I break apart before him, every part of me tightening, fireworks behind my heavy-lidded eyes.
He moves faster, fucks harder, until he’s done. Suddenly I’m on my feet again, empty, my thighs damp, watching as the only boy I’ve ever really loved staggers back a step, hatred in his eyes and the remnants of our fuck shining on his cock.
“I can’t marry you,” I blurt out. “It’s too late.” I need to get out of here. “I’m s-sorry. I have to go.”
Will laughs, but the sound is devoid of any joy. “Do I look like I’m finished yet?”
I turn and take a step back, bracing my hand on the smooth wall we were just up against. I know if I really want to leave, he won’t stop me. But maybe I’m not ready for this to be over, either.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes fixed on my thigh. I follow his gaze, to the sticky semen rolling down my inner thigh. “Do you have any idea what that does to me? Seeing my cum on you like that? Knowing some other asshole gets to do that to you?”
I’m going to be late to my own birthday party. My father will be pacing his office right about now, wondering where I am. At the hotel, flowers will be hung, crystal glasses polished, the rooftop pool beside the ballroom heated to the perfect temperature, even though nobody will be swimming tonight. Everything will be on schedule. Except me. Because I’m too busy standing in a mausoleum full of my dead family, naked, with cum leaking out of me.
It’s kind of fucking awful when I think about it like that. But it’s my party, and I’ll be late if I want to. Will’s erection shows no signs of going away, and I’ll probably never see him again after we get in our respective cars and leave this place today.
And I love him.
So, fuck it.
Daddy can wait.
Wordlessly, I reach down and run my finger through the creamy liquid on my thigh, all the while acutely aware of Will’s concentrated gaze. I bring the same finger to my mouth and suck, my pussy throbbing in anticipation as Will sucks in a sharp breath.
“Turn around and put your hands on the fucking altar,” he demands, his eyes almost black in the weak light. Black and predatory. Lust alights in my belly anew, but I don’t obey.
Rage keeps his dick hard as he spins me around, his big palm on the side of my face as he pushes my cheek into the cold marble of the altar. A few meters away, on the other end of the hard table, our two candles burn, streaks of wax tumbling down the fat pillars. I watch them, mesmerized, as Will’s cock splits me again. It’s even deeper like this, him fucking me from behind, and I moan as he fucks me so hard I almost pass out.
It hurts, this way, him so deep, so punishing, that he bottoms out against my cervix every time he drives his hips into me. I squeeze my eyes shut, pain and pleasure a singular feeling now, no clear line where one ends and the other begins. Will lays his big body over me, his chest slick with sweat against my back as he licks along the shell of my ear.
“He can put you in that ivory tower, but you’ll have to leave eventually,” he whispers in my ear. “And when you do, I’m fucking taking you. I’ll take you away and lock you up so nobody can have you except me.” He pulls out of me, pressing the tip of his cock to my ass. I stiffen. I’ve never done that before.
“This does not belong to Augustus Capulet, do you understand? Not him, not Joshua Grayson, not any of those fucks. This is mine,” he says, pushing insistently against the tight ring of muscle. He reaches both hands around and pinches my nipples, hard. “These are mine.” And finally, he slides back inside my pussy. “This is mine,” he repeats, reaching around to pinch my clit. It’s enough to make me come again, and as I tighten around him, a long moan dragging from my lungs, he comes, too, fucking me so hard I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk on my high heels tonight.
We lie there for several moments, both catching our breath, Will’s breath hot on my exposed skin. Finally, he pulls away from me, and I press my legs together to stop any more sticky liquid leaking down my leg. The last thing I need is to worry about leaving a puddle of jizz on the mausoleum floor. I’m already going to hell for what we just did in here.
“Here,” Will says gruffly, throwing my dress on the altar beside me. I straighten, with some difficulty, my body used and abused and feeling boneless, floaty.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, drawing the dress over my head. Will zips up the back of the dress, his movements slow, almost reluctant. I fiddle with my hair, locate my shoes and hold them on hooked fingers, and then, finally, I’ve run out of reasons not to face him.
I turn and face the man whose heart I’ve just ripped out, shame and guilt rising with the blood in my cheeks. Will’s waiting patiently, just as he always has, his gaze hooded, suspicious. He looks fine, not a crease on his shirt, not a hair out of place, and I’m pretty sure I look like I’ve just been gang raped in a ghetto and left for dead.
“Tell me what happened today,” he demands, zipping his pants up. “Everything.”
I swallow. I need some water. And a case of wine. A faked death and a new identity wouldn’t hurt.
Goddamn it.
“Joshua was in my father’s office this morning,” I say tiredly. “He left a ring.”
“A ring,” Will repeats.
“An engagement ring,” I clarify. “For tonight.”
Will’s entire body seems to shake. He’s so fucking angry, it’s a wonder he doesn’t start smashing his fists into the walls. “Avery,” he says, his tone terrifying. He’s never hurt me before, but he’s never looked like this before, either. I can see the way his fists are balled up, the brutal fucking rage, and if a Cartier box could make a bruise on my face, imagine what a man’s anger could do.
“This isn’t over,” he seethes. “We’re not done here.”
I don’t answer, but I guess the look on my face is answer enough.
He stares at me for a long moment, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he must change his mind, because the next minute, I’m alone.
He’s gone. I blink through tears, sliding to the floor, curling my legs around beside me as I stare up at the plaques that mark the final resting places of my sister, my mother, and my stillborn brother, the longed-for son whose entry into this world ended both of their lives.
All three of them dead because they were born Capulets.
Not just a surname, not just a bloodline — but a curse.
I stare up at my sister’s spot in the wall, at eye-level if I were standing. Adeline would know what to do. She always knew what to do. That’s why her suicide was even more tragic. Death was the only logical choice for her.
I don’t want to die. I’m too weak to pull the trigger and end it all, too much of a coward to put my head underwater and let cold death rush into my lungs.
I understand Will’s warring love and hatred, I do. It’s exactly the feeling that claws at my throat whenever I think of my sister and what she doomed me to in her absence. It’s exactly the sensation that fills me when my father kisses my cheek, and I melt into his carefully doled out ration of affection like an emotionally malnourished child, even as I want to kill him with my bare hands for using me like a worthless pawn in our family’s name.