Page 90 of Cruel Pleasures

Though the blade nicks him. It slices into his bicep as he falls back in shock.

The second he does and it dawns on him what’s just happened, the mood darkens. If at all possible, the energy in the room goes from morbid and twisted to pure, terrifying menace.

Losing half my nerve, I blink at him like I’ve forgotten what I planned to do next. What came after I pulled a knife on him.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Stay away, Archer,” I say, a tremble in my voice. “Or you’re about to get sliced!”

His signature mocking grin slants across his mouth. “Don’t tempt me, minxy. That sounds like a good time.”

“Archer, ahhhh!”

My scream sharpens in the air as he stalks closer ’til I have no escape options left. He’s backed me up against the operating table. My wrist is seized and then squeezed to force the knife out of my grasp. I’m spun back around in dizzying speed, finding myself gripped up once again in his arms.

Except this time he’s embracing me from behind. His arm tightens around my stomach. He yanks my head back and presses the knife to the column of my throat. The blade scratches against my skin. One wrong move and it’ll pierce through.

“Anybody else would be dead right now, minx,” he growls. “You’re lucky I have no intention of killing my pet. But I will fuck you.”

More screams ring out of me as Archer tosses the knife and rips off my clothes. He’s an explosion of aggression, rage, lust. He pins me down against the metal table and hoists my thigh up ’til it’s propped against the flat, cold surface. I’m left on one leg as he fists a hand into my hair and slams his cock into me.

Instantly stretching me open.

Instantly setting off a warm, tingly wave from within my pussy.

Already so worked up from him teasing my clit, I come before he’s even finished his first stroke. I shake against him, standing up on tiptoe.

His dick feels better than I remembered it. The last time he fucked me I was drunk and high and determined to see the moon.

Today I’m sober and I’m still spinning.

I’m crying out as my pussy spasms and I stretch across the table.

No longer disturbed by the blood that stains the surface. No longer noticing the dismembered body in the sink a few feet away. No longer giving a damn about anything but Archer’s dick buried deep inside me.

He fucks me without mercy, just the way I crave deep down. Just the crazed, volatile way only he can.

Surrounded by the morbid scene. The blood that gets on us from leaving over the table.

My lungs shudder for air that doesn’t come. I can only moan and pant broken words. Pleas that hardly make any sense. Things like, “More… more… more…” and “Oh god… fuck… yes! Harder!”

Archer delivers. He drives into me harder. His hips punch away at me. His rough hands grip me up ’til I’m trapped and incapable of doing anything but taking his dick deep in my pussy. He squeezes my throat and I see stars float before my eyes.

We’re a sloppy mess that’s lost all concept of reality. We’re too busy chasing highs that crash over us and have us writhing for what feels like an eternity.

Pleasure chemicals surge through us and make us collapse against the operating table. Archer’s weight presses down on me as he husks out heavy breaths and his fingers scoop up the slick evidence between my thighs.

He pushes his fingers past my lips, into my mouth so I can taste us. Our juices mixed together. Still buzzing off my back-to-back orgasms, I eagerly suckle.

His breathless smirk’s a sound of its own. “What did I tell you, minxy? You belong to me.”

It takes us another thirty minutes to clean up—or do as best as we can considering Archer took apart a whole body.

He tosses Timothee into the deep freezer and insists he’ll come down later to finish scrubbing and disinfecting the place.

We leave his workshop on a strangely dark romantic beat, holding hands and sharing private smiles.

…until we make it out into the hall and discover we’re not alone.