Chapter 12 Kage
CHAPTER TWELVE
KAGE
It’s endlessly frustrating, all the things I don’t know about the world and how it functions on a normal scale.
But drop me into the midst of a brawl, or tell me to infiltrate a dangerous cult, or outsmart the devil himself, and I’d feel right at home.
I don’t understand society’s boundaries even if I’ve learned to accept some of them.
But this? Taking care of Summer in what seems to be a vulnerable moment for her? It’s all my soul yearns for. So how can that be wrong, especially if I have no ill-intent?
My eyes jump to hers, a nervousness taking root in my core that I’m not familiar with.
Her jaw is set, her body tense. Thighs spread as she sits before me like some heathen goddess, water still drips from her damp, curly hair and races down her freckled shoulders to her stiff, peaked nipples.
They’re such a lush shade—like a dusky rose bud just beginning to bloom.
She explored me in the shower with those alluring eyes, so now it’s my turn.
I’m just glad she’s stopped slapping my hands away.
She shivers as the basement cools another degree, and goosebumps scatter across her silky flesh.
Even her belly button is cute, especially right now, folded in half because she’s seated.
The impish boy in me who never had a chance to flirt or chase girls around like they do in the movies wants to poke it, see if she’s ticklish.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, and my eyes snap back to hers, a full grin stretching my cheeks and crinkling the corners of my eyes.
I’m hardly worried about the way my mask is slipping.
She’s not being mean to me right now; if anything, her warning seems like she’s teasing me back, and a rush of heat flows through me, making my cock twitch.
I’ll listen to her today, but only because the amount of blood seeping from between her thighs has me concerned.
Everything I read online made this seem shitty but bearable. Witnessing it for myself, however, I’m questioning those sources. She’s puking from pain, her face pale and drawn, a weakness about her I haven’t witnessed before, and the volume of blood loss has surpassed what should be tolerable.
Those thoughts sober me and allow me to focus on the task at hand, my eyes dipping to my fingers that are still pinching the dainty string.
Brows furrowing, I give a gentle pull, fascinated as her body keeps it so snugly in place.
Cautious, I pull harder, feeling it give a little before it slips out, the cotton already soaked in crimson.
I drop the offending thing in the toilet water and ready the next one, pausing to glance at her when she snorts.
“Your plumbing, not mine.”
Smirking, I shrug. Probably shouldn’t flush things that’ll clog ancient cast iron pipes.
Readying the fresh tampon, I mimic her actions from earlier, leaning in for a better view as I use my free fingers to spread her bare lips.
She tenses at my touch, and from the corner of my eye, I can see how her fingers grip her thighs.
She’s scared I’ll use this moment to hurt her; I have to show her that I’m not that man—even if I really fucking like watching her cry.
She’s beautiful when she does.
Pressing the tip of the rounded plastic to her entrance, I gently glide everything inside her, the blood acting as a sort of lubricant. She squirms around on her ass a little, and my eyes jump to hers. “You have to push the thingy…fuck if I know what it’s called.”
I glance back down and understand what she means, pushing the plunger. Her hips wriggle again. “Deeper.”
Fuck.
I’ll replay that breathy note in my head for the rest of my life, and it’ll get me hard every goddamn time.
Swallowing down my desire, I obey, using my finger to push everything further into her tight cunt.
I’m almost to my second knuckle when her hands fly down and grip my wrist, keeping me from going further.
“Doesn’t…doesn’t need to go in my uterus, Kage, even though it seems like you’re obsessed with that. ”
Her voice has changed, her tone one of dark desire I recognize. She liked when I fingered her, at least for a little bit. I think she likes this right now, but as much as I want to make her come again, I also don’t want to fuck up and not have her talk to me for three more months.
I enjoy her company too much to risk anything by letting my impulses win.
“Pull the plastic out,” she commands quietly. I reverently obey, watching as the string slips through the blue and dangles as it did before. “Good.”
Good.
That one little word said in the sweetest voice I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing sinks into my psyche like a seed and blossoms in my heart like a field of wildflowers.
Good. I did something good. Tears well in my eyes and make my throat burn.
Good. No one has ever told me I was good.
No one has ever told me I’ve done something good.
And now I’ll crave that praise from her lips even when I’m in a coffin six feet under.
My eyes flick to hers, and I toss the plastic sheath over my shoulder.
Rising up onto my knees, my fingers dig into the flesh of her thighs again.
Our eyes search one another’s in the dimness of this dingy basement, both of us searching for something; me, for her approval, and her, for the truth, however fucked up it may be.
I owe the truth to Summer, and I’ll give it to her.
Just…not yet. I want to live in the delusion that she and I are normal for just a little longer before I ruin it with the scars of my past. She’ll hate me for making her a target.
She’ll loathe me for taking her away from her life and putting her in danger, even though I did this to save her.
I never want her to know the evil that surrounds the periphery of my life.
“I’m…I’m cold, Kage,” she whispers, breaking the heavy silence and the intimacy of our eye contact.
Nodding, I smooth my palms up her thighs before wrapping my fingers around the bones of her hips.
Standing and lifting her in one fluid motion, she yelps and flails, falling forward and pressing her hands to my shoulders to find her balance.
I chuckle, though the sound is strained and raspy.
The fucker who is my father couldn’t completely silence me; I fought him and Carter so hard they both bear scars from the day I lost my voice.
She stares down at me, legs dangling, toes hitting my thighs as her curtain of thick, curly hair casts us both in shadow. “I’m too heavy,” she says after a moment, pushing against my shoulders. “Put me…put me down.”
I scoff and shake my head. Heavy? I carried her dead weight all over California the night I kidnapped her.
She was hardly heavy then, and she’s barely heavy now.
Annoyed, I toss her up in the air slightly to the delicious sound of her surprised yelp before I catch the globes of her ass and force her legs around my hips, our noses almost touching.
Perfect circles of blood paint her cheeks in embarrassment.
She may not be a virgin like I am, but there’s an innocence to her that’s undeniable and quite adorable.
She thinks too much about what others think of her.
If only she knew I’d walk across a desert of broken glass just to see her genuinely smile at me.
Her fingers slip down to my pecs, her eyes following the trail of raised flesh she leaves behind. She’s touching me and not gagging, and my lower stomach tenses with the need to come, but I refuse to blow my load like that again.
My cum’s place is in her cunt and nowhere else.
Her lips press into a thin line as her thumb gently circles the mark on my chest, a symbol denoting what family I belong to, a cage trapping me in my body and binding me to my past. I hate that tattoo and all it stands for, and when her eyes find mine, she recoils slightly at the darkness I can’t reign in.
“You don’t like this?” she asks softly, her sweet breath fanning my face. If I could groan in ecstasy, I would. My cock is about to fall off and jack itself, but I relish the torture this woman presents; my soul undoubtedly deserves it.
I shake my head sternly. She glances down at it again. “You could get it covered.”
Says the girl with a fear of commitment and needles. I stalked her long enough to learn to read between the lines, and Summer hates the idea of being tied down. In the same breath, she craves being alone—being herself and not who she has to be for the world.
I shake my head softly. Covering it would only push that wretched ink deeper into my soul. I’ve always promised myself I’d cut it out once I killed Carter and then my father. It can burn alongside their bodies.
“Why…” she breathes and then stops, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood.
My nostrils flare and my eyes widen. We both heard it, then, the unmistakable creak of a floorboard above us.
The house settles so often being this old that I usually brush off any strange noises, but the way wood planks rub against one another when substantial weight is placed upon them isn’t one of those quirky, old house sounds.
It’s a sound that means my worst fear is coming true.