood. He repeated the action with the second bottle, before he finally let go of her hand.
She grabbed it to her chest, holding it up and staring at the blood still pouring from the wound, her lashes coated with unshed tears.
"Look at me," he commanded, and she did—she was nothing if not obedient.
He raised the knife, bringing it against his own palm as he cut across it, red liquid reaching the surface as the blade ripped through his skin.
Her eyes were fixed on his new wound, watching his every move as he took the vials and poured his own blood into them, filling them to the brim before popping the lid back on.
She blinked in confusion, and before she knew it, he reached for her once more, his palm on top of hers, blood on top of blood.
"We're one now, pet. Don't you see it?" He asked in a sultry voice, urging her to look at the place where their blood mingled. He pressed his palm against hers, smearing his blood against her own.
"Yes," she answered softly, a look of wonder on her face.
"And this," he waved the vials. "You're going to carry this with you everywhere. Is that clear?"
She nodded vigorously, finally understanding the complexity of what he'd done, her eyes already greedily eating up the vial and the prospect of having his very essence with her at all times.
"You'll…" she trailed off, wetting her lips as she gained the courage to ask the question. "You'll wear mine too?"
"It's ours," he corrected. "It's our mixed blood. This way you have me, and I have you," he gave her one of his charming smiles, watching in satisfaction as she practically purred when he placed the vial on a makeshift necklace, tying it around her neck. She was on the verge of swooning when he did the same with his own.
When they were done, without even thinking, he brought her hand to his mouth, swirling his tongue across her cut, licking what remained of her blood and marveling at the metallic yet slightly sweet taste of her.
That ugly part of him that wanted to see her destroyed was momentarily appeased—the blood a temporary offering.
And as he watched the vial of blood against her pearly white skin, he couldn't help the way pride swelled in his chest that now she'd be carrying him around everywhere.
He was, quite possibly, even more enamored of his own vial. Because it was proof that he owned his toy and that she was his—and only his.
Anyone who'd see it hanging around his neck would recognize the mark of ownership.
He knew to her it must seem the height of romanticism to wear their combined blood around his neck, but her mind was too simplistic to understand the bigger picture—the fact that this was proof of his impending vengeance.
Proof of his success.
He smiled to himself as he held her half-heartedly, allowing her some of his body heat while still keeping a distance for his own comfort.
Soon.
Soon, both her and her family would pay for what they did.
Very soon.
But first, he needed to deal with his brother.