Chapter 18
LILIANA
Istare at the address on the screen of my phone, my heart hammering in my chest. This is the bad side of town. Why would he have me go to the bad side of town? I don’t even know this guy. Is he trying to scare me?
“Miss?” my Uber driver grabs my attention, turning around in the seat and waving his hand in front of my face. “Are you sure you gave me the right address?” The guy, probably no older than twenty-one or two, gestures to the seedy motel we’re parked outside of.
“Um…” I swallow hard, my eyes dropping back to the screen. “I think this is right, yeah.”
He nods slowly and then shrugs. “Okay then. Well, here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo him in a near whisper. “Thank you.” I reach for the handle and then shove it open, ignoring the instinct inside that’s screaming for me to stop and just get back in the car.
However, my pussy is aching for whatever is behind room 112, and the knife sheathed to my upper thigh feels like some sort of protection, though it might just be a facade. Still, I hope CrimsonCuff, the user I’ve fucked only once, is not going to actually murder me.
That would be way too ironic at this point.
My boots thud against the asphalt as I scan the doors along the first floor of the motel. I hear thumping and laughter coming from behind a few of the chipped, red doors, but I don’t stop to listen—my heart pounds in my chest, rattling my entire body.
All I have under my coat is lingerie.
And as I finally catch sight of 112, I pause to pull my white mask over my face. I’m wearing a black, cropped wig, per the advice of Alice, and I hope to hell it stays in place for whatever’s to come.
I take steady breaths as I adjust the mask so that I can see, and then force myself to take steps toward the door. When I reach it, I feel like I might pass out.
It’s ajar, just like I left mine for him.
My core squeezes with a burst of pleasure as I press my fingertips to the wood, pressing it inward. It’s just a game, Liliana. He’s just playing the game, and you can be the predator.
But as I step into the darkness, I don’t feel like I’m in control at all.
The door clicks softly behind me, and I blink rapidly, trying to adjust my eyes. But they aren’t fast enough.
A hand clamps over my mouth, and I’m unable to breathe suddenly, my chest hiccuping as I attempt to gasp for air.
“Gotcha, Little Killer,” a distorted voice blares in my ear, and I struggle, hating the way my ass finds his crotch, and consequently his erection. I can’t stop myself from pressing against it, feeling the full length of him.
But I still can’t fucking breathe. I see stars suddenly, my knees growing weak.
I mumble against his hand, panic starting to take over my body. I begin to sweat beneath my coat as CrimsonCuff shoves me against the wall, and finally, he loosens his grip enough for me to drink in a gulp of oxygen.
“Oh shit,” I pant, as he rips my coat from my body.
“This is what you wanted, right?” He mocks me, chuckling darkly as he throws my coat somewhere in the room. He presses against me, and this time, I realize that he is naked.
He really is mocking me.
And it only continues as he presses something sharp and cold against my neck.
“Get on your knees, Little Killer,” he muses. “And face me.”
“No,” I whisper, the thought of being on my knees making my stomach retch violently. “No way.”
“I love a little challenge.” He presses the blade deeper into my skin, threatening to break it. “I don’t mind taking your whole goddamn head off.”
“You wouldn’t,” I choke out. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, but I would.” His cock presses against my G-string. “But based on the way you’re already so wet, I think you’ll get on your knees. Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”
I freeze. That means I have to take my mask off.
But the weight of him and the knife sandwiching me in has my head spinning with hypotheticals…
And dropping to my knees.
“That’s what I thought, Little Killer. If you want control, you earn it.”
Before I’m even turned around to face him, his fingers flip my mask up, shielding his view of my face. He forces my head around, and before the rest of my body has even followed, his cock is in my mouth, gagging me.
“Never had it like this, have you?” He grunts as he thrusts deeper, forcing his length down my throat. I find his bare thighs and dig my nails, desperate for him to let up.
But he doesn’t.
Tears stream down my face as I try to breathe through my nose and not think about what’s happening. His balls slap my chin, and I fight the urge not to throw up—at the same time, my pussy oozes with arousal I never thought possible.
This is not my murder fantasy with Shaw.
It’s not anything close.
“Come on,” he thrusts his hips against my face, fisting the wig so hard, I’m shocked it hasn’t fallen off. “Let me come down that pretty little throat.” His voice strains, and my nails break his skin, blood spilling warm around them.
It sends a shiver through the stranger’s body.
I may have control.
I keep digging them in, putting as much force as I can into it, and rest my tongue against the bottom of his shaft, letting out a moan.
It turns on CrimsonCuff even more, his whole body tensing.
“Fuck, fuck,” he growls, the voice distortion crackling. He grows more frantic, thrusting harder and gagging me again. Saliva drips down my chin, and my throat begins to burn against the friction.
And then he explodes.
Cum spurts from him, his dick pulsing inside my mouth. His grip flexes then loosens as he leaves his balls resting against my face.
“You’re a good little killer,” he pants, before finally retreating. “That was exactly what I fucking needed.”
He releases me entirely and then disappears into the darkness. I sit there on my knees, wiping my tears away as I hear CrimsonCuff fumbling with what I think are his clothes.
Is he seriously just going to leave after that? I perk up instantly, wiping away the saliva from my lips. I can taste his dick on my tongue, and I hate that I like it. I hate it all worse as I hear him pull the zipper up.
What did he think? He was just going to show up, ruin me, and then leave?
Absolutely not.
I’m on my feet before I can think it through, careening into the darkness. Fuck him.
Fuck. Him.
I pull the blade from my sheath and then swipe out in front of me, the blade connecting with something.
Because he emits a low, angry wail.
“What the fuck?” he explodes. “What are you doing?”
I answer him with another flick of my blade, cutting him again.
“You little—”
“Killer,” I whisper, shoving him backwards and onto the bed. I expect him to swing or fight back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lies starkly still as I feel up his jeans, my hands not stopping until I reach his crotch.
Rock hard. He’s rock fucking hard.
I don’t wait, quickly undoing the button and setting his cock free. It’s my turn, and I don’t want to sit on his face. I want his cock.
I straddle him, sliding my thong to the side. Carefully, I drop down onto him, his thick shaft stretching me open. “Ooh,” I can’t stop the moan.
“I don’t let women sit on top of me,” he groans, but as he goes to sit up, I stop him with my blade against his neck.
“Don’t,” I pant, my voice breathy as I grind against him. My pussy takes all over him, my clit rubbing against his abdomen as I lean forward. His hands find my hips, and despite the blackness of the room, I know I must’ve cut somewhere near his hand, as I feel the warm gush against my skin.
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he mutters, thrusting in time with me. “I can’t fucking stop.” His groans deepen. “Fuck me harder, Little Killer. Fuck me so hard.”
Oh fuck. Whimpers escape my lips as I start moving faster, riding the high of his heavy breathing and my own pleasure. I keep one hand on the knife and the other finds my clit. I gyrate my fingers against it, and I start to feel my orgasm building behind it.
“Soak my cock, baby,” he breaks into a near whine that mimics my own, sending a shockwave of arousal through me.
I’m in control. I’m in fucking control.
“Repeat it,” I plead, my hips jerky and my hand picking up its pace. “Say it.”
“Come on me,” he thrusts deeper into me.
That’s it. That’s fucking it. I explode on him, and the knife slips from my grip, clattering somewhere on the floor. My pussy squeezes his shaft, and he groans out in pleasure.
“Oh fuck, Little Killer,” he grabs for my hips, holding me still as he pulses in me. “That’s what I needed. Making me come again.” He growls through his own release as he fills me, and I start to come down from the ecstasy.
I shut my eyes then, sliding my fingers against his bare abdomen and then chest. I can’t see him, but I commit every inch of his warm skin to my memory.
“What are you doing?” he says, his voice barely coherent.
“Remembering,” I whisper. “You keep me from doing terrible things, I think.” The admission makes my stomach flip-flop with nerves, realizing the confession that’s come from nowhere.
I didn’t even know it myself. Not entirely, anyway.
“What bad things?” His heart pounds unevenly beneath my palm. “What bad things do you want to do, Little Killer?”
I hesitate, his cock still lodged inside of me. “I don’t know.” Because I don’t know. Exactly.
He chuckles. “Then I don’t think that counts as very bad.”
I pick myself up off him, keeping my voice in a whisper. “Maybe not.” I reach for my coat, find my phone, and then order my Uber, the phone screen hurting my eyes.
Part of me wants to spin it around and see what exactly CrimsonCuff looks like, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
It could kill the magic.
And I can’t have that.