Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
I’m not sure how many times I’ve stabbed Amy. It all happened too quickly, and by the time the adrenaline is out of my system, I’m exhausted.
The knife falls to the floor with a loud thud, my breathing heavy. My face is sticky from the blood that splashed all over me, my hands coated in the liquid. It’s a gruesome sight, and as I slump back, sitting on the floor beside her unresponsive body, I can’t seem to think straight at all.
That’s when the reality of the situation dawns on me. My eyes dip down to the state of her body, and I’m uncertain if it’s sheer, dumb luck or my subconsciousness, but somehow, I managed to avoid vital parts. She’s not dead — she’s definitely groaning and writhing in pain.
But she’s immobilized for the time being, and that’s all I need to figure out where to go from here. I need Amy alive, and I need her in good condition.
“Stop moaning,” I scoff. “You’re not dead just yet.”
Amy’s either too stubborn or too weak to respond, but I pay no mind to it. Instead, I pull my phone out, typing out Arlo’s phone number. Before I press the dial button, I pause for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse and how to explain why I just left.
But that seems to be a failed attempt, because footsteps reach my ears. They’re at a safe distance from where Amy’s lying, and I’m sitting, but soon enough, they get closer and closer, until they reach the room we’re in.
A very, very angry-looking Arlo enters, and his eyes fall on me as soon as he’s inside. He rushes toward me, cupping my chin in his hands. Slowly, I get back to my feet, looking into his eyes.
“How many times are you going to just run off on me, butterfly?” His words are a mere whisper, his thumb brushing some of the blood off my cheek.
“This is the last time, I promise.”
He lifts a brow. “Is it?”
“Yes,” I nod, but he doesn’t believe it. I can’t exactly blame him; my record speaks for itself. Before I can try and promise him more of the sweet lies, Arlo switches the subject.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m okay. The blood’s not mine.”
“Good,” he releases a deep sigh of relief. “Do you know what was running through my head when I saw you were gone, butterfly?”
“Arlo—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I’m not finished speaking yet. Not only did I get worried sick, but when I saw that my guns were missing, how the fuck do you think I felt? Hopeless and useless yet again. I thought you’d gone missing again, Blair. I thought I’d lost you, again.”
“I—”
“I’m not done yet,” he interjects. “I love you, Blair. Being without you is like not having enough air to breathe. You’re the other half of me.
And I can’t lose you. So, for the love of everything that is holy, I need you to promise me that you will never run off on your own.
Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’m here to help you through it. Just rely on me already.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, guilt gnawing at me. The look of pure, raw vulnerability is what makes my stomach drop. He’s looking like he’s been looking for me frantically, and I can’t even tell how long I’ve been in here with Amy.
“I promise.”
“Good,” he breathes out.
“Wait, how did you know where I am?”
“All of my guns have trackers in them. Which reminds me to put one on you, too.”
This should feel invasive; it should feel like he doesn’t trust me, like he wants to keep me a prisoner in the prison he’ll build for me.
Yet, it doesn’t. It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted and more, to be protected and cherished.
And if it means being a prisoner in Arlo’s prison, so be it.
I’d be a willing prisoner, with chains on my wrists.
The chains he’ll put on me will feel safer than anything I’ve ever known, anyway.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, leaning in. “I love you.”
He doesn’t respond verbally.
Arlo presses his lips against mine, and I’m gone. He’s not kissing me — he’s claiming my soul. It’s his to taint with all the blood we’ve spilled together, his to ruin and shatter into a million pieces, until each one is screaming his name.
My hands wrap around his neck, toying with the back strands of his hair, staining the white locks in deep, crimson red. He groans into my mouth, pushing his tongue past the seam of my lips.
My heart flutters, heat pools between my legs, and Arlo can fucking sense it. He smirks into the kiss, his hands coming to grip my thighs. He picks me up and pushes me against the nearby wall, his chest pressed against mine.
His tongue is addictive, the taste of nicotine sending shockwaves down my body. He’s supporting my weight with one hand, his free one traveling all over my body, cupping, mapping, and carving out every contour he possibly can.
My legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer. I feel his cock harden in his pants, pressing against my stomach. A soft moan slips from me into the kiss, and it’s like that single sound manages to flip a switch inside of him.
Something resembling an animalistic growl comes from the depth of his throat, and I feel the shift. His hand’s clamping onto my thigh rougher, promising to leave bruises — and they’re much welcome.
“Butterfly,” he groans, sucking my bottom lip and dragging it between his teeth. “I need you. Please let me have you.”
My stomach clenches in anticipation when Arlo pulls back, his eyes searching my face. He’s not continuing until he hears a clear yes, and I swallow down the knot that forms in my throat.
“Yes, please.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. He kisses me again, deeper this time, my head slumping against the wall. Skillfully, he tears through the material of my sweatpants, pushing my underwear to the side.
“Those were new.”
The sound of his belt coming undone echoes in the room, a smirk on his handsome face. “Butterfly, I’ll buy you twenty new pairs for each one I ruin.”
My eyes dip down when he pulls the zipper, taking his cock out. He strokes it a few times, and I lick my lips when I see the precum oozing out of the tip, falling over his hand.
He rubs the tip against my clit, and I don’t even try to stop the moans that reverberate through the room. My mind is focused solely on Arlo, and for the time being, I forget that Amy’s lying on the floor, half-dead, and probably watching all of this unfold.
He smears his precum all over my clit, and my wetness coats his cock perfectly. He pushes the tip in, and my eyes close. The feeling of him easing into me, slowly stretching me to accommodate his big cock, is as exhilarating as always.
Arlo fills me up in one, rough thrust, and I release a scream of pure ecstasy, and he plops his head against my shoulder. He stays buried inside me for a brief moment, not moving.
Then, he starts thrusting, his lips sucking that sweet spot where my neck and shoulder meet. To support myself, I grip his arms harshly, and I feel his cock twitch inside of me.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, voice muffled by my skin. “You feel incredible, butterfly.”
The words boost my ego, and I pull him in deeper until he’s buried to the hilt inside me. His hold on me toughens, and the groans that fall off his tongue make this whole experience at least ten times more surreal.
He’s moving inside of me like he’s a starving beast, and I’m his only and last meal. And with each thrust, he reaches that sweet spot inside of me that makes the orgasm start to build in the pit of my stomach.
“Arlo,” I moan his name out like the sweetest prayer, and it only makes him snap his hips against mine harder.
“That’s it,” he encourages, lifting his head off my shoulder to look at me. “Scream my name, butterfly. Show me who owns you.”
The command in his voice is indisputable. His name falls from my lips time and time again, and each time, I see his eyes darken a shade. There’s a permanent grin on his face, the little tooth gem shining under the moonlight.
The blatant statement of ownership over me makes my stomach clench, and the orgasm almost bursts through me. He stops, just enough to tease me, before starting to move again, the sound of our bodies slamming against each other filling the room.
His cheeks are flushed, getting redder with each passing second. Droplets of sweat slide down his forehead, and this is one of the most attractive I’ve seen Arlo — and he’s always so fucking attractive.
“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, making goosebumps rise on my skin. “Fucking hell, you’re so perfect, butterfly.”
My nose gets hit by the scent of sex, making my throat go dry. With a chuckle, Arlo leans in, dragging his tongue all over my chin, wiping off the blood. He moans at the taste, and my pussy clenches around him.
His hand reaches down, playing with my clit. My breath hitches, eyes swelling with tears. The pleasure is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, and the thrill, the dark aspect of Amy watching, and me being coated in blood only add to the excitement.
“So soaked for me,” he murmurs. That fucking deep voice goes straight to my pussy, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. “You’re dripping all over my cock, butterfly. Such a messy girl.”
I moan loudly, and Arlo picks up the pace. His thrusting becomes obsessive, almost, and the way he’s looking at me can only be described as feral. His pupils are blown out, eyes bloodshot, and a grin is etched on his face that would terrify people.
It doesn’t terrify me — it makes me come hard on his cock. He slams into me, all the way, holding the position as I ride the wave of my orgasm. My fingernails dig into his shoulders, and I know I’ve left a scar.
Arlo’s orgasm follows mine, his hot cum filling me up to the brim.
“Hell,” he breathes out. He’s sweaty, panting, and desperately trying to catch his breath. His plump lips are swollen from all the kisses he left all over my chin, shoulders, and throat, and I have no doubt he’s left a hickey or two.
Slowly, Arlo pulls out of me, leaving me to feel empty.
He’s gentle as he lowers me down to my feet, holding me tightly until I regain my balance.
Immediately, he tucks his cock back into his pants, fixes his belt, and buttons up my coat, making sure no one can see the hole in the sweatpants between my legs.
“Are you okay?”
His voice is gentle, his hand running through mine. A soft smile makes its way onto my face, my heart threatening to burst with all the love for this man. I manage a weak nod.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good,” he sighs, smiling back and kissing my forehead. “Now, what the hell are we supposed to do with her?”
My eyes fall down to Amy, whose eyes are closed. My heart hammers in my chest, and I take a couple of hesitant steps forward until I’m standing over her body.
“Please tell me she’s not dead.’’
Arlo glances at me sideways, then crouches down, his fingers on the side of Amy’s neck. It’s eerily silent, and the silence makes me jump from one foot to the other.
“Don’t worry, she’s alive.’’