13. Chapter Thirteen #2
I already knew her ass was perfect because I’ve seen her strut it all through that fucking club she works at. But what I haven’t seen is her pussy. And right now, it’s peeking out between her trembling thighs, her lips plump, pink, and coated with arousal.
Swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth, I lean in and remind her, “Remember what I said. No screaming.”
I remove my hand from her throat and grab a fistful of her silky hair, tugging her head back against my chest and elongating her slender throat as my other hand slides down the side of her torso, all the way to the juncture between her gorgeous thighs.
The tips of my bloodstained fingers graze her smooth pussy.
A hungry growl vibrates in my chest as I slip a finger between her slick lips.
“You, little killer …” I growl as I remove my hand from between her legs and press my glistening finger to her mouth, lewdly smearing her juices and the remnants of the blood of the men I killed over her bottom lip, “are fucking soaked.”
She releases a small whimper as her tongue darts out to taste herself. It takes everything in me not to press my lips to hers and sample her for myself.
“Since we’ve cleared that up … It’s time we have a little chat. I’m going to ask you questions and you’re going to answer them. Can you do that for me, Harlow? Can you refrain from lying to me for just a little while?”
Her glower tells me she’s not in the mood for a conversation.
I move forward with questions regardless.
“Do you know who those men were that attacked you?” I already know the answer: the Baxter brothers. Two sick fucks that are cheap to hire but always leave a mess of evidence behind.
They’re also notorious for dismembering their victims before gifting them the sweet release of death. I have no doubts they would’ve done the same thing to Harlow had I not shown up.
“Th-they were hired to kill me, I think. Just like you.”
I nod. “That’s right, pretty girl. Just like me. Now tell me … Who would want the daughter of a priest dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Her pupils dilate. Her pulse quickens. A sick thrill moves through me.
“Liar.” My hand comes down with a harsh crack on her ass cheek, her body lurching forward as a rush of air leaves her mouth.
But she doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry or whimper. Just grips her father’s stone harder and glares at me with a look so hot it could melt steel.
“Stubborn little thing. Let’s try that again, shall we? Who wants to hurt you?”
Through clenched teeth, she grates out another, “Nobody.”
I spank her again, this time harder. She reacts the same way as the first blow: barely at all.
Except now she’s chanting, her lips moving in a whisper as she counts backward from five.
She’s zoning out, dissociating. It’s a trauma response.
Has she been punished like this before?
The thought causes a possessiveness like I’ve never experienced before to trickle into my system.
Angry at myself for having such ridiculous thoughts, I raise my hand to spank her again for lying to me and making this monster fucking feel.
But when she squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her face, I hesitate. Something in my chest cracks.
Fuck.
I can’t do it.
Determined to still get answers, I decide to change course, dipping my hand between her legs and gathering her juices on my fingers.
She stops counting. Her eyes flash open.
“Have you been spanked like this before, Harlow? Is that why you’re freezing up and icing me out?”
She exhales a shaky breath.
“I see. Well, then. Since punishing you won’t work, let’s try something different.
Tell me the truth, and you’ll be rewarded.
” Her eyes flare. “That appeals to you, doesn’t it?
” Silence. “Yes, it does.” I strum her clit and she moans.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, Harlow—and I mean it when I say my patience is wearing dangerously thin—who would want to hurt you?
” I apply more pressure to her engorged bundle of nerves. “Tell me.”
“You, clearly.”
A groan works its way up my throat. “I don’t want to hurt you, pretty girl. It’s not in my nature to hurt women. But I just might have to if you don’t start talking.” I draw a circle with my finger, my dick practically sawing at my jeans now. “Who else?”
Her hips rock. I tug her hair in warning.
“I’ll never tell,” she rasps, squeezing her eyes shut again.
My response is to plunge a finger inside her, shuddering at how tight she is.
She bucks, and this time, she does cry out, my name falling from her lips and causing every cell in my body to buzz to life.
I move my hand at an agonizingly slow pace until she’s writhing and panting, clutching the stone and pushing her ass back into me.
“Names, Harlow. Now.”
“I. Can’t.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she throws her head back against my shoulder.
I can feel her pussy clenching, her orgasm building as her body eagerly begs for more.
“So be it,” I snarl, removing my hand from between her legs and gripping her jaw with my wet fingers. A frustrated breath leaves her parted lips as I angle her face to mine so she can see how fucking serious I am. “But you’re not going to like what happens next, Harlow.”
She blinks. “Wh-what happens next?”
“Death,” I tell her.
She shivers, her eyes wide as she stares at me with a confused look etched across her face.
The feeling is mutual. Whatever this is between us—whether it’s lust or something else—has me all twisted up inside.
A tense silence stretches on where we simply breathe each other’s air. Eventually, her body softens in my arms and she sags against me, her pretty pink lips so close, I can practically taste them.
Fuck. I desperately want to. But I’m afraid if I cross that line, I’ll be consumed by her and never find my way back.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I blow out a hard breath and tell her, “Get in your Jeep and go home, Harlow. Just like before, lock the windows and door when you get there. And for the love of god, don’t fucking leave until I return. Do you understand?”
She blinks a few times, snaps her mouth shut, and nods, scrambling to pull her leggings up before reaching for her discarded knife lying between two headstones.
Then, looking all sorts of strung out, she turns to me, the look on her face damn near bringing me to my knees.
I pull her handgun that I found lying in the street from the waistband of my jeans, check to make sure it’s loaded, and hand it to her.
She hesitates before accepting it, then murmurs with defeat, “You should’ve killed me outside the diner that night, Lynx.” My chest tightens. “Some days, I wish you would have. You’d have been doing me a favor.”
And then she turns and leaves.
It takes everything in me to let her go.