Pet: A Dark Menage Romance

Her face blanched when she heard that. I’d known about her boyfriend fucking our other roommate for weeks now.

“Too bad he couldn’t have me,” I finished. “He did try, you know. Told me my pussy would be so much sweeter than yours.”

I remembered the night he got drunk as fuck, making a move on me in the kitchen. Fucking prick. They deserved each other.

“Get the fuck OUT!” Veronica screamed at me.

“Bye, honey,” I smiled wide. “Hope you like tasting your best friend’s cunt on your boyfriend’s cock!”EightKingI didn’t want to think about her. Didn’t want to spend a single minute worrying about getting her back, because I knew I would, eventually.

But the girl had a way of sneaking up on me when I was least expecting it. My thoughts were all of her, my mouth alive with her lingering flavor. It had only been a few hours, but I wanted her back. Back in my apartment, back in my life. Legs spread, mouth open, begging for more. I knew my resolve was weakening, and I knew the clock was ticking.

I made some calls to find out more about her. They said her name was Veronica, which definitely sounded more mundane than the name she had given me. I made sure she got her job back, knowing I’d fucked up back there. And then I went about my day. Work shit took up hours at a time, and when my driver took me back home that night, I was fucking exhausted.

My phone rang as I walked through the door, and my heart lurched when I saw unknown number flashing across the screen. I picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” I barked into the phone.

“Is this… Mr. King?”

The voice wasn’t hers, but it was a woman. A sugary-sweet woman who was already annoying the shit out of me without doing much of anything.

“Yes,” I said. “Who am I speaking to?”

“My name is Veronica Campbell,” she purred. “I think there’s been a bit of a confusion at my workplace.”

I raised my eyebrows as I poured myself a drink. “What makes you say that, Miss Campbell?”

“Well…” She sighed dramatically. “I trusted a friend of mine to work my shift last night, and it appears she took advantage of that in the worst possible way. I just wanted to call and thank you for getting me my job back.”

I waited for more, sensing her getting more and more uncomfortable on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke up again.

“I was hoping I could thank you in person?” she asked sweetly.

I could practically smell her desperation through my phone.

“And why would I want that, Miss Campbell?” I asked her and she giggled nervously.

“Well, I’m sure I could think of plenty of reasons…” Her voice was flirty.

“Where is she?” I interrupted her.

“Where’s who?”

“Sapphire.” It felt weird saying her name. “Is she with you right now?”

“No,” she replied in a clipped tone. “I made her leave. I can’t have people like that around me.”

“You made her leave?” I slammed my glass on the bar. “Where did she go?”

“How should I know?” she said, now obviously irritated I wasn’t giving her the attention she so badly wanted. “I told her to leave. She left all her shit here, too.”

“You need to tell me where you think she went,” I told her.

“What’s in it for me?”

Stupid calculating bitch.

“Miss Campbell,” I replied as nicely as I could. “Tell me where you think your friend has gone, or I will make certain you’re unemployable in this entire state.”

She went quiet, but finally spoke up, her voice trembling.

“She might be in her favorite coffee place, Beans. But I don’t know.”

“Any other places you can think of?”

“Maybe the library… I… I don’t know.”

“Thanks for your help, Miss Campbell.”

“Wait!”

“What?” She was really getting on my nerves now.

“You’re not going to get me in trouble at work, are you?”

“Let’s wait and see,” I said, and ended the call.

I poured myself another drink and downed it in a single gulp. The blazer went back on and I found the directions to Beans on my phone. Closed. The library too, probably. So where the hell could she be?

I drove my own car that night, and instinctively ended up at the gallery where I’d met her. Something told me she’d be waiting, and she was.

A small, vulnerable little shape was curled up on the sidewalk. She was wearing a hoodie and cut-off denim shorts, curled up so tight it was like she was trying to disappear. Her blonde hair was spilling out from her hood.

I pulled over and left the car running as I got out of it. Three steps and I’d reached her. Two heartbeats and she looked up.

“No,” she said, her voice shaky and sweet.

“Yes,” I said, and offered her my hand.

She stared at me with contempt, and then picked herself up without taking my hand. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her too-pretty-for-her-own-good face looked even younger this way. Her lashes were light, thick and long. Her lips looked better with no lipstick. Her skin was perfect.