Chapter 72: The Morning After the Claim
The light was a blade.
It cut through the curtains—some crack in the velvet that Hector had missed when he'd drawn them—and landed directly on Veronica's face. She squeezed her eyes shut. Turned her head. The movement sent a spike of pain through her skull, a sharp reminder of the coke and the vodka and the heroin and the hours of fucking.
Her mouth tasted like copper and ash.
Her bladder was a fist.
She tried to move.
Couldn't.
Anna's arm was draped across her chest, heavy and possessive. Her fingers—two of them—were still buried in Veronica's cunt, curled slightly, like they'd found a home there and had no intention of leaving. The sensation was strange. Not painful, exactly. Just... present. A constant, dull pressure that reminded Veronica of everything that had happened the night before.
She shifted her hips.
Anna's fingers curled deeper.
"Don't."
The word was a whisper, barely audible. Anna's eyes were still closed, her breathing slow and even. But her fingers moved—a lazy, deliberate stroke against Veronica's inner wall.
"I have to piss."
"Hold it."
"I can't."
"You can." Anna's voice was thick with sleep, but there was steel underneath. "You're not going anywhere until I say so."
Veronica's bladder throbbed.
"Anna, please—"
"Please what?" Anna's eyes opened. They were glassy, bloodshot, mean. "Please let you go? Please be nice? That's not how this works, pet."
She pulled her fingers out—slow, deliberate—and held them up to the light. They were slick, glistening, coated in Veronica's arousal.
"Look at that."
She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving Veronica's.
"You taste like come and sweat and bad decisions."
Veronica didn't respond.
Anna rolled on top of her.
The weight of her body pressed Veronica into the mattress, the silk sheets sticking to her skin. Anna's hair fell around her face like a curtain, blocking out the light, blocking out everything except her.
"Spread your legs."
"Anna—"
"Spread them."
Veronica spread them.
Anna slid down her body—past her tits, past her stomach, past the nest of damp curls between her thighs. She didn't tease. Didn't warm her up. She just pressed her mouth to Veronica's cunt and started eating.
The first lick was brutal—flat and wide, dragging from her hole to her clit with enough pressure to make Veronica gasp. The second was sharper, the tip of Anna's tongue tracing tight circles around her clit.
"Fuck—"
Anna didn't respond.
She just kept going.
Her mouth was relentless. Her tongue moved in patterns Veronica couldn't predict—fast, then slow, then fast again. She sucked Veronica's clit between her lips and flicked it with the tip of her tongue, and Veronica's hips bucked off the bed.
Anna pinned her down with both hands.
"Stay still."
"I can't—"
"You can." She bit Veronica's inner thigh—hard enough to leave a mark. "Or I'll stop."
Veronica went still.
Anna rewarded her with another long, slow lick.
"You're going to come for me," she said, her breath warm against Veronica's cunt. "You're going to come three times. And then you're going to thank me."
"Three—"
"Three."
She lowered her mouth again.
The first orgasm came fast—too fast. Anna's tongue was merciless, and Veronica's body was already primed from the night before. She came with a choked cry, her hands fisting the sheets, her thighs trembling around Anna's head.
Anna didn't stop.
She kept licking, kept sucking, kept pushing Veronica toward the edge again. The sensitivity was almost unbearable—pleasure bordering on pain—but Anna didn't care. She just kept going, her tongue moving in that same relentless rhythm.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
"It's too much—"
"Too bad."
The second orgasm was harder. Slower. It built in her stomach like a wave, rolling through her body until she was shaking, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
Anna pulled back just enough to watch.
"There she is."
Then she dove back in.
The third orgasm was the worst. Or the best. Veronica couldn't tell anymore. Her body was no longer hers—it was a vessel for pleasure, a thing to be used and used and used until there was nothing left.
When she finally came, it was with a scream that tore through her throat.
Anna pulled away.
Her face was glazed—chin, lips, cheeks all slick with Veronica's come. She looked like a predator who had just finished a meal.
"Good girl."
Veronica couldn't speak.
She could barely breathe.
Hector stirred behind them.
Veronica heard it first—the rustle of sheets, the low grunt of a man waking up. Then his hand found Anna's hip, pulling her back against him.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He looked at Veronica—sprawled on her back, her cunt still glistening, her chest heaving.
"She's dripping."
"I know."
"You make her come three times?"
"Three." Anna grinned. "She begged me to stop."
Hector laughed.
"My future wife always gets what she wants."
Anna climbed up Veronica's body and kissed her—deep, slow, deliberate. Veronica tasted herself on Anna's tongue—bitter and sweet and full of salt.
When Anna pulled back, her eyes were hard.
"From now on," she said, "you come when I say. Only when I say.Understand?"
Veronica nodded.
"Say it."
"I understand."
"Good."
Hector was stroking himself now—slow, lazy pulls, his eyes moving between them.
"Shower," he said. "Both of you."
Anna climbed off the bed.
Veronica tried to follow.
Her legs didn't work.
She fell onto her hands and knees, her arms shaking, her cunt still throbbing with the aftershocks of three orgasms.
"Problem?"
"I can't walk."
"You can crawl."
She crawled.
The bathroom was enormous—marble floors, marble walls, a shower the size of a small room with a rain head that poured water from the ceiling. Steam filled the air, thick and warm and wet.
Anna stepped under the water first.
Veronica followed.
The heat was a shock—almost painful against her raw skin. She stood there, letting the water run over her face, washing away the sweat and the come and the shame.
Anna grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close.
"Clean me."
Veronica didn't understand.
Anna pushed her down—firm, insistent.
Veronica got on her knees.
The tile was cold against her knees, the water hot against her back. Anna stood above her, legs spread, her cunt level with Veronica's face.
"Lick."
Veronica licked.
She ran her tongue along Anna's slit—slow, deliberate, cleaning away the traces of the night before. Anna's fingers tangled in her wet hair, holding her in place.
"Good girl."
Hector stepped into the shower.
Veronica didn't look up. She kept licking—kept cleaning—until Anna pulled her away.
"My turn," Hector said.
He turned Anna around and pushed her against the tile.
The sound of skin on marble was sharp and wet. Anna gasped—her palms flat against the wall, her cheek pressed to the stone, her hips tilted back.
Hector entered her in one smooth thrust.
Veronica stayed on her knees.
She watched—Hector's cock sliding in and out of Anna's ass, his hips slapping against her cheeks, the water streaming down both of them. Anna moaned—low and guttural—and pushed back against him.
"Harder—"
Hector gave her harder.
Veronica's mouth was still wet. Still open. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Hector's balls—soft, tentative, her tongue tracing the skin.
He groaned.
"Good girl. Don't stop."
She didn't.
She kept licking—her mouth moving in rhythm with his thrusts, her tongue tracing patterns along the underside of his cock when he pulled out of Anna's ass, her lips pressing kisses to the inside of his thighs.
Anna came first—her whole body tensing, her nails scraping against the marble, a string of curses falling from her lips.
Hector followed.
He pulled out and came across Anna's ass—thick white ropes that dripped down her cheeks and mixed with the water swirling into the drain.
Veronica kept licking.
She licked them both clean—Anna's ass, Hector's cock—until there was nothing left but water and heat and the three of them panting in the steam.
The marble vanity was cold against Veronica's bare thighs.
Hector had laid out three lines of coke on the counter—one for each of them. The white powder gleamed under the bathroom lights, so pure it looked almost blue.
"Bend over," he said.
Hector snorted first, then Anna, then Veronica.
The burn was instant. Veronica's eyes watered, her sinuses screaming in protest. She leaned back against the mirror and waited for the rush.
It came fast—a jolt of energy that made her heart race and her skin prickle.
Hector was already preparing the next round.
He pulled a leather kit from the cabinet—dark brown, worn at the edges, with silver clasps that gleamed in the light. Inside were three clean syringes, a small bag of brown powder, and a lighter.
"Hold out your arm."
Anna went first.
Hector tied off her arm with a rubber tube, found a vein, and pushed the needle in. Anna's eyes fluttered shut, a small smile playing at her lips.
Then Veronica.
Then Hector himself.
The heroin hit like a wave—warm and heavy and all-consuming. Veronica's muscles relaxed. Her mind went quiet. The world softened at the edges until everything was blurry and pleasant and good.
They stood there in the bathroom, naked and dripping and high, staring at their reflections in the mirror.
Anna laughed.
"What?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Just... this."
"This?"
"You showed up three days ago with blood on your shirt and a dead look in your eyes. And now look at you."
Veronica looked at her reflection.
Her hair was wet and tangled. Her face was pale. Her pupils were pinned.
She looked like a ghost. Like a corpse. Like a woman who had been hollowed out and filled with something else.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
Anna's reflection smiled.
"Good."
She reached over and ran her fingers through Veronica's hair.
"You're one of us now. That's all that matters."
Hector wrapped his arms around both of them—one on each side, his chin resting on Anna's shoulder, his eyes meeting Veronica's in the mirror.
"Tonight we plan," he said. "Tomorrow we move."
"Move?" Veronica's voice was slurred. "On who?"
"Everyone." Hector's eyes were hard. "The Marchetti family. The Russians. Anyone who thinks they can take what's mine."
Anna leaned into him.
"And us?"
"You'll be right there beside me." He kissed her neck. "Both of you."
Veronica watched her reflection.
Her face.Her eyes. Her mouth.
She didn't recognize herself.
But she was starting to.
The heroin pulled her down—soft and warm and heavy—until there was nothing left but the sound of their breathing and the drip of water and the slow, steady tick of the clock on the wall.