Page 12 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

He says nothing, but I hear him move away again. The wheelie thing from earlier is pushed away. I hear a scuffle, then he’s back. Something hard and plastic nudges my hip .

“I love your breasts,” he breathes. “I love your whole body. Every fucking inch is perfect.”

The mounds in question strain at his praise. The nipples pucker like they are preparing for him. My entire body goes pliable. Every inch of skin hums with anticipation for something it should have zero knowledge of.

“What ... what did you put in that food?” I pant.

His answer is the sweep of his finger over my left nipple. The single, simple gesture has my back arching off the metal slab. It sends my head back when he repeats it and follows it up with the lightest kiss to the right one.

“You have the body of a Greek Goddess, Leila. The full, perfect silhouette depicted in statues and paintings.” He sucks and teases and ignores my restless thrashing as my entire being responds like it recognizes him.

Like it needs him to never stop. “You have a body I want to sink my cock into every night until I put a baby in you.”

What the fuck?

I wait for the burst of outrage, the indignant fury, but he swaps his torment, adding gentle squeezes of both mounds that does something to the pit of my stomach, floods my core with heat .

“Hold still for me, okay?” he prompts, still tweaking my peaks, teasing them. Pinching them until they’re so sensitive I sob. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll make it better when I’m done.”

“What are you doing to me?” I pant.

I hear the squeak of rubber. The distinct snap of gloves. The blood is pounding too loud between my ears to hear the next steps until the sterile stench of alcohol burns my nostrils. I am given no chance to question, to demand ... anything when he swipes the cold pad over each nipple.

I tense as realization slams into my gut.

“No ... wait...”

“Shhh.”

The cold air of the basement teases the moisture clinging to my sensitive points. It’s nothing to the clamps snapping into place. The sudden pressure elicits a whimper and my teeth close down on my bottom lip.

“You’ll feel a pinch,” he murmurs gently. “A sting, maybe. Then heat.”

I want to tell him I don’t want this, but terror has paralyzed me and all I can do is lie there as a sharp, white heat spears through my left breast.

I gasp.

I meant to scream, but the air I’d been holding expels in a sharp exhale.

“That’s it,” he soothes, voice huskier now. “Breathe. ”

There’s tugging and twisting as he fastens the piercing through. It’s secured with practiced twists. Then abandoned for the next one.

“I got certified specifically for you,” he says as he repeats the steps on the right breast. “I didn’t want anyone else touching you. Seeing you like this. Your body is mine and mine alone.”

“Please...”

I think I’m begging him to stop, but my head is buzzing. My nipple is on fire.

My clit is throbbing.

How am I aroused right now? I can’t possibly be getting turned on by ... by being assaulted. Pierced against my will by a man I can’t even see.

Yet, when he spears the needle through a second time, I moan. My thighs quiver. I am flooded by a rush of liquid pooling across the table beneath me.

“One more,” he says gently. “The one I’m excited for the most.”

The horror of that insinuation has the fuzzy hue of arousal fading to panic. My knees jerk, a feeble attempt to close, but the cuffs dig into the bones of my ankles. Cutting and drawing blood but not stopping the man setting a warm palm on my thrashing thigh.

“Don’t move. I want to do this right. ”

The wipe is colder here. Sharper. My swollen, sensitive clit pangs with awareness. My traitorous body arches off the table. Not in protest. Not in fear or denial. It wants to be touched again. Wants his hand to return, to tease until I cum.

What is wrong with me?

The clamp tightens and I shouldn’t like the pressure. The tug. The raw, hot stab.

To my eternal horror ... I cum.

I wail and bow. Break and sob. I come off the table as my entire body seizes with the most violent orgasm I have ever experienced in my life.

I’m still spasming, still shuddering and mewling like a lost kitten while he finishes with the same steady patience.

“Done.” His warm palms clamp down on my thighs and shove them wide so he can take in his handiwork. “You are going to be so sensitive, so aware every time you sit down, every time anything brushes against you, you will be reminded of me.”

I’m on fire.

Every sensitive part of me thrums and I can’t reach to soothe any of it. The cold of the room is doing nothing to help as it licks and teases the wounds. I’m still reeling from the unraveling of my body when he invades, pressing two fingers home through my wet heat.

I snarl through my teeth as the wild swing of pleasure sends me back against the blissfully cold metal. I’m not even listening as he speaks. As he says words that melt into the warm goo of pleasure while he flicks a nipple with his tongue, sending sparks of pain and pleasure winding through me.

My body is no longer mine. I have lost all control of it as he plays every string like he knows everything I like. Like he wired me for his own pleasure.

“So tight,” he says, curling his fingers and finding that spot that makes my hips buck violently into his pumps.

“But so greedy.” Another flick to my clit.

Another deliberate curl of his fingers. I cum apart so fast, I forget how to breathe.

“I am going to have so much fun with you,” he taunts as I sag against the table. “You will never leave me again.”

I barely understand a word he’s saying as the world continues to hum between my ears. Sweat slickens my skin, sticking me to the metal slab.

There is a weird sense of release that has nothing to do with the two painfully intense orgasms he’d given me. I don’t understand it, except the rush still courses through me long after he’s uncuffed the steel bracelets. The blindfold remains securely in place even as he gingerly eases me up.

My legs are jelly. My shoulders throb from the strain of being pinned down and tortured. Every breath stretches the invading objects, making the areas pinch. I hiss, instinctively arching away like I can escape it, and only agitating them further .

He catches me when I flinch. His big hands are warm anchors holding my sides in place.

“Easy,” he soothes softly. “Just breathe through it.”

Like his voice has the controls to my body, it obeys. My lungs take slower, shallower pulls. My skin calms. Still prickles, but I have less of an urge to rip the metal pieces out.

When his touch trails around my ribs to ghost along the sticky curve of my spine .

.. I lean into him. And regret it when the motion assaults my clit.

My poor abused clit that feels like it’s swelled up to the size of a fist. Every twitch, every adjustment sends another wave of agony pulsing through me.

Not exactly pain but not pleasure either. Something I can’t explain.

I whimper and shift sideways to take pressure off my center.

“Hurts?” he asks with genuine concern that pisses me off when he’s the cause of it.

I give a dramatic scoff. “What? No! Why would it hurt? Getting my vagina stabbed by a complete stranger with an ice pike is a normal occurrence.”

He has the audacity to chuckle. “That’s inflammation. It’ll pass.”

“I hate you,” I snarl through my teeth, but the breath I suck in turns traitorous when it sends bolts of electric currents through my freshly pierced nipples and I flinch .

The slow, maddening glide of his fingertips along the knobs of my spine never slows. Never falters. Completely unfazed by my venom.

“No, you don’t.”

It’s the kind of steadfast assurance that only fuels my fury.

Fucker!

“Oh, I fucking do, pal. You have some nerve. The second I can move without feeling like I’m tearing my clit off, I’m kicking your ass.”

But even as I spit the words, I feel his body move forward. The heat of his fully clothed frame burns every naked inch of mine. The table creaks as I’m dragged to meet him the rest of the way to the ledge.

“What—?”

He kisses me.

He captures my mouth, my words, with a firm command that leaves me speechless.

I gasp and he pushes deeper, holds me closer.

His lips move against mine like he’s tasting everything he did to me, every flood of pleasure, every drop of pain.

He drags me deeper into this strange web he’s spun around me from the moment I first laid eyes on him.

It’s so deliberate, so ... familiar, I forget to breathe.

I forget everything but the way I recognize him.

Not just my body, but my mind. My soul. Like I’ve kissed him a thousand times before in a different lifetime.

The surreal sensation splinters what was left of my anger, shatters my fight.

I’m left in a puddle of surrender in the arms of a man I don’t even know the name of.

“Who—?” I try, but he kisses me harder.

Deeper. He folds me harder against his chest. Presses himself between my thighs. I find my arms closing around his shoulders. Fingers bury themselves through thick strands of hair at the back of his head.

I know I should stop him.

It’s the most obvious, rational thing to do, but I’m so close. Not to orgasm. To peeling back that corner of wallpaper hiding my past behind it. The tiny fold that keeps slipping from my fingers. If I keep kissing him, I know I’ll finally reach it.

But he stops.

He draws away and I’m left panting. My lips quiver with the loss.

Then his brow settles on mine and we’re sharing air warm with desire and cool from the room.

“Still want to kick my ass?”

Maybe it’s the overload of everything. Not just from when he captured me, but earlier. Years in the past. A whole lifetime I lost. But I am punched in the chest with a surge of emotion I can’t bottle back. It climbs up into my throat, a vomit of glass and panic that cuts into tender flesh.

“Who are you?”