Chapter Thirteen #2
“Not very kind of you to sign some poor woman’s death certificate, Tomcat,” she says, her eyes searching mine with a terrifying seriousness.
I laugh, my cock twitching against the steel. The danger is a goddamn aphrodisiac. “Something tells me you’d look good covered in blood, baby.”
Her head falls back, and she finally takes in the silver spiked skull, the purple LED 'X's glowing in the dark. Her expression shifts into something delighted and dangerous. “Oh, you’re playing dirty. A mask? Really? We all know that’s the one thing that turns women into dirty little sluts.”
My hand tangles in the hair at the back of her head, forcing her to hold my gaze. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on. You want to be my dirty little slut, Marigold?”
“This is a really bad idea,” she whispers, though her breath is coming in short, jagged hitches.
I let out a rough laugh and release her neck, grabbing the hem of her hoodie and yanking it over her head in one fluid motion. She backs away, her head shaking, her eyes wide. “We’re friends, Axton.”
Every step she takes back into the red light, I take one toward her. I am the hunter and she is the prey.
“We’re more than that, and you fucking know it.”
Her eyes are roaming now. They’re tracking the mask, the ink on my chest, the line of my v-taper.
I can see the heat drowning the logic in her brain.
The back of her legs hit the velvet couch, and she falls back onto the cushions with a muffled curse.
She tries to scramble up, but I’m over her before she can find her footing.
I wrap my hand in her hair again, pulling her head back until she’s peering up at me, vulnerable and exposed.
The vibration of her whimper travels up my arm like a low-voltage shock.
Her hands anchor onto my thighs, her fingers digging into the muscle as if she’s trying to hold onto the earth.
With my free hand, I unzip my jeans the rest of the way and pull my cock free, my fingers wrapping around the thick, pulsing length of it.
A groan rips out of me, half-pain, half-pleasure.
Fuck.
She isn't even touching me yet, and the sheer proximity to her is making me ache so hard I’m seeing stars.
“Tell me no right now and I’ll walk out that door and never fucking look back,” I growl, my voice vibrating through the skull of the mask. My pulse is a sledgehammer in my chest. “Words, baby. Give ‘em to me.”
A bead of pre-cum glistens at the head of my dick, and her eyes lock onto it with a predatory focus. Her tongue peeks out, gliding along her bottom lip in a slow, hungry curve that makes my vision swim. I tighten my fingers in her hair, the strands winding around my knuckles like a leash.
“Words, little shadow. Now.”
She gives me action instead.
She knocks my hand aside, her fingers wrapping around my length in a firm, possessive grip that draws a sharp hiss from my lungs. She strokes me once, twice, as if testing the weight of me before she leans forward and takes me into the wet heat of her mouth.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl, my hips bucking forward without a single thought of restraint.
Goddammit.
“Jesus fuck, baby. This mouth.”
She takes me deep, the back of her throat clamping around my head as she swallows.
It’s a tight, rhythmic suction that threatens to end me right there.
She glides back up, her tongue twirling around the sensitive rim of the head before she chokes the entire length back down.
She’s sucking my cock like she’s been doing it for years.
Then she scrapes her teeth against me in a sharp, jagged warning and I swear to fuck, the red room turns to white stars.
She releases me with a wet pop, her hand still working me with a relentless rhythm.
“Come on. I thought you were going to punish me for being a bad girl. I should at least have my face fucked or something. Geez.” I reach up to yank the mask off, my skin itching under the cloth, but she shakes her head, her eyes wide and dark.
“Nope. You already started this, sir. That mask is doing things for me right now.”
My hand snaps out, my palm flat against the front of her throat. “Who the fuck is under this mask, Marigold?”
“Whoever I want you to be,” she sasses, that defiant spark returning to her eyes.
I toss her hand away from my dick, taking over the stroke myself as I loom over her. “That so?” I slap my length against her cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet room. She moans, a low, vibrating sound that makes her wiggle against the velvet cushions. “I said, who the fuck is under this mask?”
Her eyes twinkle, but her lips stay pressed in a stubborn, silent line.
“Fine. You don't want to answer? Open wide, then. Give you something better to do with that mouth."
The second her mouth parts, I shove inside.
I’m not being gentle. I’m not playing the bestie role anymore.
I hit the back of her throat and let out a wicked laugh when she gags, the sound muffled by my cock.
“Poor baby,” I croon, pulling out just enough for her to catch her breath before driving back in.
I hold her there, watch the tears build and spill at the corners of her eyes, before I ease back out.
"Done yet?" I ask, my voice a dark rasp.
Before I can even blink, the cold kiss of her knife is back in her hand. “Trust me, lover. You’ll know when I’m done with you. Now, stop holding back.”
Goddamn.
Her hands yank my jeans the rest of the way down my legs, her fingers anchoring into my ass as she pulls me flush against her.
I wind both hands into her hair, yanking her mouth up and down my cock, alternating between punishingly fast and agonizingly slow strokes.
Her moans dance against my skin, and I feel my balls tightening, pulling up for the kill.
My glutes flex under her palms as I fuck her throat, the heat of her saliva dribbling out the sides of her mouth. She looks wrecked. She looks owned.
She is, without question, the most devastating thing I have ever seen.
Suddenly, the blade nicks my ass. A streak of white-hot fire lights up the spot, and I groan as the pain and pleasure fuse into one singular, obscene sound. My balls draw up tight. I pull her mouth off me and wrap my own hand around my cock, the motion a blur of desperation.
Marigold tilts her head back, her throat exposed, her eyes shattered and waiting for the rain of my release.
A few more frantic, heavy strokes and I grunt, the sound vibrating through the skull of the mask as I paint her beautiful face. Ropes of cum streak across her skin, a mark of exactly who she belongs to in this room.
She doesn’t flinch. With a wicked, knowing smile, she runs her fingers through a thick string of it, scooping it up and dragging it into her mouth. “Yum.”
Fuck. Why is that so goddamn hot?
The sight of it sends a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my gut.
I kick my pants away, the denim hitting the floor with a heavy thud, and drop to my knees between her legs.
I grab her by the hips, my fingers sinking into her skin, and yank her leggings off.
I’m hit with a surge of pure, unadulterated territorial pride when I see she’s wearing nothing underneath.
She’s been waiting for this.
I guide her legs up, her heels resting on the edge of the velvet couch until she’s wide open, exposed to the red bleed of the room.
"Fuck." The word comes out low and reverent. "What a pretty pussy."
I run a single finger through her glistening folds, watching the way her skin reacts to my touch.
It really is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen. Her hair is trimmed short and neat—a detail that makes me hungry as fuck. Most of the women I’ve been with keep theirs bare, and that’s fine, their choice, but I’m learning real fucking quick that I have a very specific preference.
My little shadow.
I reach up and lift the black cloth covering my mouth, tucking it up under the silver chin of the skull.
“Oh, fuck. Somehow, you just made it even hotter,” she mumbles, her voice a low, honeyed rasp.
My eyes drop back to her, and I let out a low groan when she leaks against the couch, her body practically begging for me.
I can’t go another second without her flavor on my tongue.
I lean down and bury my face between her thighs, and the second I get that first taste of her, light bursts behind my eyelids.
I growl, my hands shackling her hips to pull her tighter against my mouth.
Every fucking day, I want to start with my face buried in this pretty cunt to worship her the way any queen deserves to be worshipped.
With a well eaten pussy before she starts her day.
Her moans are a frantic, rhythmic demand, urging me on. When I glance up through the eye-sockets of the mask, she’s peering down at me, watching me feast on her with a gaze that could set the room on fire. She twirls her hips against my face, leaning up just enough to pull her bra off.
The red lights dance over the planes of her body, casting long, tempting shadows over her skin, inviting me to explore every inch of the darkness she’s been hiding in.
I scrape my teeth over her clit, a sharp, grounding nip before I suck the bead into my mouth.
She drops back onto the cushions with a sharp, high-pitched cry that echoes off the walls.
I pull away just enough to breathe, my fingers smacking against her wet skin.
I laugh when she arches her back, lifting her hips to meet my hand, practically begging for the sting again.
“This poor little pussy looks hungry, baby,” I say, my fingers tracing the tight, pulsing circle of her entrance.
“Fuck me,” she demands.
“Tell me who the fuck is underneath this mask.”
“A man.”
Fucking wench. With a smirk, I bend her legs back until her knees are touching her chest, pinning her into a position of total vulnerability. I lean up, the head of my cock brushing against her, teasing the heat of her. “Whose man?”
Stubborn, impossible, perfect woman.