20. Hope
CHAPTER 20
Hope
I fucking love it.
The way he watches me.
The palpable tension that threads around us like silken black tendrils. Knowing the moment we touch… we’re damned.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
But I’ve never wanted anything more.
He remains there, his cock giving me a standing ovation, as I trail my other hand over my stomach, pretending I’m rubbing his cum into my skin. The blue of his eyes darkens, and I see the moment the last of his control snaps.
He eliminates the distance between us, his arms wrapping around my waist possessively, feeling my curves until both hands grab my ass and he lifts me. He takes my breath away as he slams me against the board affixed to the wall, a few pins digging into my back. Photos and pins fall around us, pieces of string dangling from the board here and there as he lifts me higher, effortlessly hooking my legs around his shoulders.
“What are you—” And then his mouth is on me. Oh, fuck me. His tongue devours my pussy, kissing and nipping hungrily as if he’s waited for this moment just as much as I have.
I have nothing to grab on to apart from his hair, and my head is almost touching the ceiling. I press one hand against the ceiling, trying to offer me some kind of support as he eats me out like a starved man. His tongue slides through my folds, and he tastes me like I’m his favorite dessert.
Fuck me, his tongue. It works fucking magic. I tighten my grip on his hair, pushing him deeper between my thighs. My legs squeeze his head and pull at his curls as he keeps me pinned to the wall.
Oh fuck . I’m stunned when my legs begin to shake, the buildup rising quickly. Am I seriously going to come this soon?
Surely, he’s not that good?
I want to fight it, not at all wanting to give in to his ego, but the high overrides logic. My legs tremble from the onslaught of the orgasm that’s hitting me. “Fuck!” I scream, shocked by how hard and fast it rips from me.
Shit, maybe I should’ve fucked someone sooner.
I don’t want to give him credit—it might make his ego inflate too big—but hell, he just made me come in a matter of minutes with his tongue alone.
That is some gift.
I grab under his chin and use force to pull him away from my pussy. An arrogant smirk graces his shiny lips as I tighten my grip on his throat, thinking about how good it might feel to choke him. So I do exactly that, and it only widens his smile as he suddenly drops me from his shoulders. Pins fall everywhere as my back drags over them. He catches me so I don’t roll an ankle in my heels and wraps his own hand around my throat, restricting my airflow.
“We can play like this, Shortcake, but don’t cry when I scare you.”
“Why don’t you actually do something to try and scare me,” I manage to get out around the pressure on my throat.
His smile is devious as he releases me and licks his lips. “Now, get on your knees. Surely, you’ve learned something since I last saw you. Did you learn how to bite?”
“How did you know making men bleed was my favorite game?” I reply as I drop to my knees. I open my mouth, and he’s already there, shoving his cock between my lips. I gag at its assault, wanting to shove back with just as much force. This might be a power imbalance, but even if I’m the one sucking him off, I’ll fucking show him what kind of woman he’s fucking with.
I bite down. Hard.
“Fuck!” he yells, then slowly drags his cock out of my mouth, gritting his teeth as a vein jumps in his neck.
“Are you scared?” I ask, pouting my lips.
His devilish smirk unravels. “We’re just getting started, Shortcake. That can’t be all you’ve learned.”
Heat radiates in my core as I take him into the back of my throat again. Relaxing the muscles to take as much of him in as possible. My glasses keep hitting his lower abdomen as I swallow him, bite him, and drag curses from him that unfurl something dark and needy inside me.
I grab his balls and tug, and he jerks in my mouth, hissing at the pain but threading his fingers through my hair as he encourages me. I despise Braxton and everything he stands for. A do-gooder. An arrogant asshole. A temptation that I want to physically destroy. I tug hard again. I want to break him as much as he wants to break me.
He pulls out of my mouth and lowers himself to my level. “You’re going to crawl to me, do you understand? Like a good girl.”
He releases the tight grip on my hair, and I fall forward onto my hands and knees. Braxton steps back, leaning against the dining table.
“And what do I get for it?” I ask.
“Punishment.”
My body is crawling to him of its own accord, drawn to the promise of the type of sex I know only he can give me.
When I reach his feet, he offers me his hand. I take it and slide my body up his.
“You’re too fucking beautiful,” he seethes.
“And you’re too sure of yourself,” I bite back. “You’re a fucking problem.”
He smirks, grabbing my ass and lifting me up so I have to wrap my legs around his waist for support. He slams me onto the table, piles of papers scattered and drifting to the floor, and I move my leg so my stiletto is at his throat. His smile grows. “It’d be easy, wouldn’t it?” he asks. He glances at a spot above my shoulder, and that’s where I notice the gun in the holster placed on the table once again as if he’s testing me or inviting me to take it.
I do, and his hand slides up my body to rest on my hand, which now has the gun. My stiletto is still at his throat, pressing in firmer as he leans over me. And then I feel him at my entrance, rubbing through my juices. Oh, fuck me. This man…
He edges closer, the tip nudging in and out as my hips automatically loosen to let him in deeper, but he doesn’t move to do so. Instead, his hand wraps around the gun. My finger rests on the trigger, and a heated look passes between us.
“You want this cock, Shortcake?”
“You want to remain alive, asshole?”
“Why do I have a feeling you’d like fucking me if I’m dead?”
A very dangerous thing unfurls inside me. I don’t want to fuck a dead person, but his innate understanding of this darkness within me calls to it and draws it out.
He takes the gun and points it at his head with a crazed smile.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice like gravel.
“More than you know,” I seethe.
“Oh, I know, Shortcake. I know,” he says as he replaces his cock at my entrance with the barrel of the gun. I try to squeeze my thighs together, and a moment of dread runs through me. But a dark curiosity quickly overshadows it.
“What are you?—?”
The cool muzzle of the barrel slides into my pussy, and the sense of danger riles something deranged within me. “You like that, don’t you?” he questions.
“Yes,” I breathe, shocked, broken, crazed. Is this really me? Is this a part of me that I’ve tried so hard to keep at bay? He thrusts the gun farther into me, and I take a sharp breath, not breaking eye contact as blood drips from his throat from where my heel has cut him.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers as his gaze skitters over me. “So fucking wild, waiting to be set free.”
“I didn’t ask for poetry. Fuck me,” I demand, unsettled by the fact that he sees me. All of me. This part of me I’ve tried to bury and conceal that he coaxes out with such ease.
His pumping of the gun continues as I roll back on my elbows, taking my pleasure. My hips rock back and forth, needy, and when I glance down, I see he’s fisting his own cock, watching me like a crazy man.
He removes the gun, and I immediately feel its loss. “It was a trick, wasn’t it?”
“What was?” he asks.
“The gun was a test.”
“Was it?” He arches an eyebrow as he aims across the room and pulls the trigger. Bang! The light beside his bed explodes.
A jolt of adrenaline passes through me as I realize I could’ve shot him in the head. He could’ve shot me in the pussy. So many things could’ve gone wrong, and yet a wild, carnal feeling explodes within me and has me reaching for his neck and crushing his lips to mine.
We’re hungry for each other, biting, clawing, sucking, viciously trying to take everything we can from one another. He picks me up again, my legs wrapping around his waist as I try my hardest to impale myself on his cock. Fuck me, this asshole is my wildest fantasy, and I didn’t even fucking know it.
I’m led by something entirely animalistic that I’ve never tapped into before. His mouth leaves mine only momentarily as he bites along my neck. I hiss as he pinches my skin between my teeth, devouring me as he walks us over to his bed.
I get impatient, and as he places another bite on my neck, I nip at his cheek.
He hisses, grabbing my ass and squeezing hard. Braxton’s gaze is lethal as he says, “This fucking mouth of yours is dangerous.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, avoiding the broken porcelain on the floor. “Be a good girl and grab a condom from the top drawer and then impale yourself on my cock. Show me how needy you are.”
When he releases my jaw, I’m almost salivating, my body alive and burning in pain, but I want more. Need more. I lean over to the top drawer, and he slaps my ass. Hard. I hiss, keeping the scream in, refusing to let him break me, even though I really fucking want him to.
I hastily tear open the condom and then slide it over his cock, trying not to show it’s the first time I’ve put one on a guy; they usually do this part. But I so desperately need him inside of me. I need to feel his size destroying me from the inside, showing what damage he can cruelly deliver.
I put a knee on either side of him, straddling his hips, but I don’t sit down. Instead, we lock eyes, and then he leans in and kisses me, stealing my words and everything else he can take. It’s slower than before, the high at a lethal edge, and it’s as if he’s trying to coax it back ever so slightly. To make it feel more human.
Taking the lead as I melt into the abnormality that is Braxton Hero.
And I let him.
Oh boy, do I let him.
He lowers me until I can feel the tip of him at my entrance. He holds me there, not moving, his lips lightly brushing mine. I rock my hips, pressing down just a little bit with each movement until I feel more pressure at my opening. He doesn’t stop the kiss and, slowly, I lower myself down, leaning back with my hands on either side of his knees as I take his entire length. His hands twist through my hair to keep me close, and he deepens our kiss.
I taste blood. I’m not sure if it’s his or mine or both, but I lap it up.
It brings me to life, and who I am in this moment is far from the woman I present outside this room. This is my depravity and something I’ll cling to if it’s the only time it can see the light of day.
If there’s one thing I know, I could never get sick of the way this man kisses me, and I’ll think of him fondly even when I do have to put a bullet through his brain.
Once I’m fully seated on him, I almost take back the words about having seen a bigger cock than his, but fuck, he fills me so well. His hands glide down my body until they grip my hips. He starts rocking me back and forth, never breaking our kiss, and my breath becomes labored as I try to keep up with all the sensations running through my body right now.
I don’t know how he can ignite every single piece of me that he touches, especially my lips. But he does. He pulls back, holding me still as he looks at me.
“Can you see without these?” He taps the arm of my glasses.
“Barely,” I answer truthfully.
He takes them off, tosses them to the end of the bed, then quickly flips me onto my back so he’s hovering above me. He doesn’t waste any time as his hands find my wrists and pin them above my head. My legs wrap around his waist. And he fucks me. Into absolute oblivion.
He hits all the right fucking spots. He lowers his head and bites my breast, and I know he’s marking it. Then he does the same with the other. All the while, his cock continues its punishing rhythm. I can feel the scream working its way up my throat, but before I can release it, he’s kissing me again, taking it away.
He keeps tugging at that damning part of me that wants to be seen, stroked, pleased, and engulfed in danger and darkness, and he violates it, provoking it into the most toxic elixir I’ve ever consumed.
I never want this to stop. Ever.
For the first time, I feel fully alive and seen.
“Such a fucking bad girl,” he growls as he grips my throat and cuts off my air. I want to stop breathing. I want my heart to stop. I want to go to the extreme, to skirt the edge of no coming back. The build grows as I relinquish all control, riding the orgasm that he’s about to rip out of me.
“I fu-fucking hate y-you,” I scream, my body convulsing under his weight as a painful and electrifying buildup explodes within me.
“Fuck,” he grits as he jerks inside me, breathing heavily into my ear as I curl my arms around his back, my nails dragging down his skin as if I’m petting him, but I also want to hurt him. But I’m too tired for the fight. I feel nothing but bliss.
The darkness within me recedes as if exhausted from being exposed and exploited.
He’s heaving in breaths as he pulls out of me, rolls to the side, and then stands, looming over me. He brushes sweaty locks of hair from my face. I feel dead like he’s sucked out my soul and left behind a barely functioning body. I can’t see his expression because my eyesight isn’t the best without my glasses, but I’m certain his gaze rakes over me. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, then turns and walks away.
I lie there, trying to catch my breath. I hear the fridge open and then close before the sound of his footsteps comes closer. That’s when I see him again, holding out a bottle of water, but I don’t want to move to take it. I’m not sure if my legs or arms will work right now. What the fuck just happened? It’s so crazy that I want to laugh.
This is madness.
“I need to go,” I tell him.
“But I haven’t even shown you my gifts yet, Shortcake.”
I manage enough energy to shake my head and sit up. Finding my glasses I put them on and look at the carnage of the room. All the photos, strings, and pins are scattered on the floor. The coffee mug from the dining table is shattered, and paperwork is strewn everywhere. A few droplets of blood dot the wooden floors. And when I look at Braxton’s bare feet, I notice he must have cut himself on a shard of the coffee mug or lamp. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, though. If he did, he’d care about the small bleeding hole at his throat from my stiletto. The gun rests on the table, and a guttural growl vibrates in my chest, recalling the smooth slide of it inside me.
Every part of me aches, and when I look down at myself, I see my skin is a map of bites and marks.
Oh my fucking God. What did we do?
I shouldn’t be into this, right?
“I have your statues under my bed,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. His hair is mussed, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“You bought some of my statues? I’m surprised you can afford them,” I say, clicking my tongue and quickly falling back into indifference.
He smirks as if following suit, and we return to our usual selves.
“No, the special ones you have delivered here. The creepy ones of dead bodies.”
My face twists in disgust. “Eww. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and of course, I don’t want to see them.”
His smirk widens. “Your best work, if you ask me.”
Warmth settles in my heart, and I’m quick to conceal any kind of reaction. He’s baiting me, waiting for my admission. But I’m not falling for it.
I scrunch my face and feign disgust. “This was a mistake. Maybe don’t tell the next woman you bring over that you’re into weird little dead figurines, okay? Tell them you play Xbox or something instead.”
He laughs at that. “Look who’s so quick to put herself back in her own cage.”
I ignore his provocation, hating how much of me he sees and not knowing how he does it. He’s the only one. Not even my family knows this part of me, so how can he so clearly see it?
Like calls to like.
I want to punch myself for that thought. I’m not romanticizing anything about Braxton Hero. He’s the asshole who I’m giddily waiting to kill . I remind myself as I pick up my dress and slide it back on.
“Reclip this,” I demand, turning my back and lifting my hair.
He chuckles but does as he’s told.
“I have to go,” I say.
“If you say so.” He lies on the bed, completely naked, cock semi-hard, holding a bottle of water.
I lick my bottom lip, unable to stop staring at his cock. I mean, maybe one more round would be okay since I’m already here?
No!
What the fuck is wrong with me?
What have I done?
Did I really just sleep with the enemy? My family has many enemies, the police being one of the worst. And I’ve just climbed into bed with one of them.
I’m in so much trouble.
I grab the last of my things and hurry for the door.
“I’ll be seeing you real soon, Shortcake.”
I flip him off over my shoulder because kicking the hornet’s nest is painful in a way I like.
And that’s what makes it dangerous.