Chapter 51 #2
Unsheathing my knife, I trail it over her face and the blindfold covering her eyes.
It’s the bandana I use to cover my face when I ride, and somehow it feels fitting that it’s covering her, soaked with my sweat.
It blocks her from seeing me, keeping her ignorant of just who is touching her.
She trembles when the tip of the blade pokes into her chin.
I growl it in her ear and breathe in her scent.
She trembles and turns her head toward me, licking her bruised and bloody lips.
The bottom one is swollen and bruised from where her face hit the ground.
Crusty blood lines the gash. Her upper lip is covered in smears of dirt.
I want to taste those contusions, add my teeth marks.
I see the moment the fight leaves her body.
“I got lost. I didn’t know it was your land. I apologize. If you just let me go and point me in the right direction, I’ll leave.”
A tear tracks down her face, despite the blindfold, and I rub it with my thumb, wanting to see more dripping off her chin as my cock is in her mouth. “You will be sorry.” Rational thoughts evaporate like the mist coming off the lake.
“What do you mean?” She cries, more tears dripping down her cheek.
I don’t answer her, my eyes still trained on her lips.
“I- I wasn’t planning on trespassing. I was looking for a driveway and I must have taken a wrong turn—”
“That’s unfortunate, but you’re here now. This is my land. Everything on it belongs to me. The rotting bodies that you smell. Mine. The lake filled with predators. Mine. You. Now you’re mine.”
“No, no. I’ll do anything.”
“I know,” I murmur. Camryn isShe’s going to do everything I want tonight.
My knife easily cuts through her sweatshirt.
The sound of it rends loud in the forest. I spread the edges of it open, exposing her black T-shirt underneath.
The outline of her breasts makes me shake with lust. They’re plump and round even in her bra.
Just like her sweatshirt, my knife easily separates the fibers of her shirt.
I unwrap her like a present. My prize. The most important one I’ve ever hunted.
A lace bra appears. White. Innocent. Covered in blood.
I find the middle and flick the sharp blade through the thick fabric, keeping the cups together.
The elastic and stitching easily give, popping, the cups falling to the side, revealing her breasts.
A perfect handful. A perfect canvas. Her nipples are a dusty pink color, tightly furled.
Goosebumps cover her skin. Her chest heaves as I look at her.
Her nipples bead in the cool, damp air. Cuts and scrapes cover her milky bare flesh.
I tackled her hard, and it shows. Each one is angry and red.
Sluggish blood beads at the ravaged skin, but I want more.
I press just the tip of my knife into her nipples, and he cries out.
She trembles, shaking with fear. “Please.”
A little bead of blood appears. Fresher. Not mixed with dirt. “Keep still or it will be worse.”
Tears leak down her face, and I touch it with my knife, spreading the salty liquid with her sweat and dirt.
I want to taste the mess of her fear. Sip at the delicious earthiness.
I rip my mask off, tossing it to the side, needing to touch her without a barrier, needing to taste her skin.
I lick up her cheek, swallowing her flavor.
It’s a heady mix, and I kiss along her forehead, rubbing my lips along her cuts and bruises.
I trail my lips back down to her cheek and finally just above her lips.
“You taste delicious.” Her breathing speeds up again, her ribcage heaving.
She murmurs back against my lips. “Stone.”
At that one word. That name, my grip on her hip tightens. I dig my fingers into her naked flesh. Then I raise my head to the sky, laughing cruelly. This. Fucking. Woman. Tears come to my eyes from mirth. I can’t believe I’m laughing. I lift her chin, squeezing. “You knew? How?”
“Your smell. Cherries and smoke. I can taste it in your mouth. I know you.”
Her words shake me to the core. The deepest part of my broken soul responds to that. She means it. She means it, and goddamn if I don’t wonder if she’s the only woman who ever really will. But I reject that idea, pushing it down. It’s too dangerous to contemplate. Too dangerous to hope.
“No, you don’t. You have no fucking clue who I am, Countess.
” I rub my face along her breasts, smearing my camouflage war paint all over her breasts.
I lift my head and look down. The paint seems garish, like ash, and it makes my cock even harder.
I trail my knife around her bloody nipples.
She shakes, her breathing ragged. I lean forward and drag one bud into my mouth, letting her feel my teeth.
She hisses, then moans, calling my name. I bite them again, and she groans.
“Please, Stone.”
“Listen to you. The Park heiress getting her tits mouth-fucked against a tree by a man she barely knows, begging for a stranger’s cock.”
“You’re not a stranger,” she whispers, licking her lips.
“I am. You have no idea what I want to do to you, otherwise you wouldn’t have come here.” I breathe against her lips. I bite her lip, wanting her to feel the same insanity that I do. She whimpers and shudders.
“What are you doing here?”
“I—I wanted to find you. I wanted to thank you for the mural,” she whispers.
Bringing my hands up to right under her breast, I fan my thumb under the plump curve. “You drove all the way out here, in the wilderness, risking your life to thank me because I drew on your fucking wall? Try again, Countess.”
“I, because— I…”
“Say it. Tell me the truth, tell me what you really came out here for.”
“For you.”
“For this.” I rock her hip on my cock. “This is what you want? What you need? My cock? Admit you came here to get fucked like animal, by an animal. Like a bitch in heat.” I rock her again, rubbing her pussy along the ridge of my cock. Her thin tights make me feel her warmth through my pants.
Camryn tilts her head back, exposing her throat, licks her lips, and swallows. The muscles in her throat undulate. A trail of drying blood snakes down her throat. From my cut. That knowledge is “I—I can’t think when you’re doing that.”
“I don’t want you thinking a fucking thing right now except how it feels.
Feed that animal inside you. Let her out.
Let her claw and cry. That’s what belongs out here.
Animals.” I yank down the zipper on her hoodie, revealing her black T-shirt underneath.
I slide my knife underneath, making sure she feels the cold metal against her skin. She sucks in a breath.
“What are you doing?” She squeaks, quaking. I hold her thigh steady, increasing the pressure on her hip until she stops moving.
“Showing you.”
“Showing me what?”
“That I’m not the man who does pretty. I’m going to destroy you, Countess. I’m going to enjoy the way you beg for it.”
“Beg for what?” She stutters, confused.
“Your beautiful ruin.” I let her go to stand on her own two feet.
The cut on her neck calls to me, like a lodestone.
My knife penetrated the epidermis, dermis, and possibly a part of the fatty hypodermis layer.
The blood drips down between her breasts, a delicious canvas.
I lick at her nipples, tasting her sweat, the blood, and the perfume oil she covers her smooth skin with.
“Just remember, you chose this. You chose to come into my lair and see the monster that I am.”
I cup her pussy over her tights, rubbing her through the clothing.
She tries to kick me away. Stop. I pull down her tights until they’re at knee level and then slice through the crotch, tearing them down and away.
Each leg slouches down to her ankles. The blood moves lower, rivulets sliding into her belly button.
Mixing with her sweat, not as thick, moves faster, staining her panties, soaking into the fabric.
I cut the elastic as her waist flung them away.
I want to see her mess coating her pussy.
Like lava, it moves, sinuously sliding into her short pubic hair and then between those soft, tender lips.
The ones devoured before. The ones I want to slide my knife between.
I lower to my knees and kiss her mound, pushing her thighs open. I lick her tattoo, my mark, the one I inked into her skin. I want all my designs covering her body. I want her to be a walking testament to my etchings. Every inch of her skin painted by me.
“Stone. Please. I want to see.”
“No. Feel.”
Standing again, I slide my knife in, gathering the lubrication I need. I slide it down her chest, between her breasts, until I reach her soft lips. Blood coats them. I insert the handle of my knife just inside her pussy, coating the leather hilt in her juices.
“What is that?”
“My knife.”
She tenses. “And you’re going to take it.
Come on me like the little delinquent you are.
You like to break the rules, so I’m going to break the rules too, Countess.
I’m going offend the fuck out you and you’re going to allow it because you can pretend like you like it sweet, but tonight you’re going to sin, and I’m going to help you. ”
Bumps her clit with it and then pushes it inside her a little, using the handle as a dildo. “You will come with my knife inside you, Countess. I want you to make it slick and smell like your pussy.”
I circle her clit with the leather, ridged and rough from countless killings, molded perfectly to my palm.
I like my fingers inside her body. I slowly push it in.
I hold the blade, and when I wrap my hands around it, the sharpness nicks my finger, and I lift my hand, covered in my blood.
The urge is too strong not to cave, and I wipe it on her pussy, and watch as my blood coats her clit and outer lips.
The dark red color is beautiful. The metallic smell mixes with the tang of her arousal.
Brings it to her mouth and tells her to suck.
She sucks the handle that was just inside her pussy.
I use the end of my knife, pushing it inside her pussy, sliding the handle in and out of her wetness, and slowly fucking her.
I inhale, loving the constriction, the absolute pressure of her tissues resisting me.
Everything heightens my senses. The control and manipulation of her body.
The predation of the moment. The smell of the forest. The putrefaction. Her pussy. Sex.
“Untie my hands.”
The plea in her voice doesn’t move me. I want her bound, immobile, at my mercy, under my control, laid out before me like a buffet.
“I want to touch you.”
“No. I’m taking you like this.” I rub my fingers through her seam, the slickness that meets my fingers makes me groan. “I want you drowning in your own arousal, Countess.”
“What is that?” She pants.
“I just told you Countess. My knife. It’s covered in your blood.”
“Oh my god.” She opens her legs wider, tilting her neck back.
“You want more?”
She nods.
I fuck her harder, eating her pussy lips, her clit, relishing the taste of the leather of my knife. Lick around it. The blade is cutting into my palm- but my pain and her pleasure are getting me off. My cock leaks.
The dwindling light is enough for me to see. I keep fucking her with my knife, and lick her clit, slurping, drinking her up. Camryn shakes, bucking her hips. I grip her inner thigh, holding it open as she writhes against my mouth.
And when she’s about to come, I place my mouth on hers, eating her release.
I want to own all of her orgasms. I want to hear it, to taste it.
“Scream. Let me hear you,” I breathe against her lips.
She stills and then turns her face to me, and moans, crying out.
“Yes. Yes!” I kiss her lips, tasting blood on her lips, in her mouth.
She comes, neck arched, grinding against the hilt inside her, bucking her hips up against the fingers wrapped around the handle.
Slowly, her body relaxes into me, her forehead falling to my chest.
When her tremors stop, I stand. I pull the knife out of her pussy, and bring the blade to my mouth, tasting the saltiness of my sweat, her blood, and her cum.
A perfect combination. “Little slut. That’s why your pussy is so wet.
You wanted me to fuck you even with your fear, and the smell of death on the air? ”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I suck on the handle, tasting her blood and her cum. “You taste beautiful, Countess, even better than I remembered. Open your mouth, taste how good you are.”
She opens her mouth and I kiss her, sliding my tongue inside, swirling her flavors and mine. She licks her lips, which are coated in my blood. “Is that blood?” There’s curiosity in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“Ours.”
I don’t elaborate, and untie her hands. She leans forward, slumping against me, but I straighten her and turn her around, forcing her to her knees.
I arrange her the way I want, her face on the bark of a fallen tree trunk.
I spread her legs and stare down at her.
Her fingers are buried in the dark soil.
Her face is against the decaying tree trunk.
Her pussy is swollen, exposed to my view.
Lips spread, pink and swollen, shiny with the fluids from her orgasm, our blood and spit that I used as lubrication, dripping into the soil.
I can’t wait for that sticky mixture to cover my bare cock.
I want inside her. I want my blood coating her inner walls, her mouth, her pussy, her ass.
I want it all. I’m a sick bastard, but there it is.
Unbuckling my pants, I stroke my cock with my bloody hand, watching her on all fours.
“Don’t move, do you understand?”
“I—”
“Do you understand me, Countess?” She hesitates, clearly overwhelmed. Just the way I want her.
“Yes. Yes, I understand.”
I slide my fingers through her slickness, liking how slippery she is.
She’ll need it to take my cock. I lower to my knees and crawl between her legs, totally lost in the seduction, the temptation of her.
The feel of her cunt sucking my fingers inside, her blood and my spit destroys common sense.
I look down fucking mesmerized by the dark pink residue her pussy leaves behind on my fingers.
I suck them into my mouth, moaning at the taste.