Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Adrian
Penelope’s eyes gleamed as I untied her from the table and stood back, her teeth falling from my arm without a fight.
It was one of the things Randal said he promised her.
She’d blown him for the chance of a shower.
My jaw tensed so hard my teeth felt a second from cracking when I thought of him, the way he touched her and she let him.
Until she hadn’t.
I was learning her. What she would take, what would be too much. I was sure there was more to dig into; talking to Lacey had shown me that.
My prisoner licked her lips, her teeth, seeking the metallic tang of my blood as she stretched her freed limbs out, looking a little disgruntled.
“Too bad,” I told her, waving my arm in front of her face. “Not hard enough.” Just some teeth marks to ignore.
She scowled but said nothing as I pulled a gun from my back pocket and aimed it at her head, shooting her a look that dared her to try anything else.
“You think I’m afraid of that?” she asked, watching me close, still not sitting up, making no effort to move from her back.
“No.” I pushed it against her forehead. “But once you die, so does she. So you have an incentive to fear death.”
“You—”
I chuckled. “Call me whatever you want. I’ve got your number.”
“You wouldn’t touch her,” Penny said, shaking her head. “You’re too good.”
I laughed. Loud and booming. “You think I’m good?” I asked, incredulous. “Look at where you are, Penny, and tell me again you think I’m good.”
Staring at me, she stood, still naked, arms crossed over her chest. It pushed her tits together, and my attention darted down. When I met her eyes again, they’d shuttered.
“No, I don’t think you’re good,” she muttered, seeming almost disappointed, quieter.
Ignoring her words, I gestured for her to follow me with the gun, and she let me guide her through the theater and to my shitty little apartment. She moved slow, her eyes grazing over everything to take it all in. She had questions, that was clear, but bit them back.
The apartment was shoved in by the previous owners, right at the rear of the building and along a whole maze of hallways. It was a shithole, but it had a bed, a shower, a kitchen - while I’d been working at the prison, it had been all I needed.
Penny’s eyes roamed over everything as she walked, bare-footed and naked through the cold building.
I directed her to my bathroom and turned on the shower, setting it to just warm.
Room temperature. And in this building, the room temperature was on the frostier side.
“Wash,” I demanded, gesturing with my gun again.
“Fuck you,” she spat, though her attention drifted to the spray, the shampoo and shower gel. I’d left my razor on the sink, too, and I saw her eyes drag over it, sizing it up as a weapon. Idiot mistake. But I refrained from picking it up. Showed her I wasn’t afraid.
“Just get clean, Penelope,” I sighed, frustrated at her reluctance. I was giving her something good, for fuck’s sake. Maybe Lacey had softened me.
“Fine.”
She stepped into the cubicle and groaned as the warm water began sloughing away all the dirt and grime coating her. It soaked into the bandage on her arm, and I knew I’d have to replace it, but for now, she was captivating.
Through all of this, she still turned me on, got my cock hard.
Disgusting. The thought of hurting her, of climbing into that cubicle and fucking her raw, made me want to crawl out of my skin with need.
The more I leaned into this hell, the more I realized just how much I’d changed, how low I’d sunk.
Made myself sick.
But I held the gun toward her and watched her grab the soap and rub it all over her body. Slide it over her tits, between the valley of them and over her collarbone. She soaped up her nipples—
“You’re a sick fuck,” she said then, making me jolt to look her in the eye. She gestured down, and I realized I had one hand on the gun, the other rubbing my cock through my jeans. She wasn’t wrong.
With her accusing stare on me, I didn’t stop, couldn’t make myself. Her judgement of me meant nothing, anyway. “Just get clean, fucking pig.”
“Oh, I think I will be fucking a pig,” she spat, but turned away from me, her soapy hands coming up over her shoulders before drifting down. She cleansed herself, probing a sudsy hand between her ass cheeks and into her pussy before shampooing and rinsing.
When she slid a dollop of conditioner into her palm and smoothed it down the lengths of her oil slick hair, she turned back to me, her eyes landing on where I was still rubbing myself.
I could jizz in my pants at the sight of this dangerous woman, soaped up and wet in my shower.
Just looking at her made it harder to think straight. To focus.
“I saw your bedroom,” she said. “All the kinky shit you put in it. Is it for me?”
“No,” I lied. It was. It was all for her. And I hated it. She always found a way to burrow under my skin with just a few short words. “Get out of there now.”
A few late-night purchases from kink websites had my room looking like a sex dungeon - something I hadn’t used, didn’t even know if I wanted to, but the urge had been intense. Watching her behind those bars in the prison, it made a man’s mind wander…
“But I haven’t washed off the conditioner yet—” she started, but I lunged in there and grabbed her injured arm, pulling her by it until we were back in my bedroom.
I threw her on the bed and, working quick, tied one of her hands to the frame.
Only the best kinky tools, bondage rope, and a cage framed bed.
She glared at me, but it was curiosity, not fear. It was never actual fear with her. No matter what the hell I did, how hard I pushed the bitch, it was never fear.
Fuck, I was a mess. As bad as her, as horrible, awful, disgusting. The gun in my hand felt hot and heavy, important.
I squeezed it, aimed it at her, and she just waited.
Even when I stripped away my clothes and climbed on top of her, my thighs bracketed her wet and naked body, my cock hard and heavy as it pointed towards her face.
I held the gun with both hands, right between her eyes, one bloodshot and bruised, the other on fire with questions.
Her expression was tight, but she waited.
“What are you going to do with that, Adrian?” she asked. “Why did you get all undressed?” She looked down, stared pointedly at my cock, the bead of moisture on the tip waiting for her to lick it up. I had no answer, not a real one.
“Didn’t want to dirty my clothes with your blood when I blow your brains out,” I lied again.
“But you don’t mind dirtying your bed?”
“Fuck,” I groaned, and lurched down to pull her nipple into my mouth, sucking it between my teeth and biting, releasing more pressure when she gasped and bucked.
I held the gun to her head as I worked, needing her to feel me, to understand the gravity of what this was.
When she moaned with pleasure, I sat up again. “Look at me,” I commanded, opening the chamber of the gun and emptying all but one of the bullets from it. She watched me throw them across the room and spin the chamber, so we’d have no idea where the bullet lay.
I aimed it at her and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. The tension sky-rocketed and plummeted in a second flat. We both gasped.
“I need to do this my way; I need to see it through,” I told her, and she was surprised by something at last when I handed her the gun. “One attempt, whenever you see fit. And then you hand the gun back to me. We keep going until…”
“Until.” She nodded, and I lowered myself down her body. I needed to taste her. I hated her very soul, despised what she’d done, who she was to her marrow, but since I laid eyes on her in that prison, so different to the woman too sick to go on the stand in court, this was always our end.
I’d fucked her before, when she thought she was manipulating me into setting her free, but this felt different.
It was with full, open honesty that I touched my tongue to her clit and massaged. I craved this, I fucking craved the taste of my brother’s killer’s pussy, and I was caving in.
The barrel of the gun pressed against the top of my head as I pushed her legs further apart, laying wet, sucking kisses over her.
“Do it,” I demanded, lifting my face for a second before diving back in. My tongue roamed everywhere, my hands rubbing the valley between her thighs and cunt, thumbs drifting closer to her hole.
I wanted it all, every drop of her. Her thighs tensed, her stomach clenching and unclenching with my movements. I grunted, she moaned, the gun never leaving the crown of my head. And it was that want for her that brought me nearer to death, to the desire to feel nothing. Instead of this.
“You want to come first?” I asked with a laugh when she still didn’t pull the trigger. “Just in case?”
She moaned, writhed. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Almost there.”
I pushed two fingers inside her, my cock pulsing at the way she clenched around me, and I curled, rubbing and searching for the spot to drive her to oblivion.
She began panting these soft little ‘oh’ sounds, and I locked in, sucking on her clit, fucking her with my fingers, writhing, grabbing what I could with my free hand, needing to touch and feel and push her over.
This was so twisted, a sick game we were playing, but I was done pretending. Neither of us was getting out of this alive.
The gun clicked — empty — as she cried out and came, delicious fluid flooding from her pussy as I lapped at her, riding her through.
It wasn’t relief that rippled through me at the empty cartridge, but I couldn’t place what it was.
Nevertheless, I didn’t relent, sucking on her clit until she yelped and squirmed in overstimulation before sitting up on my haunches.
She handed me the gun with a wary look, and our fingers brushed as I took it and twisted it round to point at her. The handle was warm from her grasp.