CHAPTER TWELVE #2
I don’t want to. But I am curious to know who carries around hefty, fancy cards in their pocket. So, I twist the card around, and the badge logo stamped front and center in black ink sends chills up my arms.
Junior Clyde. Homicide.
So… he really would be able to help me get answers.
What if he already knows and that’s why he’s poking around? Maybe that’s how he knew I left Vore and just “happened” to run into me at the library because he’s already been watching us.
I’m going to be sick. I’ve never felt like I had the truth at my fingertips and now I’m not sure I even want it.
But I deserve it.
Turning on my heel, my own voice eats at me, absently exiting the curtains and tucking his card into my back pocket.
Homicide. If he did know, why would Homicide be lurking around and questioning me?
“BUNNY!”
Razor’s guttural, distant shout blows my eyes wide, stiffly pivoting to a sight that launches my heart somewhere far from this realm.
The flickering glows of noxious orange are haloing him prowling on predacious hunt, his height looming over everyone in the way of catching his prey.
He has his helmet locked in his hand, like he deserted his bike the second the trapdoor released him from his cage—leaving the face of reaping death to be hunting me down through the spreading crowd.
I really am disturbed. Because that irrepressible thrum for him sparks up between my thighs, even though he’s someone I need to be staying on high alert with.
Hysteria explodes like a bomb, entrancing my legs to start kicking at high speed. Running is stupid. He’ll catch me, maybe make me do something that ends with my eyes rolling so far back I completely forget what I need to be questioning.
But that sounds like what the doctor ordered.
Pounding against the pavement as hard as I can, the drum of my heart flutters a laugh off my tongue, lunging and jumping around the groups hanging out by the cycling Ferris wheel.
Flickering orange mars my sight, convincing my prey driven brain that the pavement is giving out beneath me.
I don’t have any choice other than to fight through it and keep going. As thrilling it is to have my spine slithering in my body from his impending presence, him finding the number I’m running away with is not optional.
He can’t. I can’t let him. At least not until I find out what this guy’s intentions truly are.
Maintaining my hustle, I heave for air, veering around the scattered bodies filtering in and out of the admission gates, then cut right, fling open the gate, and trample through the clearing until the porch light spears as my savior.
The embers in my lungs migrate to every muscle, making the last of my harsh, long steps across the yard toward the trailer set me on fire. Everything is blazing, resulting in my whimpers up the steps to be dry and pitiful.
Last time I was thrashing the doors open, I had a sense of safety slow me down while crossing the threshold.
But the threat is right behind me.
His predatory chase is shaking the wooden porch, causing me to yelp loudly over the remaining screech that should be closing me in.
Scampering across the carpet, I listen for the slam of the screen door, but the hinges scream back open, meaning he’s already inside the house by the time I barrel into my room and close the door.
I quickly press the lock, swallowing my balloon heart and taking backward steps toward my bed with the lamp behind me stretching my shadow along the wall.
What if he’s mad enough to kill you?
The sound that slips out as his boots thump closer is concerning.
I can’t say it’s distress making me whine. The sound is too needy, as if it’s derived from the carnal ache spreading within my hips.
My butt slams into the dresser between Ora and I’s beds, listening closely to his boots thudding to a stop right outside my door.
Without warning, a loud crack resounds throughout my room. I yelp, jolting my weight into the dresser with a vise-grip on the edge and craning away from Razor’s helmet rupturing through the wood.
The lamp behind me is wobbling, tipping its light back and forth on the splintering debris littering the carpet and his arm casting through the hole he just made.
Taking in a ragged inhale, precipitation beads on my face, watching his arm stretch further inside.
He tosses his helmet to the floor. Saying nothing. Just reaching inside with his black long sleeve still on and veering his hand to the left to meet the knob.
“Oh, shit,” I exhale.
He’s going to kill me. He’s actually going to murder me.
I can’t blink. Him unlocking my door without a single peep is pumping too much blood through my veins and adrenaline is whooshing my head.
The pop of lock disengaging makes me yip and jump, a fast breath clogging my throat and sitting on the back end of my tongue, teasing me with the consequence of my own actions.
He reels his arm back through the hole—then my door creaks open.
“Why’d you run from me, little bunny?” he asks hoarsely, his voice as tormenting as the angle he’s holding his head in.
He enters my room. One foot at a time. With the dim bulb swaying over the venomous slits hollowed by the skull he wears tonight.
At least… my setting spray works really well. But I am not thrilled about my reproductive system declaring this the moment I fill my womb.
Not knowing what to say, I quake, shifting in place and leaning away from him taking the last few steps.
“Answer me,” he snarls, hanging his head to gut me with animalistic eyes. “Please… Fuck.” Stopping flush against my toes, he tosses his head back on a pant, swiftly skating his gloved hands around my tense waist. “Please fucking answer me, baby.”
“I had a panic attack,” I rush.
My body starts melting on its own, crawling into the touch he’s aggressively running down my butt.
His eyes soften within the umbra, his feet coming around the sides of mine and his hands retracing up my waist. “Then why wouldn’t you run to me?”
“You were busy.”
He clenches his teeth, drawing the painted teeth on his lips thin. “No.” With a growl, his callousness returns, his face hardening and his handle on me becoming rough. “You came out of your fucking tent and ran from me. Why? What were you doin’?”
The card.
The card is still in my pocket.
Panic blisters my cheeks, swarming my blood with so much trepidation I begin sweating some more.
Think and make it really fricking good.
Riddling me with an even bigger hum that disintegrates my brain, he coasts a hand around my hip, keeping his eyes ensnared to mine as he trails up my stomach. “What were you doing, little fuck bunny?”
My throat heats, sheltering the hum trying to slip with my needy breaths. But he’s mapping up my ribcage with a visceral intent—and we’re in a similar position we were in earlier when he ate my pussy like a dying man drinks water.
He was so desperate for it. He did it so well. And now that he’s dissolved my cotton candy self with adrenaline, he’s making it perfectly clear he’s taking mental notes on my ribs while working his way up to my breast.
He’s crazy. And knows just how to twist the lock in my back to make me perform for him.
I whimper, again, my back arching my chest into his massive palm. “I was hoping you would chase me… then forcefully fuck me.”
One… Two… Three.
It takes three seconds for registration to shift his expression into something hungry. Animalistic. And that’s just long enough for self reflection to kick in and make me realize what playground I opened for him.
Roughly squeezing my boob, a low groan drops his chest, his other hand pulling my pelvis against the heat steaming off his cargos.
I’m so stupid.
Truthfully, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, what’s disconnected in my hardwiring that would impulse me to scoot my butt up onto the dresser and willingly open my legs for the weight he’s pushing into me.
Scanning down the sight, he rocks his stiff cock against my core, firmly gliding his hand up my chest.
The thick fabric of his glove teases my nipple, catching it within the brute rub up to my throat. My jaw hangs for another miserable, nasally sound, my hands scooting farther back to accommodate the roll my hips do to grind into his horrifyingly large bulge.
He squeezes, locking a collar on me and yanking my face to his.
My stomach flutters and a hot pant puffs through my lips, flicking down to the shape of his mouth beneath the black and white teeth. By now, he’d be carving a devilish smile on for me. So, the lingering silent wrath strengthening his face won’t let me get off the horse of wanting to kiss him.
I’m stuck on this dizzying ride.
“Just so I understand…” Skating his palm down the outside of my thigh, he tightens his hold on my neck, lowering his lips just enough to brush a tingle across mine. “You’re giving me consent to sink my cock inside you wherever and however I want… But you don’t wanna kiss me?”
“I do,” I breathe, making the mistake of looking into his mahogany eyes. “I’m just not ready.”
His brow stretches the shadowed false eye socket up.
“You’re not ready for a little kiss? But you’ll let me violate you, take advantage of how miserable your tight body makes me?
” Sliding his thumb up to my jaw, he forces my head to swivel, his warm breath rushing to my ear.
“Bunny, it’s my cock that’s gonna fucking ruin you. ”
My heart starts ramming through my sternum, looking at his messy hair from the corner of my eye.
Nothing comes out of me before his tongue is skating up my ear, the wet, silky glide causing me to shudder and whine, my heels digging into a drawer of the dresser to grind into him.
The pressure is buzzing my thighs, all the way down to my knees. It’s what’s controlling me. It has to be.
That’s what I tell myself, until his teeth are lightly latching around my earlobe and dragging a sting that electrocutes my neck.
I mewl, using his hard cock to get friction on this damning ache that’s making my body too heavy.
He releases my ear, chuckling darkly and matching my momentum. “I’m gonna bring out your crazy.”
That should be insulting. It is. A little.
But I can feel the solemn on my fingertips.
I keep rolling my hips back and forth to chase it, whimpering and whining and breathing heavily. The moment his lips meet the sensitive spot on my neck, the sifting pressure of euphoria is migrating up through my navel and sedating my pain.
“Razor,” I moan, my head bowing back and my eyes rolling closed.
His teeth sink into the spot he laid affection on, sensually sucking the thin skin over his tongue with an airy groan jetting down my neck.
It rips me further open, giving him all my guts on a silver platter so that he can stuff me full with whatever he wants.
I sink. The anesthesia of a Razor-induced orgasm floods my mouth with saliva I have to slurp back, lifting my weightless head as much as I can with him working his claimed spot in a suction.
Blood is pounding against the area, though the blooming sensation of being territory is spinning a frenzy of serotonin throughout my body. It’s so pervasive, I catch myself grinning lazily, one of my numb hands moving between us to feel up the beat drumming his solid, damp chest.
Languidly letting my skin go, he presses his lips to the wet mark, tenderly caressing down my throat and up my thigh. “It’s a shame he won’t see this one. It’s perfect.”
My heart drops and I blanch, stopping my feel up his chest to look at him. “What?”
His nostrils flare, a sneaky, vindictive smile cracking through the smeared makeup on his mouth. “Sleep good, Bunny. You never know what you might wake up to.”
Paralyzed, I blurrily track him backing out of my room, the motion of him snapping over to collect his helmet warping my pupils with dread.
He knows. He saw him. And it’s not, like, I did anything wrong, or we went through a list of rules after he made me come on his tongue. I was just kind to the man. But he’s about to be a dead one.
I don’t move until the hole in my door lets in the screech of Razor leaving out the front. Then, I lunge to my feet with heart palpitations and shove my hand back into my pocket.
But the card is gone.