Page 91 of Make You Beg

But I do not remember anywhere during that night walking into her room, stealing her USB, and copying the clip file into it just in time for her class demonstration.

There’s no point in telling Maddy—she doesn’t want to hear from me. She doesn’t like it when I’m nice to her. It’s the dark side of me she’s attracted to—the one who treats her like dirt and does even dirtier things to her.

My father won’t listen to me. He never does. He doesn’t ask my opinion about things; he does whatever the fuck he wants. Which is why I don’t try to fix things. I accept that both Madelyn and I got suspended and that she wants nothing to do with me.

I may be a monster, I won’t deny that—but I’m not the monster who did that.

You did, a little voice whispers in my head. It’s all your fault.

“Fuck off,” I hiss, willing it to shut off. “Unless you have the solution to my problems, shut the fuck up.”

And it does, my mind gradually settles as I come to terms with the idea that this time off will be perfect for us.

We don’t get along—but we’re fabulous at making each other come.

We’ll have all the time in the world to focus on that now that we’re suspended.

Maybe that’s all we need from each other.

Sooner or later, she’ll realize it, too.

She’ll beg for more, crawl back to me. I’ll bend her to my will.

She can fight all she wants, but she doesn’t stand a chance against me.

My mind’s going wild, stuck between four walls, and it goes to very dark places.

All the fun and games inside me are cut short by a stupid family dinner.

I slam my hand on the table, making it vibrate.

It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those. We’ve all been way too busy with our shit.

I guess it is coming full circle, there’s a feeling of something ending—and it’s ending the way it started all those years ago. With us around a table, having a meal.

“Can we eat already?” I ask, gripping a knife and fork in each of my hands.

Mashed potatoes and steak are served in front of us.

Courtesy of none other than Miranda, the chef of our house.

“Put the cutlery down, Kayden,” my father says. “We are here to talk.”

Madelyn is sitting next to me, the last thing she wants.

That’s why I do it, because I love seeing her squirm.

Setting the cutlery down, I hang one arm to my side and the other on her leg, my fingers tracing lines along her knee.

She startles and tries to move aside, but I wrap my palm around her thigh.

She’s wearing an awfully short pink skirt today, along with a long-sleeved cream blouse that’s tight on her tits.

She’s well aware of my admiration for her body, and I suspect she’s trying to break me.

I enjoy my little foreplay as my father speaks.

My eyes alternate between Madelyn’s narrowed ones and my father’s.