Luca
“ T he next time I saw him, he was covered in blood. He managed to escape wherever you guys were and make it home mere seconds before he died. The last words on his lips were that he was sorry and that it was you who shot him.” Misty spits her words as though they taste like garbage. “I ended up selling my body just to survive. I never did make it to medical school.”
As she tells her tale of tragedy, I recall that night her brother died. He was just a kid looking to make a quick buck. I felt sorry for him, and would never have hired him for any type of job. He was too young. Too inexperienced.
But my father had been impressed with how the weedy twirp had walked into our restaurant and promised to pledge his allegiance to the Morroni name. I didn’t know what he needed the money for, but after picking him up at his shoebox apartment, I assumed it was to take better care of his little sister.
I’m not ashamed to say he meant nothing to me—that I didn’t care if he caught the stray bullet meant for a member of a rival family we met that night. I didn’t stop to look for him when the shootout was over. I didn’t bother seeing if he was still alive or dead. He never crossed my mind as I reported the evening’s events to my father.
And I never thought of Misty again after that night.
But fuck if I’m going to tell her that now .
It would make no difference, other than to anger her further. And my piccola demone is pissed off enough as it is.
Blood drips steadily from the cut at my temple—compliments of Misty’s wineglass–when she walked behind me to admire the view of the city from my living room windows.
I don’t know why I asked her to my apartment tonight.
It’s clear that after our last meeting, she wants me dead now, more than ever.
But it’s also clear that Misty can’t keep her hands off me. Nor I her. We can’t stop fucking and carving each other up long enough to land a truly lethal blow.
The tip of the curved blade she holds pierces my inner thigh, just enough to draw blood as she drags it up toward my cock, which is rock hard and dripping with precum. My wrists ache as I try again to snap the rope that ties them together behind my chair.
Whatever the fuck she used is scratching my skin raw and won’t break, no matter how much force I put into pulling my hands apart. She’s tied my ankles as well, but even though they’re not bound as tightly, there’s no getting out of my restraints.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” I hiss through my clenched teeth.
“No, you’re not,” she croons. Her palm is slippery as she wraps it around my shaft, covered in blood from a cut she made over my left pec. My chest tightens, eyes growing wide in alarm as she places the curve of the blade around my dick and smiles. “I could end your life like this, you know. One swift slice and I could remove your most cherished organ and let you bleed out while you watch me burn it to ash.”
Regardless of the danger it’s in, my cock jumps in her hand as though it’s up for its own castration. “You won’t.” I swallow the curse that sits in my throat like a weighted ball of lead. “You love that part of me too much.”
Quicker than I can track, she flings the blade away from us and sinks onto me. Her pussy is already wet as it devours every inch of my length, warm and inviting as she molds around me like we were made for each other.
Her nipples trace the blood on my chest, painting a masterpiece as she rocks against me. Her skin is slick with the combination of my blood and our sweat. My clothes are tattered and torn around my chair, ruined by her blade once she finished tying my hands together and binding my feet to the legs of the dining room chair.
“God, I hate it so fucking much that you’re right.” She lifts up and sinks back down slowly. I can’t help but watch where we’re joined, fascinated with the way her pussy lips spread around my flushed crown and greedily suck my cock.
I can feel her flexing her inner walls as she seats herself fully on my lap and stops moving. Her lips stretch over her whitened teeth as she plays with the hair at my nape. I flex my dick in return, making it jump inside her and tap her upper wall.
“You don’t hate it,” I mock as I buck my hips the best I can in our current position. “You love every second of it. And you hate yourself for it. You hate yourself for being such a fucking slut for your brother’s murderer, don’t you?” I buck again more forcefully, picking up pace as I bounce her on my lap, pushing the soles of my feet against the floor for leverage.
The sting of her hand across my face bites my cheeks twice before she grips them with her nails so hard I know I’ll have marks. Anger burns brightly in her irises, lighting up her eyes like a stormy Caribbean Sea. “I hate you, . I may love your cock, but make no mistake. I. Hate. You .”
Trying to prove a point, her teeth find my bottom lip as she snarls a kiss into my lips. Our tongues battle, teeth nipping as she pulls my hair and grinds against me, chasing an orgasm we both want while also never wanting this moment to end.
Even with my hands and feet bound, Misty continues to find new ways to make me feel alive. For ways to satiate the beast within me, yet come out the other side still standing. Still breathing.
Still yearning to capture this hellish creature and make her come over and over for all of eternity.
Lust, gluttony, greed, and wrath all roll into a bloody cloud of ecstasy as her mouth opens, and she cries her release into the air, spilling all over my lap.
And still, I want more.
I lean forward and capture her lower lip between my teeth and bite down, drawing her life substance as I fuck her through another orgasm. She screams into my mouth as her blood spills down our chins, her nails scraping at my face. The chair creaks beneath us, our weight daring the wood to give out as she rides me like she would a bronco at a rodeo.
I release her with a roar as I fill her full of rope after hot rope of my cum, splashing against her walls, painting her as mine. “Hate me all you want, piccola demone. You fuck better when you’re angry.”
A frown mars her beautiful face as she wipes the blood away with her fingers and shoves them in my mouth, pulling them back out before I can bite down. The taste of her—sweet and coppery—mingles between our mouths as she pushes her lips to mine. Her tongue slides along my teeth before mine joins in the bloody dance.
As we kiss, her hands slide behind the chair, down to where my wrists are bloody and raw from rubbing against the scratchy rope. She moves like she’s going to untie me, but then pauses, drawing back and climbing off my lap.
“Untie me, Misty,” I command softly. Gentler than I’ve ever spoken to her before.
A thick glob of our combined cum spills from between her legs, dripping down her thighs as she laughs. She’s a work of art that already has my cock hardening again—insatiable when it comes to this woman.
Her eyes snap over my shoulder, glazing over for a moment before they refocus, and she looks down at me again. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”
Warning bells go off in my head. Leaving me paralyzed in the strip club was one thing. Someone was sure to find me eventually, or the paralytic would have worn off.
But no one knows where I live except Giuseppe and my father.
“Misty.” Her name is sharp and urgent on my tongue.
Her eyes narrow as she reaches between her legs to scoop up our mess. She swipes her fingers through the blood on my chest and holds them up to my lips. “Taste how sweet we are together, il mio mostro.”
My mouth opens on its own accord, lips wrapping around the pads and sucking our tangy, metallic mixture off her fingers. Her cheeks flush pink as she watches my mouth, lips parting in an O that I know has her pussy wet again.
“Untie me, Misty,” I repeat when I finish. “And I’ll taste how sweet we are together from between your thighs.”
“I don’t know, I rather like having you at my mercy,” she lilts as she steps slowly around the chair, dragging her fingers from my mouth to my neck, over my shoulder, and down my arm to slide her palm into mine. “I used to dream about what these hands could do to me. I knew it was wrong to fantasize about the very hands that killed Adam, but that’s what made selling myself so much more bearable—imagining that you were the one touching me. Thinking about all the ways you could make me feel good. Wondering if you’d take your time, or steal my pleasure quickly.”
Her fingers dance along the marks on my skin from the rope, the edge of her nails digging into the raw flesh. “But you never noticed me. Not then. Not when I arrived at Désirer. Not when I stood right in front of you and asked if you wanted to fuck. You didn’t even recognize the misty-eyed girl you once told had beautiful eyes.”
“I met you once , Misty. In passing,” I growl as she digs her nails in harder.
She continues, ignoring my pain. “It’s why I picked the name Misty, you know. When you told me the sea would have been your greatest love in another life, I followed you into that next life. I watched silently—waited patiently to become that great love so I could hurt you in the worst way imaginable. Just like you hurt me. I was employed at Désirer long before you even realized it. It was over a year before you finally looked at me.”
“At Désirer I was–”
“In love with Carmela, I know.” Her tone goes flat and takes on a hint of aggravation. The sounds of her walking away and getting redressed accompany her following words. “I studied her for a long time, trying to figure out what it was about her that kept you so enraptured. Anyone could have told you how that would end. It was never going to be you, yet you still worshiped the ground she walked on.”
“You sound jealous.” I know I shouldn’t irritate her further than she already is at the mention of the woman I used to be in love with—or at least thought I was in love with—but there’s something deep inside me that loves hearing the jealousy seeping into her cadence.
A carnal hunger with the need to fuel her fire.
Her stilettos on the hardwood are loud as she reappears in my vision, fully dressed and flipping the top to a lighter. “I used to be, . But look at where loving her got you.” She gestures down my body with a smirk. “Now, you’re just a pathetic man. Waiting in the shadows until I take pity on you and finally end your life.”
I reel at her sudden change in demeanor. Misty’s no longer playful. No longer full of red-hot rage and desire. She’s upset, and it’s plain as day on her face. It sparks something else in my chest. Something I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling—a long-lost tenderness that tries to burrow its way out.
That wants to protect her—even if it’s me she needs protecting from.
“Misty, I?—”
“We could have been so good together. If you hadn’t murdered my broth?—”
“I didn’t murder him, Misty. He got caught in the crossfire.” My admission has her eyes growing wide before they fill with outrage.
“Liar!” she screams so harshly that her entire body shakes. So loudly that my bones rattle in my very chest. “And if that were the truth, why didn’t you come back for me?!”
I struggle with the choice that lies before me. Do I tell her I didn’t care then, but I do now? Do I say nothing? Will my silence be worse than the truth?
Will she even believe that my feelings have changed? Will she believe her monster has a heart that now beats only for her?
“Does it matter what I did or didn’t do back then when it comes to you, piccola demone? We’re together now. I didn’t murder your brother, so your revenge plan is meaningless. You’re trying to avenge someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I would have never given him a second glance had he not stormed in and convinced my father to give him a chance.”
Her head swings to the side, appraising the air as if someone is talking to her, but there’s no one there. “You’re lying,” she murmurs. It’s quiet, with an uptick at the end, like she’s asking a question but isn’t entirely sure she wants to.
“I’m not. I didn’t come for you that night because that moment was insignificant to me,” I tell her honestly, watching her bristle at my words. “If I knew then what I know now, I’d have gone back for you. I’d have protected you.”
I don’t tell her that it wouldn’t be the same. That her life experiences led her here, to me, and that we wouldn’t be where we are without what happened hanging over the years it took to get here. I don’t speak about how the things she went through are what shaped her into my little demon, and that I’m not sure I could love her if she were any other way.
I tell her what she wants to hear.
“And I’d burn the fucking world down if it meant I could go back and do things differently.”
She sniffs as a lone tear trails down her cheek. Silently, she steps forward, reaching around to push the lighter into my hand. “Prove it.”
Confusion flickers across my face, but she doesn’t see it as she turns and walks away. “Misty!” I call after her retreating form.
She leaves without another word, the click of the door shutting behind her reverberating throughout my apartment as she leaves me alone to figure out how to escape this mess.
Even if I break the chair, the rope is too tight, and I’m too tall to get my hands in front of me.
Closing my eyes, I breathe deep through my nose as I flip the top of the lighter open, careful not to drop it. My teeth clench together so tightly I swear I hear a molar crack as I anticipate the pain to come. Sweat beads at my forehead, rolling down to mix with the blood smeared at my temple. The searing heat rips a cry from my throat when the flame licks my raw skin. I struggle not to scream out loud, focusing all my pain and rage on the woman who’s made my heart swell so extensively that I fear it may burst from my chest.
And I let the rope burn.