Chapter 6 #2
“You’re a fucking problem,” I murmur, eyes tracking her like I’m already doing the math.
“Because you don’t act like someone trying to get away.
” A faint smirk. “You act like someone who wants to see what happens next. You taunt, and challenge. You don’t react like normal prey. You’re fucking different.”
“And you hate different,” she shoots back, immediate and unimpressed.
“No,” I say. Flat.
She swallows, then lifts her chin. “Then why the hell does it bother you?”
“Because different means I can’t read you,” I answer. “Means I can’t control how this goes.”
She laughs under her breath, sharp and cocky. “Ah. So you don’t like giving up control. You don’t like that, with me, you’re not actually in charge.”
“Yes.”
She tilts her head, eyes flicking to my mouth like it’s an accident she’s not apologizing for. “Are you always this goddamn serious?”
“Only when it fucking matters.”
Her smile tugs sideways. “And does this matter?”
More than it fucking should.
I don’t say it.
Don’t even bother pretending I’m in control of this anymore because we both fucking know I’m not.
“Fuck,” I mutter, stepping in hard. My hands slide under her thighs and lift her like I’m done negotiating with fucking everything.
With Kross, with her, fuck, even with myself.
I set her on the sink with a sharp clink of porcelain and metal, then drop to my knees because standing still feels like lying.
“Jesus—” she gasps, startled, hands scrambling, grabbing the counter, the mirror, anything that’ll keep her steady.
Through the mask, I look up at her and spread her legs without ceremony, irritation tightening my jaw as the blade follows, tip dragging down to her inner thigh. She whimpers, and squirms, but not away.
There's no fear in her eyes.
Just that look.
That hungry, reckless fucking look that pisses me off and gets me harder at the same time. She likes this. She wants it. Wants me. And fuck, that knowledge hits like gasoline.
I drag the blade up and down her thigh, slower than necessary, because I’m wound too tight and I want her to feel every second of it.
I press it in just enough to steal her breath, just enough to make her knees threaten to give, and when that soft, broken sound slips from her mouth it hits me hard, straight in my fucking cock, sharp and undeniable.
Fuck.
The reaction is instant, ugly, and distracting.
The kind of want that has been building all night with nowhere to go, clawing at me now, demanding release.
I picture it anyway—her pussy tightening around my cock, the sounds she’d make filling this grimy bathroom as my cock pounded into her, echoing off cracked tile and dirty mirrors until there’s nothing left but that.
Fucking hell, I’m as bad as my brother.
I grit my teeth and focus as I carve the first letter.
K.
Then the next.
A.
Slow, and goddamn possessively.
Until my name is there, written into her skin like it’s always belonged there.
She moans under the blade, body shaking, and something ugly and possessive snaps tight in my chest. God, she’s fucking stunning. Kross was right. I fucking hate that he was right. But she really isn’t like any of the girls we’ve killed.
She understands what this is and she doesn’t fucking run from it. Instead, she leans into it. She fucking craves it.
She reaches up and drags the mask off my head, holding me there between her legs while the blood trails down her skin, and I let her. I want our little valentine to see my face when I stop holding back.
I shove the knife away, then lower my mouth to my name, and run my flattened tongue over it, tasting her while my gaze holds hers.
Then, while she looks down at me, licking her lips with anticipation, I pull her thong aside with my fingers and smear the blood across her without patience, without softness, claiming her the way I’ve been thinking about all fucking night.
“Oh my god,” she moans, her back arching against the sink, fingers turning white as she grips the tap and faucet like it’s the only thing holding her upright. “Holy hell.”
I smirk against her, licking and lapping at her swollen cunt before sucking her clit into my mouth. Fuck, she’s so sweet.
She moans again, breath coming apart, and one of her hands finds my hair, fingers threading through it, tugging me closer, guiding my head exactly where she wants me. I let her, because fuck, at this point I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried.
Like this, she feels like a curse I walked straight into.
Like some fucked-up love spell Cupid carved into my chest instead of firing an arrow.
The way she tastes. The way she sounds. The way she drags me deeper without even trying, yeah, I’m not in control of this anymore, and fuck, I don’t want to be.
I’m sick of fighting it. Sick of stretching this out like it’s going to change anything.
She rides the edge hard, hands tangled in my hair, and I stay right there, sucking, licking, tasting her until she’s close.
So fucking close I can feel her body tighten, feel that sharp, inevitable tension winding through her.
Right on the brink.
Then I stand.
She gives me that sassy, dirty look that always makes my cock twitch, frustration carved into her expression after I stop right when she’s about to come.
She scoffs, breathless. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Are you like, always this fucking aggravating?”
I catch her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Don’t pout,” I say evenly. “You’re not walking out of this bathroom without getting exactly what you want.
A slow, knowing smirk curves my mouth.
“But when it happens,” I continue, voice low and deliberate, “when I make you come harder than anyone ever has, it’s going to be with that sweet cunt wrapped around my cock, little valentine.” My thumb presses in, possessive. “I don’t just want to hear what I’m doing to you.”
I lean in closer.
“I want to fucking feel it.”
Her laugh comes out shaky and sharp. “God. You’re such an asshole.”
“Maybe, but let’s not pretend you don’t fucking like it,” I say, already unbuttoning my pants.
Her cheeks flush as her gaze follows my hands. Outside the bathroom the bass keeps pounding. Drunk idiots knock and shove at the door, confused why it’s locked. She jerks her head toward the sound.
“Sounds like they’re not very happy we locked them out,” she mutters.
“Like I give a fuck. They’re not my concern,” I say. “The only thing I care about right now, is finishing our fucking game.”
That shuts her pretty mouth up.
Which is good cause I fucking meant it. Right now, in my mind, there’s only what’s in front of me.
Her.
Us.
This need—tight, sharp, and unavoidable to fill her. To break her down piece by fucking piece until she’s shaking and open with my cock buried inside her.
“Fuck,” I murmur, voice low and steady, watching the way her eyes track my every fucking movement. The way her flushed chest rises and falls with each breath. “You are gorgeous.”
She rolls her eyes, but her voice gives her away. “I know you’re doing the whole Cupid roleplay bullshit,” she says, breathless, impatient, “but can we skip the romance and fuck already? I’m about to fucking explode.”
I pull my cock free from my pants.
Her eyes widen instantly.
“Oh,” she breathes, staring. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“What’s the matter, little valentine?” I murmur, voice low and commanding. “You’re not scared, are you?” I mock, giving her the same taunting edge she used on us. “Don’t tell me you laugh in the face of a pair of serial killers, but a few little barbells are where you draw the fucking line.”
She swallows, nodding despite herself. “Barbells on your cock,” she admits, breath tight, “that I really badly wanted inside me about thirty seconds ago.”
“Oh, you still want it.” I laugh quietly. “And you’re going to fucking love them. You’ll see.”
I swipe my finger through the fresh blood trailing down her thigh from my name and slowly spread it along my shaft. She sucks in a sharp breath, thighs tensing.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“No,” I say calmly. “I finish what I start.” A beat. “And when I fuck, I do it without forgiveness.”
I help her adjust on the sink, lining her up, letting the anticipation stretch until she’s visibly shaking.
She lets out a frustrated sound. “Just—fuck me already.”
The desperation in her tone earns a satisfied smirk.
I lean in and take her mouth, hard and claiming. She kisses me back just as aggressively, teeth nipping like a challenge. Then as I pull away, I press just the tip inside her, barely enough to make her hiss.
“Fuck,” she breathes, clearly growing more frustrated with every roll of my hips. Teasing her, never fully giving her what she wants. “Fucking asshole. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Do you remember what I told you?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes flutter. “That you wouldn’t be gentle.”
“I fucking meant it.”
I drive into her in one brutal thrust.
She cries out, a broken, beautiful fucking sound, hands grabbing for the counter. “Holy shit—Kade—”
My hands sink into her ass, gripping tight as I take control, driving into her again and again.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “You take it so fucking well, valentine.”
Her reply is breathless, wrecked, and still goddamn defiant. “That's all you got? Hmm?” she pants. “I thought for a wanted serial killer you’d fuck harder. More…brutally.”
I grin, feral. “So fucking mouthy.”
I adjust my angle and slam into her harder. She gasps as every one of my barbells hits that spot, her moans echoing off the walls as her cunt clamps down around me.
“What?” I smirk, knowing she’s still got fire in her, she just can’t focus when I’m pounding into her. “Run out of smart-ass shit to say?”
“Fuck. Fuck. Oh god—don’t stop, Kade. Please. Yes. Right there,” she begs.
Fuck me.
Despite how much I loathe the sound of someone begging, I’d listen to her do it for the rest of my fucked-up life. My cock twitches inside her as I slam into her again and again, so hard the mirror behind her loosens, rattling against the tiles.
“Goddamn,” I whisper, gripping her ass tighter as I drive her down on me. “You feel so fucking good. Clenching around my cock like you can’t get enough.”
“I can’t,” she moans. “I’m going to come.” Her cunt grips down hard as her orgasm hits, and fuck, nothing has ever felt this good.
I slam into her again as her body spasms around my shaft.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Fucking milk my cock, Aeri. Come for me.”
The mirror rips free from the wall, shattering into thousands of glittering shards as I drive into her again and again, the sound swallowed by the bass and her broken cries. The pressure snaps, white-hot, and my own release tears through me.
I bury myself one last time, deep inside her, and come with a rough groan that I don’t bother hiding.
“Fuck,” I hiss, breath shaking as the high crashes through me.
I slow, stilling, then move deliberately before finally pulling back.
I watch as my cum spills out. Trailing down her swollen cunt.
I stand there, mesmerized for a beat, before swiping my fingers through it, and pushing it back inside her.
She twitches under my touch and looks up at me with that cocky fucking smirk.
Everything after that blurs.
The bathroom feels wrecked in a different way now—too quiet, and small. The air thick with heat, iron, and sex. The bass outside is still pounding, distant and distorted, like it belongs to a different fucking world.
She leans there, catching her breath. So do I.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. There’s no need to. Whatever line existed before tonight is gone, shattered just like the mirror at our fucking feet.
I move first, stepping in close and straightening her clothes, fingers deliberate as I tug her thong back into place, making sure it actually covers her instead of half-assing the job. She watches me, eyes sharp, mouth already primed with sassy comment.
I lift her off the sink and set her down on the floor, steadying her until she’s solid. When I reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she exhales a quiet laugh.
“Well,” she says. “You look less…stressed.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I tell her.
She smirks. “Too late.”
I drop down in front of her and my eyes track the cut on her thigh—the letters I put there. My name.
“You okay?” I ask, voice even.
She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ve had worse.” A pause, then a crooked smile. “And given what I’ve seen on the news about how the other girls end up after you’re done with them, I’d say I’m doing pretty fucking great.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. I lean in and press a soft kiss just below the wound.
She stills.
Then, predictably. “Oh shit,” she says dryly. “Is this the part where you pretend you’re like…gentle?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I reply, rising back to my feet. “I know exactly what I did, and I have no regrets.”
“Good,” she says. “I’d hate to think you were second-guessing yourself now.”
Someone pounds on the door, loud and irritated.
“What the fuck is going on in there?”
I don’t look at it.
She glances at the door, then back at me with a wicked grin. “Wow. Didn’t realize this many people came to a rave just to piss.”
“They can wait.”
Her expression softens just a fraction. I study her—still fucking smug. Still, our valentine, and for now, the night exhales, and I let it.