52. Penelope #2
Falling for them?
Does he mean Dylan and Ali?
The knife is pushed into my calf, right above where he’s kissing me. “So if you won’t play by my rules, then let’s play by yours.”
I can’t even reply because his tongue is everywhere, stilting my breath.
“We made a deal, you and I,” he mutters, kissing his way up my thighs while dragging the knife up with him. And I’m equal parts terrified and aroused. “So tell me what you need me to do.”
When his tongue swipes my slit, I moan out loud.
The cold blade pushing up against my inner thigh silences me. And he pauses his kisses and looks up, knife digging into my skin. “Tell. Me.”
“Find my sister’s bullies,” I murmur as I gaze down.
Right then, his tongue dips out to lick me again, and I almost lose my balance. I steady myself against the walls while the water clashes down on me.
“What else?” he says, lapping me up.
“Punish them,” I say.
His tongue is relentless.
His voice is dark, commanding, “Be specific.”
“Hurt them,” I say.
His mouth covers my most sensitive parts, circling me like he’s intent on making me come again, and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop it, even if I wanted to.
“How?” he asks.
“What?” I mutter.
And he actually pulls back, leaving me bereft. “If you won’t give me everything you have, I won’t give you mine.”
God, my clit thumps just from the fact that his tongue hovers so close, and I hate him for edging me like this. God, I hate it, and I love it so much.
“Cut out their tongues,” I murmur.
And he immediately goes to town on me to the point that I struggle to even let out a moan.
“More,” he groans.
“Slice off their fingers,” I say.
“Yes,” he says, rolling his tongue around until my legs begin to quake.
“Rip out their eyes.”
Suddenly, he thrusts the handle of the knife into me, and I gasp, only for it to turn into a moan as he starts fucking me with it while his tongue continues to roll around. The sharp end of the blade must be cutting into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world over pain.
A mixture of rage and animalistic lust floods my body as he continues licking me, and I can barely keep it together.
“Now finish it,” he growls.
“Kill them,” I whisper.
And his tongue dives into me so deep along with the knife I mewl with delight. “Fuck, I’m coming, Felix!”
“Yes, finish all over my mouth,” he groans, lapping me up like he can taste the revenge on my wetness.
My hands on the wall can barely hold me up. He rises to his feet and catches me just before I fall, planting me against the wall, before his lips crash into mine again.
The knife tumbles out of me and clatters onto the tile floor, but I don’t give a damn.
All I want is more of these kisses, more of his touch, more of everything so depraved I would sell my soul to receive just a crumb.
“I will bring them hell for you.”
His voice is dark, heady, and so mesmerizing that I’m becoming obsessed.
God, now I understand what they did to her.
I tear off Felix’s clothes and throw them to the side, pants and shirt and everything between him and me.
But when our lips momentarily unlatch, I gaze at all the intricate tattoos on his body, at the Skull & Serpent tattoo he wears too, just like Dylan and probably Ali too, and many more.
Because what was hiding underneath those high-buttoned shirts and thick black hoodies was a neck tattoo of a phoenix going from his chin all the way down to his chest.
Along with a Medusa right underneath.
A tattoo people usually only get when … they’ve been assaulted.
Fuck.
I suck in a breath as I touch it, but he flinches when I do. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Is this …? Were you …?” I mutter.
“It was a long time ago,” he says, clenching his jaw.
So it’s real? That really happened to him?
Wow.
Out of all people, he was the last I would guess to ever be … a victim.
There are many more layers to this man than I originally thought.
A tortured soul hell-bent on giving the world exactly what it gave him.
Desolation.
His hand grips mine. “Don’t pity me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I know what I see,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve looked at you long enough to recognize every fucking emotion on your face.”
I gulp.
Was he always that obsessed?
Or did I just never notice because I was too busy to make him the object of my hatred?
“I’m sorry, it’s just …”
“You don’t expect it with someone like me.”
I nod. I always thought he was impenetrable, hard as steel, cold to the bone.
But maybe he wasn’t always that way.
Someone made him that way.
“Life is cruel,” he replies. “I learned that lesson at a very young age.” He swallows. “And if people take something from you that’s precious … you annihilate them.”
He turns off the shower, but I’m far from finished with showering. Or from cooling down.
With a hard-on, he marches out of the shower only to return with dark-red towels. “Catch.”
He throws me one that barely covers my body, but I make do and dry myself off. He returns with one of his shirts when I’m about to wrap it around my body. “I don’t have women’s clothes, so this will have to do.”
It’s one of his.
I put it on, and it’s oversized for me but just big enough to cover my butt. But the smell … it reminds me of him.
A blush spreads on my cheeks.
When he walks off, I follow him back to his bedroom, wondering why we aren’t finishing him too.
But I’m far too busy gaping at his room, which is so different from Dylan’s. I’ve been here before, but it still doesn’t fail to mesmerize me. And now that I’m not being chased, I can finally have a real look around.
It’s dark and gloomy, covered in skulls, but the place is gigantic, with two big window panes in the back where a lofty bed stands. Across the room are several tables filled with half-filled liquor bottles and empty glasses—a testament to someone drowning in their agony.
I rub my lips together and walk through the room. Plenty of expensive-looking leather seats are scattered throughout, along with a bench and something that looks like a cross with straps on it. Every piece of furniture has a skull pattern on it. Exactly what I’d expect from someone who loves death.
I gulp.
In the back, near the window, is a wooden table with a small enclosure on top.
The creature inside it draws me in.
It’s a snake.
And it’s eating a dead rat.
“Nessie.”
I almost jump up and down from the scare.
He’s right behind me, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.
“Our pet snake,” he adds.
I frown and smile at the same time. “A pet?”
“Snakes can be pets,” he responds.
“No, I mean, you have a pet?” I snort.
His eyes narrow. “Is that so hard to believe?”
I shrug, still smiling because he’s right. It is kind of hard to believe from a frigid man like him. Though I suppose this kind of pet suits him perfectly, especially with that tattoo.
“Actually, no,” I reply.
My finger dips into the cage to touch her body, which feels strange.
“Do you want to hold her?” He lifts her out before I can even reply, then places her on my neck. “She won’t bite.”
“Gee, that’s a comforting thought,” I mutter, feeling her slither across.
He tilts his head and watches me for a moment. “You’re not scared.”
“No … should I be?”
A smile gently tugs at his lips. “Maybe you aren’t exactly the same as Eve.”
I make a face. “She was scared of snakes?”
I didn’t even know that. How did I not know?
He pulls Nessie off my shoulders again and places her back in the cage. “Maybe she didn’t tell you everything about her.”
I lower my eyes and sigh. “I wish she would’ve confided in me. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble.”
With a single finger, he lifts my chin and forces me to look at him. “Maybe there was a reason she didn’t. She was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
I shudder in place.
“Us.”
Too late.