38. Bindi #2
Cassidy looks up at me from his knees, dark hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed with sadistic pleasure.
“That’s right,” he purrs. His left hand grips my thigh, fingers sinking into wet flesh to steady me.
I’m shaking so hard I might collapse otherwise.
With deliberate, torturous slowness, he runs the muzzle up the sensitive inner skin of my thigh.
I let out a choked sob as the metal teases toward my pussy.
Oh, God ? —
The barrel grazes my swollen, aching center and I cry out, knees buckling. Cassidy keeps me upright as my body utterly betrays me. My cunt is throbbing, a hungry pulse, and when the pistol kisses my clit?—
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He nudges the muzzle between my slick lips, barely entering me with the tip of the gun. My inner walls clench around the hard intrusion, the threat of it, the sheer depravity. I hear myself—a low, guttural moan that echoes in the tiled bathroom.
This is so wrong—so damn wrong. Yet I’m on fire with lust, my mind a haze of humiliation and hunger. “Cassidy . . .” I gasp, not even sure if I’m begging him to stop or to never stop.
Gently, he withdraws the gun from between my legs. I whimper at the loss, my body lurching forward instinctively to chase that sensation. He stands swiftly, looming over me again in the cramped shower stall.
The next second, his mouth crashes down on mine.
I gasp into the kiss, shocked by its ferocity.
His lips devour me, tongue invading to taste me—he growls when he finds traces of metal and the tang of my compliance.
I taste my own salty tears and his breath is smoky and urgent.
The kiss is bruising and I return it with equal fervor, opening for him, sucking on his tongue like I was sucking on the barrel moments before.
The thought makes me moan desperately into his mouth.
Cassidy breaks the kiss only to growl against my lips, “Turn around.” The command vibrates through me.
My feet stumble to obey before my mind catches up.
I half turn, bracing my palms on the low-tiled ledge that passes for a shelf in this pathetic excuse for a shower.
He kicks aside the fallen bottles of cheap shampoo to give us room.
Behind me, I hear the clatter of metal on porcelain. He set the gun down, maybe on the soap dish or the toilet lid just outside. Then I hear his belt buckle, the rasp of a zipper. I glance back over my shoulder .
Cassidy’s eyes meet mine, blazing. He yanks his wet shirt off one-handed, revealing the taut plane of his torso, a spattering of old scars and fresh bruises across his pale skin.
He doesn’t bother removing his pants completely; they hang open on his hips as he frees his cock.
It juts out, hard and thick and already leaking at the tip.
The sight of it sends a renewed flood of desire through me.
He steps forward, pressing his bare chest to my back.
The wet fabric of his half-removed pants brushes the back of my thighs.
One of his arms snakes around my front, a slippery vise-like grip across my breasts, pinning me to him.
His other hand grabs my hip for leverage.
I feel the blunt head of his cock nudge against my entrance from behind.
“Please,” I choke out.
“Please what, Firefly?” Say it. Say what you need.”
His cock slides between my slick entrance, coating himself in my wetness. I sob, trying to push back onto him, but he holds me steady, denying me
He grabs a fistful of my hair again and yanks my head back so my lips are by his ear. “You think you’re a monster because you survived? You’re not. You’re fucking magnificent.”
I whimper, shoving back against him uselessly. I need him inside me. I need him to fix the ache he’s carved open.
“Tell me you’re strong. Tell me you’re fucking mine. That you’re here with me.”
“I’m strong,” I sob, broken and trembling. “Cassidy, please. I’m yours. Just please— please fuck me.”
He presses the head of his cock against my entrance.
“That’s why I have to fuck you, baby—because you survived. Because you’re stronger than any fucking thing in this world. I have to claim you. Forever.
Then he drives forward, burying his cock fully inside.
He’s merciless, not giving me time to adjust, but I don’t care. The stretch of him is a brand, scorching me from the inside. My nails scrape at the tile as I struggle to hold on. He pulls out halfway and slams back in. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes in the tiny bathroom.
Cassidy’s arm across my chest squeezes, crushing me to him. I need this. Every thrust drives me up onto my toes, my body a plaything in his hands. He fucks me like he wants to obliterate everything that came before—every doubt, every fear, every part of me that isn’t his.
“You feel that?” he snarls against my neck. His teeth graze my shoulder, biting down just shy of drawing blood. “This is what you were made for, Firefly—surviving, taking, destroying.”
My eyes, hazy with tears and lust, catch our reflection in the fogged mirror above the sink outside the shower.
The image sears into me: Cassidy’s face over my shoulder, contorted in raw pleasure, mouth slack in a moan.
His body dwarfs mine, one arm a dark band across my breasts, his hips driving into my ass fiercely.
I see his hand—at some point he grabbed the gun again.
The black shape is visible in his fist as he holds it in front of me, the barrel pressed low on my belly, right above where he’s pounding into me.
The sight of us through the bathroom mirror is extraordinary. Watching him fuck me with this violence. Claiming all of me with lust and brutality is a symbol of my sin that has become an instrument of my pleasure. A crazed sob-laugh breaks from my throat at the depravity of it.
Cassidy catches my gaze in the mirror. “Look at you,” he pants. “You’ve never been more fucking beautiful.”
I can’t speak, can only moan as each thrust punches another sound out of me. But my body answers, arching back into him, legs spreading wider, giving him everything.
He slides the gun upward between my breasts again, then brings it to my throat, making me lift my chin. “Say it,” he hisses. “Say you’re not broken.”
His thrusts slow to deep, grinding plunges, holding inside me each time so I feel every pulsing inch. I whimper, words tangling. He presses the gun harder into my throat.
Finally, the dam breaks. “I—I’m not broken,” I sob.
Cassidy growls in satisfaction. “That’s right. And until the goddamn Earth ends and the worms feast on our fucking bodies, you are my warrior.”
The hand holding the gun tilts so his thumb can crash down on my clit, rubbing fierce, messy circles over the swollen nub.
I shatter with a scream, my orgasm tearing me apart. My pussy clamps down on his cock, spasming, milking him. I vaguely hear him curse and then roar my name as he follows me over the edge. His hips jerk, slamming deep one final time as he spills himself inside me.
We tremble through the aftershocks together before my knees buckle and at last give out.
Cassidy drops the gun with a heavy thud on the towel mat and catches me with both arms before I collapse fully.
He pulls out of me, leaving me feeling empty and raw.
Our mingled fluids seep out, hot between my thighs, soon to be washed away by the water swirling toward the drain.
I’m sobbing again, but it’s different now. It’s the kind of tears that come when your body and soul have been pushed past the limit. Cassidy turns me to face him, cradling me in his arms as he leans against the wall.
One strong arm wraps around my back, the other hand cradles the back of my head, pressing me into the crook of his neck.
I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, as if he’s the only solid thing left.
Because he is. He has always been the only true thing in my life.
The only part of my fucking puzzle to have ever made sense.
“Shh,” Cassidy breathes against my hair. “That’s my girl. You did so fucking good.”
His praise both soothes and wrecks me further. A ragged cry pours from me, muffled against his skin. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking us slightly. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”
I sob until my throat is raw and my chest aches. Finally, when my wailing has ebbed to sniffles, Cassidy leans over and twists the faucet off completely.
He tilts my chin up with gentle fingers, and my eyes flutter open to meet his. Cassidy’s gaze is surprisingly soft, even as his face is flushed and hair disheveled. He strokes a thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear. “Look at me, Bindi.”
I do. I’m drained, hollowed out, but in his arms I feel . . . not whole. I’ll never feel whole again—not since I climbed out of my foster home’s window. But at least I’m not alone in my brokenness. He’s here. He’s with me. And I want him to stay forever.
“You’re all right. We’re all right. Understand?”
I nod weakly. He isn’t just talking about now, I realize. In Cassidy’s mind, it’s done. We did what we had to do and now we live with it.
I envy that about him, how easily he accepts the violence and chaos. But I also need it from him, need that strength to bleed into me. I take a shaky breath and try to believe him.
We’re all right.
Am I ?
The fact that I just came harder than ever in my life from something so twisted makes me question everything. But Cassidy doesn’t judge me for it.
He presses a tender kiss to my forehead, then my temple. Soft, almost sweet gestures, like twisted absolution. I lean into each one, eyes slipping shut again, more tears quietly leaking free.
He stands, scooping me up with him. My legs wrap around his waist automatically, arms around his neck.
I’m spent, and he carries me easily out of the shower.
Water pools at our feet on the cracked tile.
He steps over the discarded gun and carries me into our bedroom, not bothering with towels or clothes.
We’re both dripping, leaving a trail behind us.
The room is just big enough for a bed and two nightstands, but it’s enough for us. He lowers me on the bed then peels off his soaked jeans before joining me, pulling the quilt around us. We’re both naked, skin to skin, a damp warmth cocooning us. I nestle into him without hesitation.
He strokes my hair, fingers combing through the tangled strands. “You’re a mess—broken and bloody and mine. My queen of the damned.”
The title hangs in the dark, morbid and strangely affectionate. A weak laugh escapes me, almost a half sob. He shifts back to meet my eyes, and there’s nothing but pride and adoration in his. It steals my breath.
A tear slips down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb and brings it to his mouth, licking it off slowly. “Even your tears taste sweet to me.”
My heart twists. There’s a sick romance in his words that makes me want to cry harder and kiss him at the same time. “Cassidy . . .” I manage, voice cracked and small. I don’t even know what I mean to say— thank you, I’m sorry, I love you , or maybe all three.
“I’ve got you,” he interrupts gently, understanding enough. He pulls me tighter against him, my head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat thrums steadily against my ear, grounding me.
We stay like that, wrapped around each other, sharing warmth and pain in equal measure. His fingers draw idle patterns on my back, lulling me toward a fragile sleep. In his arms, in this vile afterglow, I feel a shred of peace.
Cassidy’s lips brush my ear. “Get some sleep, killer,” he whispers.
As I begin to slip under, one final thought flickers through my weary mind. I am his, he is mine, and in the hell we’ve created, we are one.