Chapter 34 #2
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Adrian said, standing up after fucking me with his finger a few more times.
He stepped out of his sweats and kicked them to the side, but I didn’t have the view of his body that I wanted. Only his feet, his hands as they grabbed me, his breath as it burst white mist through the chilly space above my head.
I expected his cock in my ass, for that brutal shove of him entering me when I wasn’t ready. So I was surprised when he spread my legs wider and punched into my pussy instead, his hard cock filling me up with one thrust of his hips.
I cried out, still experiencing pain there, but he only chuckled, getting what he wanted.
“I hate you,” he told me. “So damn much. But I can’t stop.
” He punctuated his words with rough thrusts that pushed my body forward.
“I want to destroy you, Penelope Karner, every inch of you needs destruction, inside and out.”
My head and shoulders went over the balcony and I grinned, my tits crushed as he forced all his weight onto me and kept telling me all the ways he hated me.
“I hate that you killed him and don’t feel remorse.” He fucked me hard. “I hate that you killed all those men, and it only makes you wet.” My hips smashed into the wooden banister, scraping and splintering. “I fucking hate you, that you’ve got under my skin like a dirty parasite.”
He was a grunting animal above me, holding my hips and forcing me down when he fucked up, slamming his cock into my cervix, into my very soul like he was piercing through me, burrowing his way through my center until it was mush.
“More,” he said, pushing me forward again until my arms fell over the edge. The only reason I wasn’t falling now was because of his grip on me.
I felt the lure of gravity tugging me down, my hair swinging, my fingertips reaching for the ground. Each thrust and jostle from him driving into me took me a millimeter closer. I made no effort to keep myself safe. If he wanted me to fall, I would.
If he wanted me dead, he held that in his hands.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, looking for where I would land, what would break my descent. “Adrian…”
“Shit,” he grunted, and stepped forward yet again, so my entire torso hung off the balcony. I should have fought it, clawed to get back up, tried to brace myself, but all I did was hang there, let him take what he needed.
We fell into a rhythm like that, where the only thing keeping me from tumbling to my doom was the way his legs kept me pinned between his body and the balcony railing.
“I hate you, Penny,” he told me again, repeating the words over and over as he clawed at my skin and ruined it for anything else. “You need to fucking die.”
“Please,” I cried out, but I didn’t know what for.
Pleasure began building in my belly, heating the deepest parts of me. He was about to go; I could tell. His breathing was even more erratic; his words barely legible. Just angry, bitter and cold, barreling towards his finish.
“I need more,” he said then, his voice lost with lust and animalistic desperation.
“Take it then,” I shouted, turning my head to the side to try to see him, see anything at all beyond the floor of the theater far below.
There was a shift, a moment when I almost fell, when one of his hands loosened from my hips and I sucked in what I thought would be my last breath.
Then– the baton, I knew what it was, what he was going to do, the second I felt the cool, blunt metal tip against my flesh.
He tried to push it in, grunted, “Shit,” and yanked me up, grasping my hair and pulling my entire body up in one vicious swoop, bending my skin to straining.
I opened my mouth to demand he tell me what the hell was going on, but before the words could come, he twisted me around and threw me back over the balcony, hanging over the edge, my face on his, my arms scrambling to reach for him.
He wrapped my thighs around his waist, giving me a modicum of the power.
“Hold on tight, little killer,” he rasped, making me squeeze around him, lifting me up higher, changing the angle. There really was nothing but my own grip on him holding me up. He was relenting, giving me a tiny piece of control back. If I let go, he wouldn’t be able to catch me.
My death would be my own again.
He showed me what he was doing as he lowered the baton between us, placing it beneath me instead of his cock.
His eyes never strayed from my pussy as one hand landed on my shoulder and shoved me down.
I cried out at the intrusion, but only because it was cold.
Harder and thinner than his cock, but longer, stabbing into my cervix in a mind-bending dart of pain.
I held on as he fucked me with it, pushed with more force than was comfortable, testing the boundaries of what my body could take, slamming against my cervix like it might break through.
“Hold on,” he repeated when my thighs loosened. He slapped me, so I tensed back up. “You don’t get to claim your death today.”
“I won’t let go,” I told him, clawing at his neck to keep from falling. We were sweat-slick, my balance poor, my focus entirely on him, his movements. It wouldn’t take much… everything was just so intense, so overwhelming. He wanted me at my limit, and he was getting me there.
Fingers pressed into my pussy then, one, then two in quick succession, shoving in beside the baton. He stretched me out on them, then withdrew. “That’s all you’re getting. It needs to hurt.”
“Make it hurt,” I cried.
He shoved his cock, thick and hot, into my body beside the baton, and pushed in and out at the same time, working my pussy to death.
I felt so beyond extended, my pussy roaring with the tension, the pull and pressure as it was taken to the edge of capability. But he didn’t care. When I cried without meaning to, when I gasped because I was sure something had broken, he didn’t stop.
“I’m going to shove this thing into your womb,” he told me as he fucked me, his breaths coming out in hard, hot pants. “I’m going to ruin your body, ram it through you like you did Brandon, like you did Randal.”
“Yes,” I begged. “Stop threatening me with a good time and fucking do it.”
He began alternating thrusts, pushing the baton in as he pulled out. “Shit,” he grunted. “That feels so good, you’re so fucking tight like this.”
My fingers fumbled.
Traction lost.
An orgasm ripped through me with no fair warning as my grip on Adrian failed. I didn’t fight, didn’t scramble. I let my last moments begin to wash over me as Adrian swore, as the baton fell from me and his hands reached out.
My ass slipped over, my torso, arms and head already on their descent.
It was a hand on my throat that pulled me back, a final desperate grasp of Adrian’s hand, half hanging over himself, that carried me back from death.
It was that hand on my throat that made me see red.