wobbles on her feet, wings limp and glowing pink. Her swollen lips twinkle into a rosy giggle. “Naughty boy.”
“Bitch.” He dresses himself, spitting as his fingers slide in fluid not his own. Her fruity scent drenches his clothes, her clawmarks on his shoulders stinging like guilt.
She’s not Rosa. None of them ever will be. Rosa’s gone.
All that’s left is vengeance. Trickify the DiLucas, seduce Mina away so Joey’s weak and ripe for a killing. Get rid of Ange. And then Diamond will own the world and nothing will ever hurt him again.
To be untouchable, he has to win. It’s the only way.
Disgust clenches his guts to obsidian, and he sweeps his hair over his shoulder in a shining rainbow and stalks away to lie to Angelo.
Vincent slouches against the glass wall in scarlet-drenched shadow, sourness festering in his mouth, and watches his girlfriend fuck another guy.
Diamond’s doing her against the mirrors, her long green legs folded around him, her glowing wings splayed behind her. His massive arms bunch and relax as he grips her bare bottom, and he flexes those powerful thighs, thrusting deep and hard. She comes, her luscious mouth shuddering open, and a second or two later, Diamond’s right there with her.
Humiliation scrapes like potato chips in Vincent’s throat, and he cracks his head back against the mirror, his heart raw and bleeding and his cock aching hard.
Music rips his ears, some skinny blond waif screaming jagged melody. The hatred in the singer’s voice crackles painfully along his spine, a side effect of his accidental faetalent, and he knows he deserves the discomfort. He’d only slipped back here to spy on Mina. But if you slink around in corners, you might see something you don’t like. No mystery where Diamond’s getting his sneaky information now.
Diamond lets Flora slide to the floor and jerks away on impatient glass wings. No kiss. No caresses. Not even a thank-you. Vincent slams sticky palms hard against the mirror. Fucking prick.
Flora straightens her dress with a wicked smile and walks off, her skin flushed and damp, her guilty wings swelling pink. She’s even wincing as she moves, her step awkward like it hurts. Vincent’s throat swells. He’s been tempted by others. Almost succumbed a few times. Flirts like a whore, always has. But he’s never actually cheated, not on Flora, and she looks far too pleased with herself for this to be the first time.
Not that it’s a fucking surprise, or anything.
After all, she’s a fairy, dazzling and magical, sweetly crazy under that tricksy glamour, and Diamond is a fairy god, hot and male and stunningly, unapproachably beautiful.
Vincent’s just a pale, ordinary, boring human, stumbling starry-eyed through a seductive shadow world where he neither belongs nor measures up.
He swallows bitter inevitability and turns away, shouldering through the faebright crowd toward the bar. A gift, they reckon, the trick of seeing past fairy glamour, and he should be grateful because not many pathetic humans can.
Gift. That’s a good one. More like a curse, this constant acidscratch reminder of his own mediocrity.
He flings himself onto a stool and slouches his elbows on the glowing white bar. The cute blond guy pours him a bourbon and Coke, and the alcohol glitters warm and dangerous on his tongue. Bitterness twists his heart, and to amuse himself he flicks through his phone for the sneaky photo he took of Mina and Diamond and texts it to Joey’s number.
That’ll learn the snarky glass-ass fucker. They’re only talking, but Joey won’t know that, and Diamond’s long knuckles on her cheek look intimate enough.
It doesn’t. Amuse him, that is. Remorse scrapes him raw, but too late. He can’t unsend it. And he can’t stop seeing them together, his apparently ex-girlfriend and Diamond. Glowing glass hair tangled damp on her shoulder, her petalpink lips swollen open, her bared nipples hard and wet with sharp-toothed fairy kisses.
“Bitch.” He dresses himself, spitting as his fingers slide in fluid not his own. Her fruity scent drenches his clothes, her clawmarks on his shoulders stinging like guilt.
She’s not Rosa. None of them ever will be. Rosa’s gone.
All that’s left is vengeance. Trickify the DiLucas, seduce Mina away so Joey’s weak and ripe for a killing. Get rid of Ange. And then Diamond will own the world and nothing will ever hurt him again.
To be untouchable, he has to win. It’s the only way.
Disgust clenches his guts to obsidian, and he sweeps his hair over his shoulder in a shining rainbow and stalks away to lie to Angelo.
Vincent slouches against the glass wall in scarlet-drenched shadow, sourness festering in his mouth, and watches his girlfriend fuck another guy.
Diamond’s doing her against the mirrors, her long green legs folded around him, her glowing wings splayed behind her. His massive arms bunch and relax as he grips her bare bottom, and he flexes those powerful thighs, thrusting deep and hard. She comes, her luscious mouth shuddering open, and a second or two later, Diamond’s right there with her.
Humiliation scrapes like potato chips in Vincent’s throat, and he cracks his head back against the mirror, his heart raw and bleeding and his cock aching hard.
Music rips his ears, some skinny blond waif screaming jagged melody. The hatred in the singer’s voice crackles painfully along his spine, a side effect of his accidental faetalent, and he knows he deserves the discomfort. He’d only slipped back here to spy on Mina. But if you slink around in corners, you might see something you don’t like. No mystery where Diamond’s getting his sneaky information now.
Diamond lets Flora slide to the floor and jerks away on impatient glass wings. No kiss. No caresses. Not even a thank-you. Vincent slams sticky palms hard against the mirror. Fucking prick.
Flora straightens her dress with a wicked smile and walks off, her skin flushed and damp, her guilty wings swelling pink. She’s even wincing as she moves, her step awkward like it hurts. Vincent’s throat swells. He’s been tempted by others. Almost succumbed a few times. Flirts like a whore, always has. But he’s never actually cheated, not on Flora, and she looks far too pleased with herself for this to be the first time.
Not that it’s a fucking surprise, or anything.
After all, she’s a fairy, dazzling and magical, sweetly crazy under that tricksy glamour, and Diamond is a fairy god, hot and male and stunningly, unapproachably beautiful.
Vincent’s just a pale, ordinary, boring human, stumbling starry-eyed through a seductive shadow world where he neither belongs nor measures up.
He swallows bitter inevitability and turns away, shouldering through the faebright crowd toward the bar. A gift, they reckon, the trick of seeing past fairy glamour, and he should be grateful because not many pathetic humans can.
Gift. That’s a good one. More like a curse, this constant acidscratch reminder of his own mediocrity.
He flings himself onto a stool and slouches his elbows on the glowing white bar. The cute blond guy pours him a bourbon and Coke, and the alcohol glitters warm and dangerous on his tongue. Bitterness twists his heart, and to amuse himself he flicks through his phone for the sneaky photo he took of Mina and Diamond and texts it to Joey’s number.
That’ll learn the snarky glass-ass fucker. They’re only talking, but Joey won’t know that, and Diamond’s long knuckles on her cheek look intimate enough.
It doesn’t. Amuse him, that is. Remorse scrapes him raw, but too late. He can’t unsend it. And he can’t stop seeing them together, his apparently ex-girlfriend and Diamond. Glowing glass hair tangled damp on her shoulder, her petalpink lips swollen open, her bared nipples hard and wet with sharp-toothed fairy kisses.
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