Chapter 17 Zeth
Zeth
This girl’s a ticking time bomb, and she’s about to go off in this bed.
I’m gonna make sure of it, if only to reward her for not pissing her pants when I told her I killed someone less than a month ago.
Most girls would have reacted, but not her.
I’m not blind. I know that I scare her. But that just means she isn’t stupid.
Only a small percentage of women wouldn’t care that I take people’s lives, and those women are touched in the fucking heads. Why would I want to fuck a madwoman?
Sloane has a healthy fear of me. That’s a good thing.
She doesn’t know what she’s just signed herself up for, though, not really, which positively fucking thrills me.
I’m still sticking to my scare-the-living-shit-out-her-so-she-runs-the-hell-away plan, but the greedy side of me wants her to enjoy it a little first. I might just enjoy it a little, too.
I smile like the cat that got the fucking cream when she tells me yes. I knew she would. There is no reality in which she was ever going to say no. She committed to this the moment she decided to come here. I stand up, leaving her rigid on the bed, and walk over to the doorway.
“Stand up,” I tell her. She moves slowly, watching me, like she’s waiting for me to morph into some kind of monster. Poor pet. She should already know this is what a monster looks like. Once she’s standing, I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms across my chest.
“Strip.”
She wants to say no. I can see it on her face, but she’s trying hard not to upset me, too.
She takes ahold of the hem of the tiny, skintight black dress she’s wearing and hikes it up enough to show me that she’s wearing proper stockings and a garter belt.
I’m fucking crowing on the inside. No girl wears that shit unless she knows she’s getting fucked.
I was right. Sloane can deny it all she likes, but she knew this was happening tonight.
Her fingers move carefully over the catches on the suspenders and then she props her foot up onto the bed, gently sliding the stockings first down her right leg and then her left.
Her measured movements aren’t because she’s a master of striptease—they’re because she’s shitting her pretty little lace panties.
My dick throbs in my pants as I watch her, but I don’t touch it. I won’t touch it for a while yet.
“Now the dress.”
She wriggles out of the dress, easing it up over her body, and my hands twitch as I imagine her fingers are mine.
I would have removed the dress differently, though.
I’d have torn that shit right off her. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders like a goddamn waterfall when the dress comes over her head.
I was right about the underwear: Her panties are black lace panties.
Her bra matches. That’s just too fucking good.
Eli, the disgusting shit, had told her to wear black lace when I’d come to her before, told her that’s what would make me happy, and here she is standing right in front of me in black lace. Well, well, well.
“Pull your bra down,” I command. She looks startled, like she’s finally realizing what she’s doing and she wants to get the hell out of here.
I wouldn’t stop her if she tried, but then again, I don’t want to advertise the fact.
Now that we find ourselves in this position, I need satisfaction.
“Do it, Sloane. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. ”
Her chocolate eyes, just visible in the light spilling in from behind me, grow extra round.
She doesn’t speak. On the inside I applaud her courage as she slips the straps of her bra from her shoulders and pushes the whole thing down to reveal her breasts.
They are big, natural, and perfect, just how I remember them from our night together.
I may have given her shit for it, but she’s not the only one who’s coveted our experience in the dark.
I might have licked and sucked at those tits, but I didn’t get to see them.
I’ve always been sore about that. Until now.
I watch her nipples peak, trying to keep my thoughts from my face. It isn’t difficult. I’m a master of intimidation, so this shit is child’s play. Her body is incredible, perfect in every way, but I don’t let her see that. My role here is to remain as clinical as possible.
“Now lie back onto the bed.”
She teeters back in her low heels and sits stiffly back onto the bed.
So. She’s still uncomfortable. Time to fix that.
Time to strip every ounce of self-consciousness from her until she’s putty in my hands.
There’s only one way to accomplish such a feat, and that’s to make her body mine, so she doesn’t even think of it as her own anymore.
There will only be one thought, one desire in her world, and that will be to please me.
I reach out and drag her body toward me, pulling her legs back to the edge of the bed so I can position myself in between them. I sit on my heels, grinning when I see she thinks I’m going to go down on her. No such luck, sweetheart.
“Touch yourself, Sloane.”
“Wh-what?”
The little mouse is scared. I pinch the inside of her thigh hard enough for her to flinch. “Touch yourself.”
I’m astonished when she does as she’s told.
Her small hand darts between her legs, and she begins to rub herself over her panties.
That’s good, but not good enough. I growl, pressing my thumb into the skin where I pinched her a second ago.
She pauses, and I watch as she closes her eyes.
The hand goes underneath the panties this time, and she stifles a whimper.
“Good girl.” I pull her panties to one side so I can see what she’s doing, and I’m momentarily glad she has her eyes closed, because I slip.
For the first time in forever, I slip. The sight of her middle finger working the slick flesh between her legs, teasing over her clit, is enough to make me groan.
I have to ball up my fist and bite down on my knuckles to stop the sound from escaping me.
A shadow falls across the doorway, blocking out the light, and Sloane’s hand freezes.
Her eyes snap open, and we both turn—two of my guests have come exploring.
A guy in a tiger mask, and a tall, leggy blonde in a sparkly black dress.
The girl still wears a golden mask, but the bottom half of her face is uncovered.
Her mouth parts into a seductive smile when she sees what’s going on inside our little room.
“Oh my God.” Sloane scrambles to sit up, but a scenario plays out in my head and has me aching in two seconds flat. I place a hand on her stomach to stop her.
“Lie back down.”
“But—”
I harden my gaze, broadcasting my message loud and clear.
If she wants to make me happy, she’s going about it the wrong way.
The indecision in her eyes is interesting.
She wages an internal war for ten long seconds.
Finally, she eases back onto the bed, observing the couple in the doorway with suspicion.
“Sit down on the sofa. And no touching,” I tell them.
“Not until my friend says you can.” I give Sloane this piece of freedom because she needs it right now.
She visibly relaxes, although she still shrinks a little when the couple enter the room and sit down on the two-seater hidden behind me against the wall. I turn my focus back to Sloane.
“Where were we?”
She whimpers but takes the hint and starts touching herself again.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she is perfect for this.
Perfect for me and my dark desires. I run my hands up the insides of her legs, stopping just shy of her pussy, and she rocks her pelvis up in an inviting gesture. Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet.
Despite the wide eyes and the hesitancy, she’s so turned on I can smell it pouring from her.
Her pussy is wetter than wet, and I haven’t even touched her yet.
She slips a finger inside of herself and stutters out a moan, and the woman behind us pulls in a sharp breath.
I can’t blame her—over my shoulder she can see what I see, and it’s a fucking hot sight to behold.
Material rustles quietly as my guests start to move.
That’s okay, totally allowed. I’ll put a show on for them the likes of which they’ve never seen before.
“Take your panties off,” I demand. Sloane responds straightaway this time, shimmying them over her hips and kicking them to the floor. Her eyes close again, which is fine for now, but that can’t last forever. “Open your legs.”
With her legs spread wide, my cock is straining against my pants, begging to be set free.
I’m surprised I’m not lightheaded with how much blood is being diverted to my dick right now.
It’s time for the bag. I get up, heading for the door, pausing when I notice that our visitors are already thoroughly enjoying themselves.
The woman’s dress is up around her waist, and the guy’s fingers are buried deep inside her.
His dick is out of his pants, and he’s stroking it slowly, leaning casually back against the chair.
Sloane makes a muffled sighing sound—she’s dared to peek and has seen what they’re up to.
She isn’t as freaked out as I would have thought.
Such a good girl. I grab the bag and hurry back to the bed, need finally taking over.
I take out the items I require—four heavy leather cuffs—and recognition flashes in Sloane’s eyes when she sees them.
Yeah, she knows these cuffs all right. She’s encountered them before.
She’s very well behaved when I fasten them around her ankles and her wrists, securing her to the bed.
Trust, albeit panicked, shines in her eyes, which makes my stomach roll.
God knows what I’ve done to deserve that, but it shouldn’t be there.
The woman on the couch moans softly, and Sloane turns to watch.
The guy has pushed back his tiger mask and is on his knees, going to town between her legs.
She palms her own tits, her eyes fixed firmly on Sloane’s prone body.
I know what this chick is into, know what she wants.
I just don’t know if Sloane will extend the invitation.
I plunge my hand into my bag and pull out the one thing I’ve been waiting to use since I met her.
The one thing I had to fight to put away last time: my knife.
Blondie moans again when she sees it, but Sloane goes deadly still on the bed.
“Remember how this works?” I ask her.
She nods just once. “Stay still,” she whispers.
This is going to be too perfect, I can already tell.
Most girls would start screaming about now, but Sloane seems ready to accept what I’m about to do.
I’ve waited long enough, so I get rid of my shoes, suit pants, and my boxers, and I stand completely naked by the bed.
I palm my dick, squeezing it—that feels fucking good—and Blondie grinds her hips into her partner’s face, mouth gaped open in desire.
Sloane’s torn between staring at the contents of both my hands—my dick and my knife, like she’s not sure which one to be more scared of.
I give her my most brutal grin and then climb up onto the bed.
Her body quivers when I set the sharp edge of the hunting blade to her skin.
“Zeth,” she whispers.
Names aren’t a part of this game. I give her a warning look.
She bites her bottom lip, nodding to let me know she understands her mistake.
I made no explicit promise that I wouldn’t hurt her, but I do my best to soften my eyes, so that she knows I won’t actually use the thing on her. That’s not what this is about.
She watches me closely as I trail the sharpened steel over her body.
Her breasts, her nipples, down her sides, over her thighs.
She shakes so hard I have to be careful not to cut her.
The woman on the couch cries out as I do this.
She’s on the edge, close to coming… and Sloane seems torn between watching that and paying attention to where I’m applying my knife.
I flip the thing over in my hand so that I palm the blade, and I close my fingers around the sharp edge.
Familiar, blazing pain bites into my skin, and I grin.
With the weapon now handle-first toward her, I guide it down, between her legs.
Terror grips her for a second until she realizes it’s not the business end.
I work the handle firmly into her slick flesh, stroking myself harder when I see the feeling take hold of her.
She’s scared, yes, but she likes it. She fucking likes it.
I slide the handle deep inside her, all the way to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck.” She rocks against it, clasping her hands to reach the sheets on the bed, but they claw at open air, the cuffs restricting her motion.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Blondie groans.
The guy stops eating her out to turn and see what she’s talking about, and his eyes flash with something dark and animalistic.
He’s just like me, this guy. He stands and picks the girl up roughly, guiding her so that she’s sitting down on his dick, her back to him.
They both watch me pump the handle into Sloane as she writhes and bucks on the bed, moaning.
Never in a million years did I think this was going to happen.
Never in a million years did I think she would let me near her like this.
The reality of it is thrilling and also worrying.
If she’ll let me do this, then where will she draw the line?
Because this… this is nothing for me. I withdraw the knife and clasp hold of it hard one last time, enough so that metal digs a little deeper, and then I throw the thing as hard as I fucking can.
It needs to be far away from me. The knife slams into the wall seven feet away, juddering from the force of the impact.
My hand is dripping blood. Sloane’s body arches up toward me, just begging to be taken. I suck on the wound—deep, the length of my palm—and the copper sings on my tongue. I lean over Sloane and place my lips to her ear.
“What do you think, pet? Do you want to play with our friends?”
A guttural sigh stutters from her mouth. “I don’t—I don’t know.”
I give her a one-shouldered shrug. “You might like it.” Her eyes meet mine and I see it again: trust. I wish I didn’t see that.
“Okay,” she whispers. I turn and beckon to the blonde.