Page 172 of I Will Break You

She glances up at me over her shoulder. “Wait?—”

My response is a spank hard enough to make her hiss. Her ass jiggles, so I slap the other cheek, and chuckle as her hips buck.

I reach for the dildo I left on her dressing table and flip open a jar of something creamy.

“Wait,” she says, her voice trembling. “That’s my collagen cream. It’s over two hundred dollars a jar.”

My eyes narrow. “Your virgin asshole deserves only the very best.”

Her jaw clicks shut.

When she doesn’t complain any further, I stick my fingers in the cool substance, scoop out a generous amount, and circle her tight little pucker. “I’m going to stretch your sweet little hole with this cream. Keep it nice and supple for my cock.”

Her breath catches. “I’ve never had anyone else’s fingers up there.”

“But you’ve used the toy?” I ask.

She gives me a shaky nod.

“Did you practice like I told you?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good girl. Then you’ll find my fingers a breeze.”

I slip one lubricated digit through the tight ring of muscle, and it feels like being welcomed home. We both exhale long moans. How many mornings did we spend, miles apart, exchanging this fantasy? How many nights did I picture her trapped against me in this same position? Virtually every single one since I received her letter.

“Greedy little ghost,” I murmur against her cheek. “You’ve been aching for my cock.”

“Let me have it. Please.”

For a single heartbeat, I wonder if I’m standing within the prison’s blind spot with a raging erection and my back turned to the world, imagining I’m with Amethyst. I blink and realize it’s real. I’m out of prison. In her bedroom closet. About to fill her sweet virgin ass.

My finger slides in and out of her greedy little hole and is soon joined by another. Amethyst throws her head back and rolls her hips, desperate for more.

That’s one thing she can’t fake. Her naked desire. Our sexual compatibility. It’s the one raw, unguarded truth between us, a beacon amidst the deceit and betrayal.

But as those tight muscles grip my fingers, a pang of sadness grips my heart. I want Amethyst.

Desperately.

But I can’t trust her, not anymore. The woman I thought I knew, the woman who owned my heart, turned out to be a mirage. And yet, in moments like this, she’s utter perfection, as if the universe made her for me.

My mind drifts back to those sweet mornings, the whispered promises, the dreams we wove of a possible future. I wanted what we had to be real. I wanted to believe in her, in us. But the illusion shattered, leaving only this aching void.

She lied to me, used me, but that doesn’t erase the way her body responds to mine, the way her eyes darken with need.

I shove the sadness aside, burying it deep where it can’t interfere with the here and now. This moment, her vulnerability, her raw desire—are mine.

As much as it hurts, I can’t release this twisted connection. She’s mine, even if she hasn’t realized it yet.

I lean closer, my breath mingling with hers. “Good girl,” I murmur. “You’re taking my fingers so well.”

“More, Xero. I need it.”

I reach around with my other hand to rub her clit, and she’s soaked. “Fuck. Look at the mess you’ve made of my fingers. You’re my perfect little ghost.”

She exhales a strangled moan.