Chapter 1 #3
He drops to his knees between my legs, the weight of him pulling at the mattress. I feel the heat of his breath first, a warm, moist cloud against my inner thigh that makes every hair on my body stand on end. Then comes his tongue.
It’s not a caress. It’s a broad, flat swipe, licking a trail of heat from my mid-thigh all the way up to the sensitive, pulsing centre of me. I let out a choked, broken sob, my head thrashing against the padded mattress as the drug haze turns the sensation into a technicolor explosion of nerves.
“Stop,” I rasp, the word dying in my throat as he does it again.
He ignores me, his hands reaching up to grip my thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like talons, anchoring me.
He buries his face in me, his nose hovering right over my clit, inhaling the scent of my arousal mixed with the metallic tang of the facility.
He licks again, his tongue flicking fast and sharp over the swollen hood, teasing the tiny, hyper-sensitive nub until I’m seeing stars behind my eyelids.
“You like that, don’t you?” he mumbles against my skin, his voice vibrating through my bones. “You like being used like the animal you are.”
He uses his teeth then—just a graze, a tiny, sharp nip right on the edge of my pussy lips that makes me shriek, the sound echoing off the white walls.
The pain is a shock, a jagged contrast to the heavy, sliding heat of his tongue.
He’s teasing me, purposely avoiding the core of the ache, circling the drain while I burn.
I’m fighting the straps, my wrists raw and bleeding as I try to get away, try to close the distance, try to do anything but lie here and take it. But the more I struggle, the more my pussy pulses, clenching around nothing, sending ripples of desperate, unearned pleasure through my spine.
“Please,” I moan, and I don’t even know what I’m begging for anymore.
“Please what?” Miller mocks, pulling back just enough to look at me, his mouth glistening and wet with my nectar. “Please stop? Or please finish it?”
He reaches up with one hand, his thumb and forefinger finding my nipples again, rolling them into hard, painful pebbles while his other hand slides down, two fingers disappearing into my pussy. He’s stretching me, his knuckles rubbing hard against my clit in a rhythmic, punishing grind.
He’s pulling me right to the precipice where my thoughts turn into white noise, then stopping.
He pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty and thrumming, only to replace them with a long, slow lick that starts at my bottom and ends at the very top of my slit.
I’m a wreck. I’m a fucking disaster. The hallucinations are screaming now, the white room turning into a forest of writhing, golden snakes, but the only thing that matters is the friction. The way he’s destroying me. The way I’m so wet it’s dripping onto the sheets.
“You’re not going to cum yet, Hallow,” he purrs, his fingers diving back in, faster now, hitting my g-spot with a brutal, repetitive force. “I’m going to keep you right here. I’m going to make you beg for it until you’ve forgotten every fucking thing but the way I taste.”
He leans forward, his tongue darting out to swirl around my clit while his fingers pump inside me, a dual assault that makes my vision fracture. I’m sobbing now, my hips bucking against the leather, my whole body a live wire of psychotic, agonising need.
“Say it,” he commands, his voice a dark, jagged edge. “Tell me you’re my fucking bitch.”
Miller’s laugh is a dry, jagged thing that scrapes against the raw nerves of my mind. He knows he has me. He knows that even though I want to rip his throat out, my body is a traitor, a separate entity that is currently drowning in its own wet heat.
“Nothing to say now, Hallow?” he whispers, his voice thick with a dark, triumphant pride.
He pulls his fingers out of my pussy with a slow, deliberate suction that makes me whimper. I’m pulsing, my entrance twitching and searching for the phantom weight of him, but he doesn’t give it back.
He moves his head up, his mouth hovering just an inch above my clit, letting the heat of his breath do the work. The air hits the slick, over-sensitive skin, cooling the moisture, sending a shiver of agonising tension through my core.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, his hands sliding under my ass to lift me, tilting my pelvis up so I’m shoved even further into the light. “I can feel your heart beating in your fucking thighs.”
He licks me then, but it’s not a full swipe.
It’s the very tip of his tongue, darting out to flick against my clit like a lash.
Once. Twice. Each contact is a sharp, electric spike that makes my vision flicker.
I’m balanced on a knife’s edge, my muscles so tight they’re starting to cramp, my heels digging into the mattress as I try to find some kind of leverage.
“Please… Miller… please,” I gasp, my head thrashing.
“Please what, bitch? You want me to stop?” He licks the very bottom of my opening, tasting the trail of fluid running down toward the sheets. “Or do you want me to do this?”
He plunges three fingers inside me at once, a sudden, stretching invasion that makes me scream into the empty, humming room.
He doesn’t move them. He just keeps them there, filling me to the point of bursting, while his thumb finds my clit and starts a slow, heavy, circular grind.
It’s a rhythmic torture, a calculated pressure that builds the pressure in my lower belly until I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million jagged pieces.
“Don’t… please… stop,” I sob, the last of my pride dissolving into the chemical haze.
“I told you,” he growls, his face buried back between my legs, his stubble grazing my inner thighs until they’re raw. “I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name so loud the whole fucking ward can hear it.”
He begins to suck.
He takes my clit into his mouth, his lips creating a vacuum that pulls the blood to the surface, his tongue swirling around the nub in a frenzied, feral pace. The sensation is too much. It’s a sensory overload that bypasses the Thorazine and hits the lizard brain.
I’m bucking, the leather straps groaning as I try to throw my weight against him, my pussy clenching around his fingers in desperate, rhythmic spasms.
I’m so wet that every time he moves his hand, I hear the slick, squelching sound of it, a filthy reminder of how far I’ve fallen. He’s reaching into me, his knuckles rubbing against my g-spot with every thrust, while his mouth continues to devour me.
“Look at you,” he mumbles against my skin, pulling back just enough to see the way my eyes have rolled back in my head. “You’re fucking pathetic. Just a hole for me to play with.”
He sticks his tongue deep inside my pussy, mimicking a cock, the warm, muscular slide of it sending a new wave of fire through my nerves.
I feel the first spark of an orgasm, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until I’m literally vibrating against the bed.
“You’re not cumming,” he snarls, his fingers yanking at my entrance, stretching the skin until it stings. “Not until I say you can. Not until you beg me to ruin you.”
I can’t breathe. The room is turning a violent, bruised purple in my mind, the white lights shifting into a swirling vortex of heat and shame.
I’m lost in the friction, lost in the way his rough hands are bruising my hips, lost in the feeling of being completely and utterly owned by a man I want to murder.
My clit is throbbing so hard it feels like a second heartbeat, and my pussy is a weeping, open wound of desire. I’m right there. One more lick. One more hard shove of his fingers.
But he stops.
He pulls back completely, kneeling between my legs, his chest heaving, his mouth glistening with me. He just watches me—watches the way I’m sobbing and twitching, my body unable to shut off the alarm he’s triggered.
“Beg for it, Hallow,” he commands, his hand hovering just inches away from my entrance. “Tell me how much you need me to fix this ache.”
The fog in my brain is thick, but the rage is thicker. It’s a hot, oily slick that rises above the chemical sludge Aris pumped into me.
Miller is hovering there, looking down at my ruined, wet pussy like he’s conquered a kingdom, his ego bloated by the way my body is twitching for the relief only he can give.
He wants me to beg? He wants me to whimper like a broken pet?
Fuck him.
I gather every bit of moisture left in my throat, every drop of spite, and I pull it from the depths of my lungs.
When he leans back in, his hand reaching out to touch my swollen clit again, I lung forward as far as the leather allows and spray a thick, metallic glob of spit and blood directly into his left eye.
“Eat shit, you fucking pig,” I rasp, a jagged, psychotic laugh tearing through my chest.
For a heartbeat, the room goes silent. The only sound is the hum of the predatory lights. Then, Miller’s face transforms. The lust doesn’t leave, but it’s joined by a black, murderous streak of violence that makes his eyes go flat.
“You bitch,” he whispers, the words vibrating with a feral promise.
He doesn’t use his hand this time. He draws back and swings, a closed-fist blow that catches me square in the mouth.
Crack.
The sound of his knuckles hitting my teeth is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
My head rebounds off the padded mattress, my vision fracturing into a million shards of white-hot glass.
I can feel my lip split, the warm, iron-rich flow of blood instantly coating my chin, dripping down onto my chest, and pooling in the hollow of my throat.
“Again,” I spit, the blood spraying from my mouth, decorating his white orderly shirt in a spray of crimson stars. “Is that all you’ve got? You hit like a fucking coward.”
He growls, a sound that isn’t human, and grabs my hair, yanking my head back until my neck feels like it’s going to snap.