Chapter 8
Adelmo
She makes a small choking noise, then another, and it’s not because of my belt. That’s still hanging loose on her neck. On lifting her shut eyelids, I find her eyes have rolled back, and she isn’t responding when I pinch her.
“Shit.” I go to the door, dragging my chain, and bang on it. “Hey! If you want her to stay alive long enough for that party, get a reversal agent for whatever you shot her full of! And some more antibiotics!”
The door opens. Spiky Hair looks in. “You sure?”
“Yes. She needs to come out of it.”
“Don’t know if there is such a thing. A reversal agent?”
I stare at him until he retreats and shuts the door.
Idiot. Anyone worth their pay would know that…okay, maybe he doesn’t routinely go around sedating people. Still… Just me? Probably just me.
Minutes later, he tosses in a baggie containing two syringes and a swab. “Your stuff. He says you can do whatever you like to her, just don’t kill her yet. Though I guess you’re laughing.” He gestures at his face. “You must need the girls chained up. The scars, yeah?”
I ignore his insults. He has no idea. After the party is done, I’ll deal with him. As for Montez. Fuck him. I don’t need his permission.
The syringes could contain anything, but it’s all I have. The milky stuff is probably antibiotics, so I inject that first. I examine the clear but viscous liquid, squirt out an air bubble. I swab Izzy’s pretty ass and inject her, then sit back to settle into my reading.
By accident, I nudge her with my phone-holding hand, and the skin-on-skin is electric. I feel it when she breathes. I swear the atoms from her presence are drifting upward, expanding like a fog. I’m aware of her presence in this room in an all-embracing way I haven’t felt since, well, forever.
She is a tiny, exquisite vase on the floor in the middle of a vast, empty museum where I am the only visitor.
Okay, seen too many horror movies, I have.
I sigh, purse my lips, and pull out my dick. I stay where I am. I’m already hard, but violating my own rules would be wrong.
I don’t fuck unconscious women.
Besides, she should be more alert soon if she doesn’t choke on her own vomit. I’m proved right. Her breathing pattern alters, she moves, wriggles on the spot. She mutters something that sounds like it could be real words.
Since I’m reading on my phone now, I can turn and face her. Still reading, thumb-scrolling, I toy with her neck then look closer. The tiny hairs on her nape are something I swear I’ve never seen on a woman before…like baby hair or something. I run my tongue down her spine, licking all the way to that bruise before I sit up, shoulder against the wall and re-engage with my phone.
Every so often I touch her, and I begin to wonder what I’m going to do with her. I won’t fuck her when she’s unconscious, but licking is fine? She asked me to save her from Montez. I’m not sure that will be possible. My aim is to eliminate him, and I don’t let random people get in the way of my hits.
People. She’s adorably sexy. I’m getting too close, letting emotions get in the way.
I want to do some more reading about Izabella Fenway. Or rather by her.
Is this girl as freaky as she seems from her writing?
Out of curiosity, I start reading her serial killer story out loud. She should eventually notice and react.
Within minutes, she’s trying to lever herself off the floor, balancing on one arm and almost toppling.
“Let’s get you naked.” I drop the phone in the briefcase and push it away before I roll to my feet.
She turns her head and spots me. “What? No.”
“Yes.” Something makes me want to explain it to her—how it’s hot to strip her while I stay clothed, but I say nothing.
Is it a weakness? It just works for me to make her bare-ass naked when I know she doesn’t want to be.
My needs are many, dark, and I think, interesting. The human psyche is a strange place.
She curses me as I fasten her to the floor to pull off the remains of her dress, to unclip and remove her bra. I toss it all to the far corner of the room.
“Asshole!” she spits out as I sit and drag her onto my lap and wrap my arm around her neck, squashing the belt beneath. The chain clinks, loops, and falls down her front, her breasts.
The belt buckle tinkles against the chain as she pushes with her heels and arches. I catch those legs by trapping them beneath one of mine. Her little grunts and huffs are the chorus to the fight. It’s all so fucking horrendously musical.
She raises her arms, her fingers like claws on her intact hand. The bandaged one is bleeding again.
I warn her, “Don’t scratch me. You don’t want to know what I’ll do.”
That doesn’t stop her completely. She pushes at my thighs, squirms. I grit my teeth. It takes a lot to resist doing the obvious. I exhale through her hair, clamp my palm over her mouth. She winds down and doesn’t bite.
I do not need this woman wriggling on me.
She sobs out a muffled, “Wait. Wait.” I’m guessing that is due to my cock poking at her rear, which isn’t something I’m deliberately doing to her, it just is. I imagine myself inside her, throbbing while I discipline her thoroughly with teeth and hands, and with the belt on her neck.
This here is the best foreplay.
“Shhh. I’m doing nothing. Or nothing much.” I laugh but my heart thuds as I grind myself on her. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
I drag my hand down her face, curling out her lip, toying there before I go lower and find a breast to play with. Rubbing her nipple between finger and thumb, squashing it, doing the same to the other side, pinching her randomly, this draws muted squeaks from the girl.
She holds my wrist and plucks at it, her breathing erratic.
“I know you like this almost as much as I do.” She freezes, and I continue, “The struggle, the fighting until I make you lose. That I’m going to do whatever I like to you.” I crush her to me, one arm about the neck, the other barred beneath her breasts. My leg still traps hers. “That wasn’t a question. I read your stalker story and the other one.”
“Oh!” She twists her head and glares up at me, fierce as a baby lion.
Is she annoyed I read her fiction?
“You stabbed and drugged me!”
“Montez had you sedated. I’m not the one to blame.” Her glare stays. Okay, I was just a little to blame. “They overdosed you, and I saved you. Better? That’s probably not something I should put on my assassin resume.”
“You are so odd.” She takes a while to think it all through. “I need to go to the bathroom. That’s not it, is it? That?”
“That is indeed it. I’m cruel but I’ll allow this. Up.”
I release her and encourage her to stand. Her knees seem to wobble.
“Dizzy?” I allow concern to bleed through, and I undo and pull the belt off her, drop it aside—acting is one of my best features.
Then I wedge her into the wall with my palm between her shoulder blades.
I mean… Naked girl. Hot, naked girl.
She is pretty but not the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, which begs the question as to why she draws me into this rabid state. Tomorrow, Montez wants me to do things to her. Tomorrow is too far away. I’m not waiting.
Her ass looks lush, and that bruise from my teeth?—
Without warning, she bucks and pushes with her hand on the wall, trying to turn and move away. I grasp one ass cheek and hold her nape in the V of my other hand. I add more force to my grip, and she stops resisting.
Panting, she whispers, “I need to pee.”
“I know. I’m just being an asshole. See, this is more my style. You will pee when I let you. I have no idea where you think you’d go, even if you could run from me. You know, I like you wriggling. The buzz of the struggle. The beauty in being your god.”
The side of her face is smooshed to the wall, yet she dares to say, “You’re not my god.”
“But I am.” I spin her then muzzle her with my hands over her mouth and her throat. “I am now.” And maybe forever.
Forever might be pushing it.
She tries to kick then hit me, the chain goes flying up, and I squash her flatter.
Yeah, I don’t think she likes me enough for forever. Unless I just…keep her?
My cock is hard enough to punch holes in the back of her throat. “Stop. I’ll let you have some freedom if you behave. Am I your god, Izzy?”
She says nothing. The pressure on her stomach must be making her feel that need to pee even fiercer.
“Say it. Unless you’d rather leave a puddle here.”
She screws up her face, twists her mouth then squeaks out, “Yes, you are my god.”
“Good.”
Her bandaged hand is being held high beside her head, and she gives me the hurt kitten look, with her hair concealing much of her eyes.
“Go.” I raise myself off her, slowly, release her mouth but keep her throat in hand. “When you’re done, we’ll talk.”
I lower myself and sit against the wall again to watch her use the facility. The chain stretches to where she sits and she’s embarrassed but manages—not a surprise. I get ideas for the next time she needs this. The shower and the toilet… I like the mindfuck in threats, making her do things just because I can.
“Come here and sit before me.” I pat my knee, and she comes to me and kneels to sit facing away. “Closer.” I pull her in, snuggling her ass between my legs. “Soon, I will have to decide whether to terminate you in the way that Montez chooses, or the alternative…that you suggested. The problem is can I trust you?”
I’m lying by omission of the facts. I might be compelled to sacrifice her, but wouldn’t it be torture to tell her this truth?
I coil her hair in my hand, tug on it until she rests her head against my shoulder. She’s quivering, stiff.
“Can you trust me?” For all her courage, she is terrified, and her hand must be aching.
We all like to dream of a life without pain and of a death that is far, far away.
Gently, I stroke her black hair, untangling knots with my fingers.
“Tell me why you write about killers.”