Pretty Girls
I place my brush on the dresser, tracing the artful lines of the marble. The sugary scent of caramel and spice glazes my skin as he grabs my throat. I stop myself from leaning into him as his thumb circles the side of my jugular.
“Draw me a picture, pretty girl…”
I don’t answer, tilting my head to the side to give him more access. My nipples pebble against the silk of my robe as the air tightens around each breath.
“Are you disobeying me?”
My lips part when the metal of his ring traces my jaw. He dips his thumb into my mouth, and on their own accord, my legs part until my robe slips off.
“So needy.”
Using my mouth, he directs my head backward until I’m peering up at him from below. Even from here, he is beautiful. A gorgeous monster of controlled chaos. A diamond skull mask adorned his face, while his lack of shirt exposed flawless skin. The firm bulge in his jeans brush my head as he subtly shifts his hips. My breath catches as he spreads his hand over my cheek.
“If only I could keep you…”
“You could,” I whisper, but it’s desperate. Too desperate.
Leaning down, he skims the inside of my thigh, and my hips buck forward, needing him. Chasing him.
His thumb finds my clit, applying enough pressure to work in slow, curled movements.
His reply comes as a whisper against my neck. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Why?” I ride into his touch. My body spins into a ball of gold as his thumb brushes my clit.
With a firm hold on my thighs, he lifts me off the floor and transports me across the room. His wet tongue is merciless as it flattens against my clit. I direct him further against me. I want his anger. His wrath. I want it all. I want him to use all the fury he’s held all these years and fuck me with it the same way he does his tongue.
He continues to circle the entrance of my pussy. I arch myself into him, and using my body as a roadmap, his tongue pursues the crevices up to the crux of my clit. He works the angle in fast movements, maintaining pressure and speed as sweat slides down my chest and the first wave crashes over me. My knees buckle as he works me up like a toy, twisting until I’m coiled so tight there’s no going further. This time, when he releases, it’s harder than the first.
The warmth of his mouth is replaced by cold metal, the pain coming too fast. Panic surges, tightening my chest the same way his hand does my throat.
“Pri—”
“Shhh….” His words fade in and out. In and out. “Go to sleep.”
The pain is no more. Numb, and touches I can’t feel. Not now.
Maybe not as much as I thought I should.
“Am I going to die?”
The room moves around me as I try to clear my vision. Leaning up, I try to see better, but smudges of red fill my vision.
He dips down to my pussy, circles of the game of torture with each surge of pleasure.
“Yes, pretty girl.” He crawls up my body. Lashes line the dark pits of his eyes, so thick they’re the first thing I noticed. Blood covers his mouth like lipstick as he leans forward to kiss me. “Yes, you’re going to die.”
Tears roll down my throat. He flashes a white tube in front of my face. “But first, you’re going to take this.” He’s so beautiful. I hate he’s mean and cruel. Fourteen hours ago, I was dancing in the club with friends.
Now, I sit in the darkest room I’ve been in but cannot touch the depth of evil beneath him. Why didn’t I see it before?
It’s blinding.
A small piece of white chalk is between his fingers. Does he want me to draw something? I don’t know why I am afraid. He hasn’t hurt me. He has done nothing I didn’t want him to do, but there’s something achingly sad about how I know. This kind of darkness isn’t one that comes from something banal, like what happens when you meet a stranger in the club before realizing he’s an evil man.
It’s not that.
I can feel the evil, but deep inside, maybe he doesn’t want to be.
Delusional. That’s how I ended up here to begin with.
“Go on.” He gestures to the wall behind me, rolling onto his elbows and spreading his leg wide. When I turn to look over my shoulder, and my eyes collide with his, he holds my attention.
“Draw. Then come ride my dick.”
My stomach flips, excitement edging my fingertips. Maybe he won’t… perhaps this is his kink, and he likes…dark rooms of death.
Swallowing, I turn back to the canvas in front of me, breezing over the words and drawings already in white. Images of sunflowers, amethyst eyes, a strange house, a stick figure.
The chalk in my hand slowly turns to dust the more it rolls between my fingers.
He doesn’t love you.
Pretty girls bleed pink.
If I told you to run, wouldn’t you?
Don’t follow his lead. Rabbits jump to dodge their lies!
Beautiful fucking liar. Prick.
Lips of the devil, whispers between my thighs…
Run.
Why do I love you.
I blink again, stepping closer and watching as the chalk powder slowly crumbles when I press it to the wall. I risked it all doing this, but the reality of what’s happening sinks in. I am simply a bystander.
The writing sprawls out over the board.
Don’t believe Le’ Cae. He will take you anyway.
My eyes sting. A single tear falls over my cheek. His head tilts as he spreads his other leg out. “Well?”
I kick off my heels and shift my hair from the pony it's tied in. As soon as I reach him, the flames from the makeshift fireplace scorch my skin, but I straddle his lap. I touch his neck, grazing the pulsing vein hammering against his flesh.
I grind myself over him, the way his cock rubs against my pussy too good to ignore. In a flash, he flips me over and has me on my back, his hips holding me hostage. My stomach turns hot as heat pools between my thighs, riding into him as he bites against my neck.
I wanted this. All of this.
My body takes his size as if he was made for me and me only. He pushes hard, fast, and relentless, holding himself up by the palm of his hands. I reach for him, but he whacks away my hand. Bruises bite into my thighs as he flips me over onto my stomach. Blood fills my mouth when my teeth catch my tongue, so I refocus on the flames as he enters me from behind. The sound of his cock hitting my cervix snaps my spine straight as my nails rip from my fingers when I dig them into the carpet.
Not a word. But I chase it. Every time he grinds against my spot, I can feel myself get hotter and hotter as if I’ll implode at any minute.
Then I feel it.
The touch of a ribbon sails around my neck as my orgasm reaches its peak. My body convulses as the silk tightens, cutting all oxygen. An explosion of white lights rain down around us as my body shakes, calling for that sweet promise of euphoria.
I tap his hand. He’s gone too far—even for me, and I’m all for breath play. The world slowly grows distant, barely grasping any of my senses until everything turns dark. Bleak. There’s no point fighting it.
Everything’s out.
Good night, world.