Chapter 7
SEVEN
My fingers flexed around your throat. I wasn’t squeezing enough to kill you, but it was enough to scare you. Enough to show you that you couldn’t manipulate or charm your way into answers.
“I usually keep them drugged at this point,” I murmured, my face just inches from yours. Reaching up, you wrapped your hand around my wrist, but you didn’t try pulling me away.
“Why am I awake then?” you asked, your voice croaky.
“Because I want to watch the life leave your eyes. I want to feel your cunt relax around my cock when your death slips between your lips.”
You jerked backward. Finally, you were scared. Truly terrified of everything I could do to you. Finally, you realized this wasn’t a movie or a book about a serial killer. This was real life, and you were face to face with the most dangerous predator in the world.
I shoved you backward on the bed, the blankets tangling around your hips as you shoved at my chest. I grinned as I crawled above you, watching you squirm and fight under me.
Roughly, I wrenched your arms down, anchoring them to your sides, and caged you in.
You struggled to move, fought to free yourself, but you couldn’t.
Not with my weight pinning you to the bed, or your arms now trapped between my thighs.
Reaching back, I pulled my small blade from my back pocket. It wasn’t big enough to do damage, but it was enough to cut your body, to mark you up like your flesh was my canvas.
The blade glinted in the light as I dragged it down your chest. Goosebumps rippled across your skin, and your nipples pebbled until they were painfully hard.
“I could kill you now,” I murmured. Your breathing turned shallow. Your skin flushed rosy. “But I want to play for a while.”
I dug the tip of the blade into your skin, and watched crimson overflow from the wound. It dripped between your breasts, and I smoothed my hand over it, smearing your blood all of your skin.
A whimper escaped, and you turned your head to the side, as if you didn’t want to show me how scared you were. I grinned. I didn’t need to see you to smell your fear. To feel it snuffing out all the oxygen in the room.
I made another shallow cut along your arm, the sound of pain in the back of your throat spurring me to cut you again. And again. And again. Until soon, your blood had dripped in thin rivulets down your arms and soaked into the sheets below.
You weren’t trembling, and you weren’t begging for your life. You weren’t doing anything I was used to people doing by this point.
Instead, your eyes were screwed shut, and you were breathing steadily through your nose. Every whimper started sounding like a moan, and every cut began to feel like plunging my cock deep into your dripping pussy.
“Do you like this?” I asked, dragging my knife around your peaked nipple.
A soft sound left you, and I laughed. “God, you’re such a freak.
” Leaning down, I pressed my tongue against the blood spilling out of the cut between your breasts.
The warm, metallic flavor exploded across my tastebuds, and I savored it as I swallowed your essence, ingesting the very thing that gave you life.
You moaned then. A real, gutteral, involuntary moan. A shockwave of pleasure shot through me, and I dug the tip of my tongue into the shallow wound. Your hands flexed into fists, every muscle in your body tensing as I sipped your blood like it was a fine wine.
“I asked if you like this,” I said. You said something behind your teeth, keeping your lips clamped tightly shut, as if you didn’t want the truth to spill out. I dragged the blade shallowly against your throat. Not enough to puncture your delicate flesh, but enough to leave a red scratch behind.
“Yes,” you finally said, your voice breathless.
“Is this really why you came here?” I smoothed my tongue over the scratch. Your pulse pounded against it, and finally, I could taste your fear. It wasn’t just fear, though. It was this intense arousal that mixed with it, creating a heady scent that made my vision blur.
All you did was lay there, arms outstretched, letting me explore you. Cut you. Use you in any way I wanted.
Finally, I moved back, gripping your legs and wrapping them tightly around my waist. You locked your ankles behind my back, holding me in place as I dropped forward again. I rocked into you, grinding the bulge under my jeans against your center. You moaned again—God, I loved the sounds you made.
The tip of my blade glinted and shone with your blood as I smeared it along your soft skin. You turned your head one way, then the other, never looking at me. Eyes always closed. Mouth shut as if it could block the sounds your body was desperate to make.
I undid my jeans, opening them enough for my aching cock to come free. You peered between our bodies, taking in my size, then your eyes shot to me. I grinned then, watching your pupils dilate with anticipation. You were excited for this. You wanted this.
I’d never cared about hearing those words before, but you were different. So I leaned forward, the edge of the knife pressing against your throat, and whispered, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”
You were silent. Your chest heaved, and your heartbeat was so loud I could hear it.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
“I want this,” you said at last, your voice a shaky rasp. “I want you.”
I didn’t waste another second—I slammed into you. You screamed as I groaned. It had to be painful for you, the suddenness of my cock inside you, but I didn’t care. The pain made you tighten around me, made you dig your claws into my shoulders and hold on.
“You came here looking for me,” I said. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “You wanted me to do this. You want me to kill you.” Your mouth fell open on a silent moan, only a breath escaping. “Is that what you want?”
“I—I’ve always wanted to fuck a killer,” you admitted breathlessly.
I leaned back, gripping your waist with one hand, the other still holding the point of my blade against your throat. I watched as your pussy stretched around my cock, watched as I fucked into you over and over and over, until your thighs were trembling.
“Is it all you’ve hoped it would be?” I asked. Sweat gathered along my forehead, and dripped onto your naked body.
“Stab me,” you said. I faulted for only a moment before I dragged my blade down your stomach. This time, it was deeper than the others, but not so deep I’d kill you. Just enough for more blood to spill out.
You screamed, but it wasn’t in pain. Not entirely. Your pussy rippled around me, like you were enjoying it. So I cut you again. And again.
All over your torso, slash marks marred your perfect flesh. Red seeped from each wound and soaked into the sheets under you.
“Can I cut you?” you breathed.
I paused. No one had ever done that before. I’d never even cut myself when I was masturbating. But the thought of giving you my blade, letting you have control of whether I lived or died, made my cock impossibly harder.
So I handed it to you.
You held it to my throat first, right against my Adam’s apple. I gripped your hips with both hands now, anchoring you against the mattress as I fucked into you deeper. Harder.
And then I felt it.
A small knick against my skin.
I felt the warmth ooze from the cut, felt the blood trickle down my bare chest. You dragged your fingers along the trail, and I watched as you brought it to your lips. You moaned at the flavor—my flavor—and cut me again.
You let the blood stream out, and with each slice, I felt my release barreling closer.
“Are you going to kill me when we’re done?” you asked. I could lie to you, but what was the point?
“Yes,” I said. “I have to. You understand, don’t you?”
You cut me again, this time sitting up, pressing your mouth directly to the wound. You suckled gently on it, drinking me down, just like I did you.
“I understand,” you said, falling back to the bed. “Make me come first, at least.”
I huffed out a laugh, one that sounded manic and insane. But I moved my thumb to your swollen clit, and watched as you arched your back. My other hand slid up the slick skin of your belly to your bloody breast, and I roughly cupped it.
“Harder,” you panted. “Fuck me like you’re about to kill me.”
So I did.
I stopped holding back. I stopped caring if I was hurting you. I used you for my pleasure, and my pleasure alone. My cock swelled inside you, but your dying wish was your final orgasm, and I wasn’t a monster. I could give you that.
So I held my own at bay, rubbing tight circles over that swollen bud until I felt your body tense.
You cried out, the blade digging roughly into my ribs as you held onto me. I’d never felt a cunt so fucking tight before, and it was almost impossible to fuck you through it. But I did. I forced my cock in and out, focused on my own orgasm as it rose higher and higher.
You collapsed onto the bed, your eyes bleary as you stared up at me.
“How was that?” I asked, smiling.
And finally, you gave me your real smile. The smile I’d been desperate for all night.
Then drove the blade straight through my heart.