Chapter 4
KIT
Fuck, is that a blush? Did I really just make the cold and unemotional Bell Bishop blush? And laugh!
Fuck, I’m on a roll.
“We can’t fuck. Libi is asleep upstairs,” she remarks, taking a step back from me, so naturally, I take a fucking step forward, because she’s shit outta luck if she thinks this isn’t happening.
“Libi sleeps like the dead,” I counter, watching Bell take yet another step back as she scoffs.
“Well, I fuck like the world is ending, so she will definitely wake up.”
My lips spread wide in a grin.
There’s one thing you can always count on from Bell Bishop.
Brutal honesty.
“Fuck, Belladonna. I bet you’re freaky in the sheets.” I take two steps closer this time as she moves faster.
“You can’t handle my kind of freaky, Kitty Kat.” Her dark brow quirks, and I can tell she actually believes that.
“Shall we make it a bet? Because I’m pretty sure I’ll surprise you. I like to get pretty fucking filthy.”
Her feet stop, and so do mine as we stare at each other. She wears such a neutral expression it makes it hard to read her, but the moment I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, her eyes track the movement, and her breathing quickens.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” I smirk, and those pretty whiskey eyes flick back to mine.
“Shut up.”
Huh! I fucking knew it!
“Come on, let’s go.” I step forward and grab her wrist, but she yanks it free, shaking her head.
“No, Kit. I can’t.”
She just called me Kit. Not Kitty. Not Kitty Kat. Not pussy cat. Just Kit.
I shouldn’t fucking like it, yet I do.
“Why not?” I ask, standing in her personal space, so close she has to crane her head back to see my face. “You on your monthly? I don’t mind blood. In fact, blood, bodily fluids… it’s all a part of the filthiness I fucking love.”
Her lips part as she peers up at me past her midnight lashes, her top teeth popping out to bite into her lower lip.
Fuuuck. She likes the sound of that.
“That’s not why,” she breathes after releasing her lip, her voice soft and a little husky.
“Then why?” I ask, stepping flush with her, reaching up to comb my fingers into her hair, and fuck… it feels just like silk.
She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t push me away. In fact, I’m pretty sure she fucking melts against me.
“You’re Tillie’s brother.” She states the obvious. “She’s my best friend.”
“Not a good enough excuse, Bell. It doesn’t change anything for me.” My free hand grips her hip, and fuck, she’s still such a skinny thing. I can feel the bones of her hip under her little dress. “I still wanna fuck you. It’s just sex.”
She scoffs, shoving me back, and even though I could fight it, I don’t, letting my hands fall away.
“Men say that all the time and guess what? They get clingy.” She rolls her eyes like all men are pathetic. “Guess what I had to do to make them stop?”
My brows shoot up at her implication.
If she were anyone else, I’d say she’s implying she hurt them to try to scare me. But this is Bell fucking Bishop. It’s no implication. It’s the fucking truth.
“Did you make them scream, Belladonna? Make them bleed?”
“Of course.” She shrugs, like it’s a no brainer.
“What if I promise you can kill me if I get clingy?”
“I don’t need your permission to kill you, Kitty. If I want you dead, then dead you will be.”
My cock jerks at her words. I typically consider myself an alpha male. Hell, I sure as shit played that role in my platoon years ago, but the thought of this woman taking a knife to me and slicing my skin open… Fuck. I’m as hard as stone.
“So really, what you’re saying is that you like me. Otherwise, I’d be dead.”
She rolls her eyes again. “You’re an idiot, Kitson Hall.” She spins on her heel. “I’m going to unpack.”
“But you don’t even know what room is the guest room,” I snap, feeling annoyed that she’s leaving me here to deal with the fucking seven-inch monster tenting my fucking pants.
“I can find it,” she calls, disappearing down the hall, and I have to fucking fight the urge to chase after her like a fucking desperado.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
This is Bell. The emotionally damaged girl who used to wear her hair in two braids, with high collared dresses, every stitch of clothing black.
She was a Wednesday Addams lookalike if I ever saw one.
I know all about her past. I read the files she shared with me when I asked where she came from the third time Tillie brought her home from school and fed her dinner.
She carried those damn files around like a security blanket, but I quickly learned when she handed them to someone to read over, it meant she trusted them.
She couldn’t say the words out loud, I guess. So she let me read all about her upbringing. The house she grew up in with her mother… and her father. How every night at eight o’clock, her dad would send her to bed, while she had to listen to him rape her mother.
Then, once that was done, they were both locked into the small section of the house that had no windows, where they would stay until he came to let them out at five in the afternoon the next day.
He’d made them his slaves, and up until Bell escaped when she was close to thirteen, she’d never seen another child, let alone kids her age.
She only knew one life up until then, and she’d been conditioned to be emotionless, because showing emotions meant punishment, and her punishments were brutal.
“Tillie is the only person who understands me,” she said with her typical neutral expression when she was just fourteen years old.
“So here are my files. Here’s what’s wrong with me, and why I’m different.
I know you want to protect your little sister, but just so you know, I want to protect her too. ”
She’d told the truth. She’d been doing that for years. Protecting Tillie. So when I enlisted in the Australian Army, I knew my little sister would be okay until I could make something of myself and come back to her.
Shit. Bell Bishop.
She’s always been an anomaly I couldn’t understand.
Mainly, the way I was drawn to her.
Raking my hand through my hair, I turn back to stare at the painting Libi had done for her mother.
She wanted a black Christmas tree. It wasn’t the first time she asked for one. She’s been asking for it for the last two years. So, fuck Rhonda. If she’s gonna come in here, throw my stuff around because she thinks our daughter has the devil in her, then she can go get fucked.
Libi is getting that fucking black Christmas tree, tomorrow fucking morning.
Gathering up the torn paper, I slip it back into the drawer and flick the lights and TV off before moving through the ground floor of my house to double check the doors and windows are locked. I key in the pin for the alarm system, and turn to face the stairs.
Light flows down from upstairs as I take the steps, two at a time. The landing light is on, and the door to the guest room, right next to Libi’s room, is wide open.
I peer in, only all I find is Bell’s suitcase sitting unopened on the end of the bed.
Where the fuck is she?
Glancing at the open bathroom door, I notice the light inside is off, which means she’s not in there… And there’s no light coming from under Tillie’s door… so where is she?
My eyes drift to the second staircase that goes up to my private quarters. My home office is up there, plus a small living area and my bedroom with an attached bathroom and dressing room.
Is it extravagant? Yep, it sure the fuck is, but considering we grew up with nothing, and I’ve worked fucking hard to provide, not just for my daughter, but my little sister, and unbeknownst to Bell, her too, I think I fucking deserve some luxury.
Moving up to the third floor, I find my office door wide open, but the room empty, so I check the living room, and then my bedroom, where I find Bell opening my bedside drawer.
“What are you doing?” I snap, but she doesn’t even flinch at the sudden sound of my voice.
“Snooping. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I snap, rushing in, because I know what’s in that fucking drawer, but it’s too fucking late.
Bell turns to face me with the fucking thing in her hand before I make it another step.
“Does this get much action?”
“Put it down,” I growl, storming towards her, but she simply shakes her head.
“I’d like a demonstration.”
“I’m not demonstrating anything. If you want to see my cock slide into a set of lips, you can fucking volunteer and watch in the mirror.
” I gesture to the floor to ceiling mirror running along the wall next to one side of my bed, and, fuck me, but her brow quirks up, a look of curiosity flicking over her expression.
“How far down do you like to go?”
Jesus… does she mean…
“Down the throat?” I ask, and she nods.
“I need to know if we’re compatible. If I’m going to open my mouth for someone, then it’d better be worth it.”
“How far do you want me to go?” I step closer and snatch the silicone mouth from her, and the fucking thing starts talking.
“Ohhh yes, Santa. Just like that. Choke me with your big cock, Santa.”
Bell sucks in her lips, trying not to laugh, which I might fucking add, is a hard feat to make her do. I flip the damn switch off and toss the fucker back into the drawer.
“Uh, uh, Santa. I asked you first.” Her lips kick up in a smirk as she presses one of her sharp red claws into the centre of my chest. “How do you like to fuck a mouth? Because there are a few different ways, and I want to know exactly what you picture in your head when you fuck that thing… are those lips meant to belong to Mrs Clause?”
She bobs her head in the direction of the fuck toy, not an ounce of fear or shame on her face about this fucking conversation or the fact I have a silicone mouth that sucks and talks to Santa.
Fuck my life.
Sighing, I try to focus on what the fuck is happening here.
“You want to know what I imagine?” I ask, pushing the drawer shut in case the fucking thing starts talking again. “Or what I do with other women?”
There goes that fucking dark brow again.
“I want to know exactly what you wish you could do with women, but don’t, for whatever reasons… usually fear of rejection… so instead you imagine it when you fuck Mrs Clause’s mouth.”
I fucking smirk, biting back a laugh.
“No one’s ever asked me this before.” I clear my throat… fuck, is it getting hot in here?
Bell nods. “Likely no one will because most chicks are too scared of what their partners’ fantasies might mean for them.
But I’m not like other women. I actually like it rough.
I like being abused.” She shrugs one shoulder like that’s no big deal and drops her arse down on my bed.
“Most guys get scared of the things I’m willing to let them do to me. ”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
Is she the one? You know, the one that matches how fucking kinky I am. How depraved I can be. How fucking disturbing I’ve become.
Is she the one… one?
My fucking heart does this weird flip in my chest that I’ve never fucking experienced before, and either I’m about to go into cardiac arrest, or Bell Bishop has kickstarted the fucking thing.
“If I tell you, not a word of it gets shared with my sister.” I jab a sharp finger in her direction, and Bell rolls her eyes.
“Trust me. Till’s learned years ago not to ask questions. She knows I’m into fucked up stuff, and she still loves me anyway.”
“She knows some of the stuff you’ve done?”
Bell nods. “Some of it. She just begs me to be safe… since you know, some of it isn’t exactly safe.”
Run now, Kit. Fucking run! This chick will ruin anything else you ever try to have with another… because no one will ever compare. I just fucking know it.
My lips part, and I take in a breath, willing myself to walk the fuck away right now, but instead, I find my fucking voice.
“Well, if you must know… I imagine pushing my cock to the back of her throat, so rough and forceful that she gags. I want to hear that gargling noise. You know, the one when she’s choking and gagging and saliva is spilling from her lips around my cock…
” I reach up, extending my arm to wrap my hand around her throat, and those perfect plump lips part, a faint breath of air rushing out.
“And when I grip her neck,” I continue, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I can feel my fucking cock thrust in and out of the column of her throat. I can feel her struggle to breathe, but I can’t let up because it feels soooo fucking good, and all I want to do is make her choke.
Make her hurt until my cum shoots straight down her oesophagus into her stomach. ”
I expect Bell to cringe. To screw her face up and tell me I’m disgusting, but as usual, she simply wears a look of indifference as she leans into my hand gripping her throat.
“Are you hoping she’ll vomit from the gagging?” she asks, and fuck, I don’t know how she says the words without a single fucking emotion on her face.
“No, I’m not into puke play. I just want to feel the gag. The tightening of her throat as her body coils tight from the reflex.”
“And the choking.” She reaches up, resting her hand over mine, and urging me to grip her neck tighter. “Are you hoping to cut off her air? Make her pass out?”
“I don’t want to kill her if that’s what you’re asking?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, not asking that. But you want to restrict her air, right? Dominate her so much that you control the oxygen she gets? Push her to the brink of possible death, where she could even pass out from the lack of oxygen?”
“Yes,” I admit quickly, sure she’ll bolt any second, but instead, she nods, dropping her hand from mine, her fingers moving to the buttons on the front of her dress.
Wait… is she… undoing them?
“Good. You’ll do,” she murmurs, bobbing her head down at my pelvis. “Get it out then.”