Chapter 19 #3
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he clasps the area just below my ass and pushes his tongue deep inside my body.
His tongue moves like waves in an ocean, stroking every nerve ending to awareness.
Then he amplifies the pleasure tenfold, licking his way to my hypersensitive clit before sealing his lips around the swollen flesh.
He teases me with slow caresses, gliding his tongue back and forth over my sweet spot.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, my eyelids fluttering shut, as heat pools in my lower abdomen. I’m defeated. My mind revolts while my body falls victim to his mouth. I hate it so fucking much—that this monster can play me like a finely tuned instrument.
“I can’t stay like this for much longer,” I gasp, struggling to remain in position.
His fingernails burrow into my skin, a clear warning not to move. My muscles are going to give out at any moment.
He grips me tighter, lifting me to the tips of my toes.
“Sandman, please…”
The plea dies on my lips as I reach climax, coming so hard my body seizes, raw sensations surging through me like an electric current.
I release my leg and topple over his shoulder in a boneless heap, too spent to stand on my own.
But he doesn’t stop—he laps and nips at my clit, drawing another mind-shattering orgasm from me.
I twist my fingers into his cut, broken sounds spilling from my throat, my core humming with ecstasy.
Before I can come down from my high, he shoves to his feet and carries me into the bathroom. Once inside, he lowers me into the bathtub.
What’s next on his torture list? Several possibilities filter through my mind, waterboarding at the forefront. It takes everything in me not to throw myself at his feet and beg him to stop, but I keep my mouth sealed. Any compassion he once had is gone—black hatred replaced it long ago.
Sandman retrieves a small bottle from inside his cut and grudgingly thrusts it into my hand. Honeysuckle Dreams Bodywash. It’s my favorite, but too pricy for my budget now. I haven’t used it in months. After three years, he still remembers.
“Shower.”
“W-what?” I stammer.
He turns and sits on the toilet. “You heard me, and leave the shower curtain open.”
Another game… another level of Sandman’s hell. I twist the valves and let the water run until it’s nearly scalding before pulling the lever on the showerhead.
“I need a washcloth,” I say monotonously.
“Make it quick,” Sandman demands, throwing one at me.
I turn on the shower and step under the spray, trying my best to ignore his presence.
Bloody suds cascade down my legs and vanish into the drain.
As I glide the soapy washcloth over my breasts, a rumbling growl rends the compact space, kicking my heart into overdrive.
His need is tangible, caressing my heated flesh like a physical touch.
It stifles the air, mingling with the rising steam.
“Face me.”
I follow his command, hesitation clinging to every movement. A sharp breath catches in my throat when I see the cell phone aimed straight at me. He’s recording me. My fingers itch to pull the shower curtain closed.
What does he plan to do with the footage? Post it online? Sell it?
“Spread your legs and wash your pussy,” he mutters huskily, palming the huge tent at his crotch.
“Please don’t record me,” I say, my voice small and thin.
“Wash!” Sandman thunders.
I coast the fluffy white cotton between my thighs, tears pouring unchecked down my cheeks. He records, blazing irises cutting a path through the thick steam. He looks almost unearthly, like a fallen angel.
“Enough.” Sandman stands, stowing his cell phone in his back pocket. “Go lie on the bed.”
This is it. He’s going to take my virginity—violate me in the worst way possible.
I hobble from the bathroom, favoring my right leg, dripping puddles of water onto the floor in my wake.
Sandman is a walking tornado at my back.
“On your stomach,” he instructs me.
I climb on the bed and lie facing the wall, listening to him undress. Blood swooshes in my ears and more tears come. This isn’t real. I’m home, asleep in my bed, having a bad dream.
No, this is real, Zilphia.
“I don’t want to lose my virginity like this,” I say more to myself than to him.
Words won’t sway him. He craves vengeance and not even an extinction-level event is going to stop him from achieving it.
The mattress dips as he straddles me, his rock-hard length sliding against my bottom.
My spine snaps straight, my hands clutching the sheets in a death grip.
A familiar sting just below my nape jolts me into action.
“No, please don’t cut me again!” I wail, thrashing beneath him.
The knife’s tip being pressed against my temple stills me. “Move again and I will gut you like a fish.”
“I’m sorry,” I sob, bawling my eyes out. “I’ll keep still.”
“Your body is my canvas and I’m going to paint it bloody red,” Sandman proclaims, then commences his torture, reciting each letter he carves down my spine.
“L, Y, I, N, G, S, L, U, T. A fitting moniker for you.” I recoil at his derisive laughter.
“You’re a lying slut, aren’t you?” He latches onto my nape, digging nails into my flesh. “Say it.”
“I’m a lying slut!” I cry out, wincing against the pain.
His big body covers mine, pressing me into the mattress.
“I’m not going to take your virginity tonight,” he rasps in my ear.
“I’m going to take it when you least expect it.
I want you afraid every fucking second, not knowing when I’m going to claim that sweet little cherry.
” I feel his dick nudging at my puckered opening. “But I am going to take this.”
Sandman thrusts forward, savagely ripping into my rimmed entrance. I scream the loudest I’ve ever screamed in my entire life, the impact sending a bone-jarring jolt through my body. He grunts and snarls, hips bucking wildly against me, but he’s too big for my virgin muscles.
“Fuck,” Sandman hisses, pushing to his knees. “Too tight.”
I look back, watching in horror as he smears my blood all over his dick.
“Please, no more,” I croak, barely able to speak. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want, huh?”
“Yes.” I let my head fall onto the pillow, fatigue overpowering me.
“Tempting offer,” Sandman states, sparking hope in my chest. “There is something I want above all else.”
“What?”
“Your pain,” Sandman growls before stabbing his erection through my muscular ring.
He violently rocks into me until he’s fully seated. I wail in agony, helpless under his pressing weight.
My former confidant is well and truly gone—and the blame falls on my shoulders. I created the perfect storm, and now I’m stuck in the middle of it.
“I know everything about you,” he taunts, slamming against my rectum with so much force my vision doubles. “Your father’s downfall. Losing your house. The tables have turned, and this time, it’s you who’s going to get burned.”
I black out again and again, my body’s only defense against his brutal onslaught. It’s never-ending. My screams cease, vocal cords too inflamed and swollen to emit sound. The sick rhythm of blood and flesh, his resounding grunts, and my broken mewls make for a dark symphony.
“Fuck yes!” Sandman bellows, his hips whipping against me at rapid speed.
Then it’s finally over. He pulls free from my traumatized body and lies down beside me.
“Meet me in the lobby after your shift,” he orders, his tone brooking no argument. “Oh, by the way, you’re hired. Congratulations.”
He told Hawk to give me the job—easier to keep tabs on me.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmurs, planting lingering kisses along my shoulder. “We’re going to have so much fun.”