Page 17

KANE

S he called me his fucking name.

After everything, he is still the first fucking thought in Delilah’s head and there’s nothing I can do to remove it.

The knife in my hand burns against my palm, begging to be used to inflict her pain. I push the flat of the blade deeper against her cheek as I push the gun back into my waistband. She stops breathing as her skin cushions it.

“And,” I say low in my throat while studying the edge of the knife hugging her cheek, “all you will ever be, Delilah, is a whore.” Flicking my eyes up, I watch her dark blue irises slowly become engulfed by her pupils.

“You are a filthy little slut and the only part of you that is worth anything is that vicious cunt.”

There’s no fear in her eyes. Lust is what stares back at me as she presses her face into the knife.

“You know that vicious cunt?” she asks. “You don’t even deserve that, Asher.”

I smile and lean further into her, forcing her to stretch back from the pressure of my weight as I agree.

“I know, koukla mou.” Using the knife, I lift her hair and wipe my bloodied palm on the side of her neck.

My voice lowers, weighted with emotion as though the pain has removed the stop gap on the historic hurts she caused. “I. Deserve. More.”

Her jaw rolls, collecting her spit, and I slam my hand over her lips before she can do anything with it.

“You will never fucking win again. Do you understand that you’re mine to fucking control?”

She glares up at me, and I push my palm harder against her lips.

“The rules have changed, my pretty girl. And now? Now, you’re on my leash.”

The sleek, professional dress she’s wearing slows her down as she brings her knee up, giving me enough time to pull my hips back before she can connect with my dick.

Using my hold on her face, I pull her forward and smear more blood across it.

I could peel her skin back and she’d still be beautiful.

But I have a different urge. The cream fabric of her dress soaks up my blood as I hold the collar.

The sting of the fibers slipping through the cut in my palm grounds me.

“Do it,” she taunts. “Kill me. It won’t make you real or powerful, you pathetic little cunt.”

Pressing the blade to the neckline, I look in her eyes and hate how she calls me forward. Not the version I am now, but the old one who had useless priorities like empathy.

“We both know I never wanted power, koukla mou.” I tut.

She tenses as I roughly drag the kitchen knife down the length of her dress. When I reach between her hips, she pulls back, and the silly little thing thinks she can escape me.

Delilah turns, and I don’t attempt to stop her, because she twists herself in the torn dress and trips over the fucker’s feet.

I’m helpful enough to push between her shoulder blades.

Her knees crack on the shitty linoleum floor, her hands whipping out in front of her, directly over the dead cunt, and I grab her hair to stop her from touching him.

Lifting her up so she’s in a squat, I take a step closer and hold the knife between my thumb and forefinger.

She’s even more beautiful, covered in blood with her eyes widening in fear.

The strands of her hair are sharp against my exposed flesh, sticking into the cut on my palm from the fishing wire.

But I tighten my fingers in her hair, watching the light gold strands turn pink then dark red.

I tilt my head to the side as one thick rivulet squeezes from the side of my palm.

It travels with a strand running through it, as though it’s transporting it to the ends of her hair.

“I’ll wake up and none of this will be real,” she lies.

I shrug and push her head back. It forces a laugh out of me when she squeals and attempts to remain balanced with her arms outstretched. Fuck, I want to kiss her. Feel her lips on mine and have her scream into my mouth.

The knife slips between my fingers, and she clamps her lips shut to hide her fear. It doesn’t even touch her, dramatic fucking cunt. Gravity pulls the knife down and it finds a home in the bastard she was going to fuck.

She pushes herself forward to prevent falling as I let her go to undo my belt. My voice is deep with need as I gesture to the only thing she’s allowed. “Ride the handle while I fuck your face.”

Delilah looks from the bloody carbon handle that must be at least eight inches, to my crotch, then to my face. Specifically, my eyes.

Before she can spit out a lie or some taunt that will make me give her what she wants, I add, “Or you can have his dick, like you wanted. That cunt of yours is too loose to feel it though.”

I hold the top of her head and stretch my fingers out. The additional pressure causes her to drop to her knees. But I apply more as though it will make her physically crumble when she’s so fucking defiant. The little demon inside of her has full hold and she manages to keep her spine straight.

Taking the gun from my waistband, I sigh. “I’m beginning to lose my patience with you. Slide your drenched panties to the side so you can fulfill your use.”

There’s no twitch as I take the safety off again. Her eyes move to the side and her breathing shallows. She was always good at being an actress, and it’s no different now. Not even as I press the gun to her temple. Her skin dents but she lifts her chin higher. “I thought I’m not worth it?”

I lean forward, meeting her glare with an inch of space between us. Still no fucking fear of me. Ignoring that, I smile.

“You deserve many things, my pretty girl,” I say as her eyes lose some of their harsh edges. “All of them will be given by me, and you wanted to fuck him, so fuck him.”

She deserves misery and never knowing peace. The concept of it should be so fucking alien to her that she’d struggle to spell the word.

I lose the little composure I have and step forward.

The cunt’s thigh is in my path, and I plant my booted foot on top of it as I pull Delilah’s head back.

She remains deathly still, and I free my hard dick.

Blood coats my skin as I wrap my fingers around my length.

I stroke from base to tip, making sure every inch is covered.

I tap her temple with the side of the gun and call her forward. “Open your mouth, whore.”

Her shiny lips slowly part, forcing a dark laugh out of me.

“You’re salivating like a dog, and I haven’t even fucking touched you.”

She doesn’t move away. Not with her addiction so close.

I don’t move either. She won’t be able to act like this is a dream and I’ve spent too many nights without her eyes on me to ruin it now.

I want to see the way she works rather than having to keep her jaw propped open.

How her eyes widen and roll to the back of her head.

Feel her moans and fuck her throat without any threat of it never occurring again.

I nearly killed her last time because I needed more, needed to feel how she gags around me, how her throat massages the side of my dick.

Most of all, I miss waking up in her mouth or cunt.