16. Luke

The message comesthrough like a fucking siren call. Part of me knows I should ignore it, delete it, forget it ever happened. But that part is overridden by something else entirely—something dark and hungry. Victoria’s got her hooks in deep, and she plays this game like she’s been born to it.

I glance around the empty room, lit only by the glow of my multiple monitors. Cian is still downstairs, drowning himself in a bottle of aged scotch. I’ve always prided myself on control, on unwavering loyalty. But staring at that square message, I feel it all dissolve in an instant. Whatever it is, she has planned this to tease me, torment me, and she wants me to experience this with Cian in the room.

Silence wraps around me like a cloak as I make a decision that could wreck everything.

Heading for the stairs, I take them steadily and stride into the living room, where Cian is slumped in his favourite armchair, bottle in hand.

“Any left?”

“Help yourself,” he slurs and hands it to me, half full.

I gulp back a couple of mouthfuls and hand it back to him, dropping my ass on the couch adjacent to his chair.

My hands are steady as I pull up the video, ensuring the sound is off.

The footage slithers into view—Victoria in the shower, water sluicing over her skin like liquid sin—but she is barely seen, hidden by the shower’s frosted door, with only her curves on display.

My cock springs into action, desperate to slide into her and I swallow back the groan.

I watch it once. Twice. Fuck—three times. Each viewing etches it deeper into my mind until it’s all I can see when I close my eyes. It’s not just arousal that courses through me; it’s power—the power she’s giving me, the power to look but not touch.

And isn’t that the sweetest torture of all?

I type out a simple response, because that’s all I can manage without betraying the storms raging inside me. My fingers slip on the screen, almost slick with the intensity of my need.

Watching. Always watching you.

I lock the phone and shove it in my pocket, trying to get a grip on my racing pulse. Cian is oblivious, his eyes glassy from the alcohol and whatever else he’s been drowning in tonight. The day’s chaos is a distant memory now, buried under layers of intoxication and despair.

He doesn’t see it—the conflict in me or the silent message vibrating in my pocket like a goddamn lifeline.

I know what I should do and who I should be loyal to. But Victoria is fire, and I’m drawn to her blaze like a moth hell-bent on self-destruction.

I stand up abruptly. “I’m gonna turn in.”

Cian just waves me off, and I escape to my room, where I can finally breathe. But even here, alone in the dark, there’s no peace. Victoria has seen to that.

She is skewing reality until I don’t know what the fuck I’m playing at anymore.

I pull the phone out and check the message. It’s another video, but there are no words this time.

Pressing play, I nearly drop the phone as I see her fingering her pussy, bringing herself to a cataclysmic orgasm quickly. I turn the sound up, just enough to be able to hear her moans when I replay it. Unzipping my pants, I pull my cock out and watch her again jerking off with a low grunt. Tearing my eyes from her, I grab my iPad and set it up to record me jerking off while I’m watching her rub one out. Fuck. This is so fucked up but so hot, I can’t stop.

Tugging roughly, fisting my cock harshly as I watch her fingers teasing her slippery clit, I cum with a ragged breath, splatting the hot jets over the bed covers. The tension in my body releases in an explosion of white-hot pleasure that leaves me rasping for air. My mind is a fucking war zone—guilt, desire, loyalty, betrayal—they all blend together into an intoxicating twister that I can’t seem to refuse.

But right now, I shove all of that aside, as there is only the depraved satisfaction that consumes me entirely as I pick up the iPad and send the message to Victoria without a second thought. The video should never see the light of day; it’s ammunition that could be used against me in so many bloody ways. But now it’s just her and me and this sick game we’re playing across the digital void.

I lie back, breathing heavily, feeling equal parts spent and wired. The reality of the situation sinks in. The weight of what I’ve done—and what I’m risking—presses down on me with no mercy.

Cian’s girl. His fucking life; the one he would literally die for, and here I am, jerking off to a video of my best friend’s girl masturbating just for me. If loyalty had a grave, I’d be dancing on it right now.

The phone buzzes again, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it. But like a junkie, I can’t help myself—I need to see her response. Climbing on the bed, I gulp and open it.

Nice show, but next time, make sure you scream my name.

Her audacity makes me laugh—a low, humourless sound that echoes around my empty room. She’s pushing the boundaries further than they’ve ever been pushed before. And as fucked up as it is, I can’t deny that part of me loves it.

I text back, the words forming without thought. Next time you’ll be here to make me.

Tossing the phone aside, sickened by how much control she has over me now, I turn off the lights and try to sleep, try to forget her moans, her name—the way she commanded me even without saying a single fucking word. But it’s impossible. Victoria’s under my skin, in my head, everywhere.