9. Chapter Eight #2
I grab her by the jaw, thumb against her cheek, and kiss her again. This time she kisses back.
It's a war, not a love affair. Teeth, tongue, the hot wet of her mouth trying to undo me. Outdo me. But fuck if she doesn’t fight. She bites again, but less this time, more testing than punishing. I take her lower lip in my mouth and suck until she moans, the sound half fury, half need.
Her hands are in my hair now, nails raking my scalp, pulling hard enough to hurt. I let her. I want the marks.
When I finally break the kiss, we're both gasping. My lip is bleeding and it’s smeared over her skin. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide, pupils blown. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then she leans in, tongue flicking across the blood at the corner of my mouth. She tastes it, then grins.
"You really are a fucking psycho," she says, voice soft now, almost reverent.
"And you love it," I say. “I’m everything you’ve ever craved, Julianna. And you’ve become my obsession.”
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't look away. Her hand is still tangled in my hair. She tugs, once, like she owns me.
Maybe she does.
My pants are tented and I’m dying to sink into that cunt, the one I know is soaked because she’s just as deranged as I am. I hold her eyes, let her see everything, want, hunger, need. She sees it, and instead of flinching, she bares her throat.
"Is this what you want?" she whispers. "This?"
"Yes," I say. "Exactly this."
She huffs a laugh, then leans her forehead against mine. We're both still breathing hard. My lip is still bleeding. Her mouth is red with it.
I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer, pressing our bodies together. She doesn't resist. She fits perfectly.
We stand like that for a long time, locked together in a truce made of blood and spit and raw, reckless want.
When I finally let her go, her eyes track me as I step back, creating distance between us. She saunters over to the bed and lays back, propping herself on her elbows as she regards me.
"You can't keep me here forever," she says, but there's no heat to it anymore.
"I don't need forever," I say, "just until you admit you need this as much as I do."
She shakes her head, but she's smiling.
She won't beg. But soon, she'll ask.
And when she does, I'll be waiting. As I turn to leave, she clears her throat.
"Round two?" she says, voice raw as she sits on the bed. I know it’s killing her to even ask, but the way her thighs clench tell me she has a need that she wants me to fill. “I might even let you fight for control this time.”
"Not a fight," I tell her. "Not unless you want it to be."
She laughs. It's a wild sound, feral and almost sweet. "You think I want this?"
"You do."
I say it with certainty. Because it’s true, and because the only power worth having is the power to state the truth and not flinch.
She uncurls, stands, and faces me, feet spread wide, arms crossed. "So, what's next? Do I get waterboarding, or just another mindfuck?"
I move slow, closing the space. She doesn't back away, but her breathing accelerates. The chain rattles with every step. When I reach her, I don't stop, I walk straight into her, pressing her back until she collides with the mattress.
She sits, legs spread by the forced angle, chin up in challenge. "You're so predictable," she says, but there's no conviction in it.
"Am I?" I plant a hand on her shoulder and push. She resists at first, then lets herself fall back onto the bed, palms digging into the stained mattress.
I lean over her, one knee on the frame, the other between her thighs. "Tell me to stop," I say. “If you don’t, I will destroy you.”
She bares her teeth, but no words come.
"Tell me," I repeat.
She shakes her head. "Do your worst."
I smile. "Gladly."
I grip the waistband of her underwear and peel them down in one smooth motion, never breaking eye contact. She has the sexiest cunt I've ever seen, slick lips already parted like she's waiting for me.
Her thighs are a map of tension. She wants to kick, to resist, but she's too busy pretending not to care. I want to see her drop the mask. I want to make her admit she's desperate for it.
I run my hands up the inside of her legs, from knee to hip, slow enough that she has to process every inch. Her skin is hot, her pulse a drumbeat. I stop just short of her pussy, thumbs framing it, but not touching. She bucks her hips, just a little, just enough to betray herself.
"Patience," I murmur.
She growls. It's a real sound, a vibration of pure animal. "Fuck you," she whispers.
"That's the idea." I hook her knees with my arms and pull her down the bed until her ass is at the edge. The chain clinks. Her eyes never leave mine.
I drop to my knees. The floor is cold, the air is colder, but her body is blazing.
I spread her wide and lean in, tongue darting out to taste her.
She flinches, then relaxes. The first touch is electric, her whole body contracts, her fingers digging into the sheets.
I take my time, mapping her with my mouth, learning every texture, every slick, sweet, shuddering response.
She pretends to be in control, but she isn't. Not anymore. Every time I circle her clit with my tongue, her breath hitches. Every time I pull back, she whimpers, so soft she probably thinks I won't hear.
I flatten my tongue and drag it up, slow and firm, up, down, up again. She arches, grinding her hips up to meet me. I do it again, and again, until she's panting, until the tremor in her thighs turns to a quake.
She starts to shake her head, a silent no, no, but her body says yes, yes, yes.
I flick her clit once, twice, then suck it hard enough to bruise. She yelps. The sound is gorgeous.
I slip a finger inside, then another. She's so wet I can barely keep hold. I fuck her with my hand and my mouth, not stopping, not even when she tries to squirm away. I clamp her thighs in place, force her to take it.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her cunt grips my fingers, in the way her breath goes staccato. She wants to come, so fucking badly.
Just as she crests, as her back bows and her mouth opens in a silent scream, I stop. Pull my hand away, mouth away, everything. I stand, watching her writhe on the mattress, pussy empty and desperate and soaked.
She makes a sound, low and furious, a wounded animal denied its kill.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and stare her down, blood thundering in my ears.
"When you're a good girl," I say, voice even, "you'll get to come."
Her eyes widen, then narrow. She glares at me, hate and lust all tangled up.
"You motherfucker," she says.
I smile. "Good girl," I say, and walk out, locking the door behind me.
I listen on the other side, hand pressed flat to the steel. For a long time, all I hear is her ragged breathing, the sound of her trying to piece herself back together.
The power is a fucking drug and I’m hooked on it. On her .
She'll come for me, soon enough.
And when she does, I'll make sure she never wants to leave.