Chapter 10 #2
Both of our gazes are stuck on the handle lodged into my side, the blood already soaking my shirt. The blade is fully sheathed between my ribs, and it’s strange that I don’t feel pain… but how fucking dare she try to kill me?
And how dare it turn me on?
My brain and body are in total disagreement with each other. Instead of wrapping my fingers around her throat and choking her to death, my traitorous cock hardens and elongates even more, pressing into her again.
“You’re fucking sick.”
My brain stalls. Did she just sound breathy?
“Get the fuck off me,” she snaps before I can say anything, kicking me in her attempts to scramble back along the floor.
I stand and tower over her, feeling my blood soaking into my clothes. Why is she acting so disgusted when she reeks of arousal? If she’s turned on by being prey, then why the fuck can’t I be from hunting her down?
That’s not a thought I should ever be having.
I back away, wishing I could cut my cock off and hide it from her. “Don’t get any ideas that you do anything for me. You’re far from my type,” I lie, yanking the knife out and throwing it to the side.
Her eyes drop to my groin so fast, I almost miss it, and, fuck, there’s no denying that more precum gathers at my crown under her attention.
“Ditto,” she replies, so fucking breathily; the sound of her sweet, poisonous voice has me holding my breath and walking away from her.
Turn back around and do something about this, the voice in my head screams at me. She wants this just as much as you. Smell her, Lynx. She’s soaked and needy and begging for touch.
I don’t stop moving until I reach a room I’ve claimed as my own and slam the door, pressing my back against it.
My gaze drops to where my cock is still standing to attention beneath the rigid fabric of my pants.
My teeth grit together at how hard it is—there’s not a chance in hell it’s going to soften anytime soon, with her scent all over me and the memory of the way her body felt beneath me still fresh in my mind.
Fucking kill me.
Because I want to fuck the brains out of Sable.
Not in a loving way either. I want to strangle her while she takes each inch, hear her scream my name, feel her nails rip the skin from my back.
I want to watch her little cunt soak my cock because she’s going to fucking love every single minute of it.
Shit.
My temperature rises with each depraved thought. I rip off all my clothes and wrap my fingers around my cock, squeezing hard enough to hurt—hopefully—and stop this madness. I can’t feel this way about a ghost.
It’s been far too long since I’ve fucked my own hand in my human form. It feels different—my fingers shorter, my touch softer around my cock that’s still the same length and thickness it would be in my demon form.
I close my eyes and imagine the grip is hers.
The scenarios playing in my head—hearing her moans and seeing her writhe—have me absently stroking, still imagining it’s her fingers nearly cutting off the circulation to my swollen head.
I reach for the bed and lower myself onto it, refusing to let go of my dick out of desperation—I need to come so badly, I might not last a full minute.
I keep stroking, ignoring the leaking wound on my side—it’ll heal on its own within a day anyway.
My head drops against the headboard. Sweat drips down my neck; runs over the heavy rise and fall of my chest. My blood still roaring, I lift my eyes, every single nerve ending on fire as my gaze clashes with the dead girl.
She’s watching me.
Even though she’s only peeking in from behind the door, I can smell her. That scent alone could drive me mad—the fact that she isn’t even looking away or running has me tightening the grip on my cock.
Her hammering pulse is loud enough to reach my ears.
I see you, dead girl.
Sable doesn’t run or hide the fact that she’s watching me fuck my own hand.
And for some reason, I don’t stop. Her attention to my movements has me stroking harder, not daring to break eye contact while I picture her on her knees, her little gasps, the way she’d scream my goddamn name while she came all over my tongue and tugged my hair through her orgasm.
The smell of her arousal wraps around me, and fuck, I want to tell her to come in and finish me off herself, but I’m far too close, and I might break the spell we’re in.
You’re sick too, dead girl.
She gulps, and I can just see her crushing her thighs together. It’s all I need.
A hot, coiling sensation starts at the base of my spine, my muscles bunch, and with one tight fucking stroke, I find my release, keeping my eyes locked on hers.
I should be ashamed that it barely took me a few pulls of my dick to come, but with the mixture of her arousal filling my senses and the pure adrenaline of the chase, I was already prepared to blow with her trapped beneath me.
I should be embarrassed. I bet she is. But it only solidifies the moment we had when she stabbed me. She wants me too. The way her scent is hitting me proves that.
As soon as I let go of my dick and look down at the mess I’ve made, she vanishes.
This is her fault. Next time, she’s going to help me clean it up.