Page 8 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

My hand moves with slow, deliberate strokes as I stare at the jar and imagine the scent of it on her skin as I bury my face into the arched column of her throat and drive my cock deep into her willing body.

The sweet warmth of her would envelop me even as the skin beneath my lips vibrates with her throaty groan.

I love the sound of her climaxing. Love the way her body coils and her toes curl, and her shallow pants halt for just a second before expelling in a beautiful sob of release.

That phantom sound is enough to have me spilling between my fingers. Thick, hot ropes land inside the jar, desecrating the delicate cream. My essence absorbs into the satin mess, leaving only the lingering hints of salty seed that I blend with my finger before replacing it on the counter.

I reach for her body wash next.

It’s a lot of work, I get that, but it’s a sacrifice I am prepared to make if it means coating her with my scent. Sending her out into the world with my seed lathered into every soft inch of her. Like a dog in heat, I want to mark her so every other asshole knows she’s fucking taken.

The scent of vanilla and shea butter fills my nostrils as I pop open the cap and align the opening with the head of my cock. The plastic rim catches on my bars and tugs .

I briefly wonder if she’ll understand if I ever tell her why this is necessary. Would she be flattered and see it for what it is — my love letter to her? Or would she be appalled?

Maybe I won’t tell her. A gift doesn’t always need to be announced, after all.

I’m already sensitive, but it only takes closing my eyes and imagining her unloading a generous glob in her hands and running it across her tits ... down her belly ... between her legs to get me back in the game. To get blood swelling my cock.

I’ve had her pussy drenched with my cum, but the thought of her rubbing it between her lips herself...

I think I might make this a tradition. Even after we’re together. It’s a lot of work, but worth it for the knowledge that she’ll spend her day marked.

Granted, I might have to pace myself. Twenty-six isn’t old. I have loads of spunk — no pun intended — in me, but the second round without help takes longer than I’m willing to admit.

Nevertheless, I’m a man of my promise. I complete my mission with the fortitude of a soldier.

I cum in the bottle.

I drizzle my hard work with her body wash, shake out the last drop before screwing the lid back on and give it a light shake. Then, I set it back exactly where it was.

But wait. There’s more !

Not finished, I turn back to the sink with my abused cock still in hand like a skewered slug. It continues to pulse with mute aftershocks as I squeeze and coax the final bead of cum from between the magic cross and drag it along the bristles of her toothbrush.

“Perfect,” I breathe, proud of myself.

Satisfied with my work, I tuck myself back into the elastic band of my sweats, cast one last look around the room, and head for the bedroom.

It’s so still and silent as I step into her space and pause in the doorway. The only sound is her breathing, soft and rhythmic curling into the darkness. Her silhouette lies exactly how I last saw it in the monitors with the moonlight painting silver lines across the hills and valleys of her body.

She’s curled on her stomach beneath a thin sheet, one leg kicked free. The hem of her oversized T-shirt rides high on her hips and even in the shadows folding around her, I know her cunt is ready for me.

For a month, I have perfected the art of relearning every spot she likes to be touched.

I have explored every sensitive nerve that makes her moan and leak.

I have trained her, her body ... her cunt to expect bliss and release under my touch.

Leila may not know I’m here, may not understand why I’m doing this, but her body does. It recognizes me and I know her .

I keep the door open as I move deeper into her little bubble. My feet know every noisy spot, every creaky board as I make my way to her side. I am fully aware of the change in her breathing, the subtle catch, like she can sense me and waits in anticipation.

Below the waist, her hips shift against the sheets. Her ass wiggles in invitation. Her bent knee tugs a notch higher, opening her to me.

I find myself grinning at her unknowing submission. Even fast asleep, she knows she’s mine.

“That’s my girl,” I breathe as I graze one hand down the outside of her leg.

She parts wider for me and I am assaulted by the musky scent of her arousal. By the sweet brush of her need unspooling into the room.

“Ready for me?” I tease, trailing my fingers higher.

Leila gives the weakest little huff and presses her face deeper into the pillow.

I don’t make her wait. I slip my fingers down through her folds and into the pool already collecting at her entrance.

She’s soaked. A slippery, dripping mess, and I haven’t done a thing.

Chest swelling with pride, I slide two fingers inside .

Leila moans and shifts. Her hips tighten around the digits with greedy hunger. Her walls clamp down, a wet glove gripping me deep in the cavity of her body.

I don’t disappoint. I curl my fingers the way I know she likes and she gasps. Her fingers twist into the sheets. Her thighs tremble. She arches her spine and rolls back into my hand.

I lean down and brush my lips against the curve of her shoulder. “Cum for me, Leila.”

Like she should, she does. She obeys the command. She submits the way I’ve taught her to with just my voice.

A soft cry slips from her lips as her pussy clenches around me and she breaks. Her release soaks my fingers. Her breath catches in a stutter I live for and I drink it in.

Every sound.

Every twitch.

Every drip of her cunt milking my fingers.

I relish in the beauty of her. In the knowledge that I made her cum. That her orgasms belong to me.

Her body.

Her fucking mind.

I made her this way.

I slide my fingers free and watch her give a shudder at the loss. Her hips wiggle as if searching, as if her cunt needs to be filled again, but not yet. We still have ten days before I stretch her and breed her. Ten days before I get to feel her walls hug my cock and she sobs my name.

I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick her off. Then I use the same two fingers to reach back between her sprawled thighs, scoop up her mess and smear it down the hard shaft of my freshly erect cock.

I rub her pussy across the skin, coating myself with the scent of her release. I take my time pumping, enjoying the view of her flushed and used, her orgasm still thick in the air.

Where should I put it? I ask her silently.

It’s a nightly game we play where I pick a new spot to empty. Her cunt is my favorite, her tits a close second. But it’s hard with her on her stomach.

I pick the curve of her ass. I paint her skin in the dark and groan under my breath as my hot seed stains her, drips down the swell of her thigh.

Done, I reach down and tug the hem of her shirt back into place. The soft cotton soaks up the mess, but it’s fine.

Leila sighs, still asleep, but seemingly content.

I lean down and press a kiss to her temple.

“I love you,” I tell her.

No response from her, but that’s okay. I’ll hear her say it back soon enough.