Chapter 8
LILIANA
My eyes flicker up at the clock. I still have approximately three hours before the gala starts. I shut the studio door behind me and then draw the blinds on the window. I don’t feel the need to put my process on display today—not with how antsy I’m feeling in the moment.
I take in the unfinished canvas on the floor, littered with the blue and green colors and charms. The sight of it makes my stomach churn. I set my bag down on the desk in the corner, and then drag my old canvas off to the side.
It just needs to be stretched and put on display. It’s not as good as some of my other work, but it's complete enough that I’m sure one of my repeat buyers will want to add it to their collection just because. However, today, I just want it out of the way.
My body is humming with anticipation as I readjust and roll out a new canvas onto the floor.
I stare down at the clean, white slate, taken aback by its blankness.
It’s similar to a newborn. Every baby might be born with some predispositions, but the parents will begin to add the paint strokes as the child grows.
And that thought just pisses me off.
“He’s not in your life anymore,” I tell myself, turning back to ready my mediums. I open plenty of paints, but then go for my bag, where I’ve left my container. I pop the lid open, seeing the tar-like substance. I lift it to my nose and then take a deep breath.
The copper scent is unmistakable.
And if I were just a little more vampiristic, I might drink it.
But something about pig’s blood doesn’t sound appetizing.
“Ha,” I laugh to myself, setting the cup back down on the desk.
Glancing down at my black dress and heels, I frown.
This is not going to work. I reach around my back and tug the zipper down.
I let the dress fall around my feet, and then step out of both my heels, the material collecting on the floor.
I’m left in just my black bra and underwear.
But even that must go. Well, part of it. I unhook the back of my bra and let my breasts drop free. I’ll need to shower before the gala starts, but the hassle is worth it. I need to break free from my mind after what happened in the alleyway.
And the gallery, too.
I carry my mediums to the canvas and lay them down. I reach for the container of burgundy paint and get my three fingers in, the acrylic feeling warm to my touch. I dip out a generous amount, and then strangely, a new foreign urge floods my body.
No. No way.
But my underwear soaks at the idea.
I hold my breath for just a moment, and then smear my paint across my upper torso. A tingle follows the trail of my hand, and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
Oh yes.
My fingers slide to my lower stomach, teasing the hem of my underwear.
Without thinking, I use my other hand to dip into the container of blood, and then follow suit, trailing after the paint.
It’s got a different consistency, and the thin, cool texture leads me to continue lower.
I let my fingers slip beneath the black satin, smearing it all over my pussy.
It's so fucking wrong. I should be sickened, but I’m too turned on to stop.
A small cry slips from my throat as I feel the moisture there, mixing with the medium of my choice. My mind flickers back to the alley, the fear, and the way Detective Shaw looked at me.
I let my fantasy loose with the idea, smearing more blood and paint on my body and around me.
“Miss Wilson,” a voice sounds off in my head, and it sends a shockwave of pleasure right to my core. “Did you kill Victor Blueson?”
I gasp as I insert two bloody fingers into myself, my eyes rolling back at the image of Detective Shaw, leaning across an interrogation table, his brown eyes boring into mine. There’s so much darkness there, darkness that screams of his own torture. I find myself getting completely engulfed by him.
“What are you going to do if I did? What if I did kill him?” I taunt him, a wicked version of myself set free. “Are you going to arrest me?”
Shaw looks at me with a mercilessly evil grin. “How’d you do it? You’re a small woman. He’s a big man. I can’t see that being possible.”
I meet his gaze, running my tongue along my bottom lip. “You must’ve never experienced fear in the same way that I have.”
His eyes drop to my lips, lust burning in his gaze. “I’ll show you a new kind of fear.”
I fall silent, lost in the moment with him, the old familiar feeling of fear, disgust, and anger thrumming through my body in one delicious sort of way. My heart pounds in my chest, anticipating what’s coming. Will he make a move? Does he know I’m lying?
“You’re tensing up,” Shaw growls, leaning across the interrogation table, the dim lighting casting an eerie glow across his face. “What is that demented mind of yours thinking, hmm? I know you followed me. What were you going to do?”
A ragged breath slips from my lips, and I allow myself to push past my boundary, closing the distance to just mere inches between us. “Slit your fucking throat.”
A low husky tone erupts from his mouth, and before I know what’s happening, his hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing. I try to suck in a breath that doesn’t fully come as Shaw drags me out of my chair and across the table.
Pain sears through my hip bones as they slam into the metal, but it’s muted as my vision grows blurry.
“Is this what you like, Liliana?” My name sounds hot on his tongue, and as I brace for my consciousness to dissipate into nothingness as I meet my peaceful end, he shocks me. His lips crash into mine, and as his hand loosens, I suck in the oxygen that I so desperately need.
His mouth meshes with mine, the kiss as messy and furious as the anger building in my chest. Arousal pours between my legs, and I fight the urge to grind against the table—anything to fill the need building in my core.
I need release.
I nearly choke on his tongue as he drags me forward, adjusting my position to lay me down on the table. Vulnerability sweeps over me in a sick but sexual fashion as he strips my jeans off me, breaking away from my mouth to finish the job.
Gasping for breath, he slides me toward him by my ankles, my pussy catching the chill in the air and sending goosebumps across my inner thighs.
“I’ll show you what you really need,” he growls, holding me against him so that I feel his hardened cock against my soaked underwear. I feel violated, but the need to have him inside me feels stronger than the fear crushing my chest.
Is it possible to have it all at once?
A cry slips from the back of my throat as he tears through the material of my underwear, leaving my soaked pussy now completely bare before him. I want to fight and scream, but there’s an inner woman in me, begging and pleading for him to do what I want to be done.
He rakes over my half-exposed body, his eyes locking with mine. “Tell me no, Liliana. Tell me no.”
Emotions start to flood through my body, the arousal waning to something entirely different as the disgust swallows what’s left of me. It makes me loathe myself, but even more so the man in front of me.
“Fuck you,” I kick my right leg at him, and the heel of my bare foot connects with the center of his thigh. It feels like solid contact, but if it does anything, he doesn’t show it.
Instead, he laughs at me, shaking his head as he unzips his slacks. “You’re no match for me, Liliana. You’re weak. You’re pathetic, and I’m going to show you just how much when I pound your sweet little cunt.”
With that, he jerks me forward again, his cock now completely free. My instincts have fully taken over, but he’s too strong, too powerful. I kick and thrash, screaming as the moisture builds in my eyes. I don’t think I want this.
Or do I?
Shaw pulls me onto him without me being able to decide one way or another, his cock penetrating me fully in one big thrust.
My mind is suddenly silent at the combustion of all my emotions, pleasure returning in a shocking tidal wave. I gasp as he pounds into me without mercy, unable to breathe with the intensity of him filling me.
I’m not given even a second to adjust to his size or his vigorous fucking.
It feels overwhelming, yet not enough to push me over the edge. My hand slides to my clit, and even as my body jars, I find rhythm, driving my movements with his. I breathe out with relief as the arousal takes over, my quads tensing as he holds me firmly in place against the table.
“Fuck, you feel so tight,” Shaw groans, his head tipping back as his iron grip digs into my skin. I know bruises are forming beneath that pressure. I try to squirm, but I’m stuck.
And it’s the most forbidden, sexy feeling in the world. He took me without my permission, without me telling him anything at all. He took it because I fought him. I fucking hate him, but my back arches to the pleasure he gives me anyway.
I’m so close.
I chase the feeling as my hips start to rock with his, my ears ringing as my body tenses. I squeeze my eyes tighter, nails digging into the metal. I focus on the sensation to reach climax, but can’t quite get there.
I need more.
My free hand shifts from the table to my stomach, slipping underneath the hem of my sweater.
I make my way upward, forgetting that Detective Shaw’s cock is filling my pussy to the brim.
My fingertips connect with something rigid and sharp, tucked away beneath the strap of my bra.
The walls of my pussy clench, nearing the edge.
I draw out the blade, the cool metal pressing against my bare skin. My eyes flicker up to Shaw, his focus on his dick between my legs. It’s such a male-driven thing—to only care about a woman’s anatomy.
Fuck you, Detective.
As he thrusts fully into me again, I sit up and drive the knife right into the side of his neck, startling him.
Blood spurts, covering my face with a blast of sticky warmth.
He grunts, and the gurgling sounds of his pain send me over the edge.
I pulse around him, his cock still hard as he releases his grip on my waist, falling forward.
His weight collapses entirely onto my body, his head landing on my lower stomach with a painful thud as his cock drops from inside of me. Warm liquid pools across my body as I pant with pleasure, coming down from the high.
But then it’s over.
My eyes fly open, and I’m met with the reality that I just got off to a demented, fucking sick sexual fantasy, and smeared swine blood all over my body in the process.
What the hell did I just do?
Am I like my father? The panic pours into my chest as I scramble to my feet, desperate to wash the paint and blood off my body. I don’t even know what to think about what just happened, but…
But I want to fucking vomit.