Page 68 of Fear No Hell

Sam

Lila turns before I can say a word, her left hand clenched into a fist. She’s naked, speckled in viscera of every kind, the glowing scarlet of her irises more pronounced than ever in the dim light of the basement.

When she starts sauntering towards me, darkness rolls across her eyes, obscuring them in a brief haze.

When it clears, I blink fast.

Her eyes have gone reptilian. It’s the only way I can think to describe them. The same scarlet color I’ve grown used to in the last few months, except now there’s a black snake-like pupil slashing vertically through them.

As she closes in on where I’m frozen next to the stairs, she swings her hand to the side and chucks a pale, limp piece of flesh onto the ground without a second glance.

I clock it as it falls, where it lands with a thump next to several pieces of what appear to be Arthur’s shredded prefrontal cortex before rolling.

When it comes to a stop, I gape down at what is unquestionably my father’s severed penis.

My hands twitch, a lizard-brain response to protect my own junk, before a squeak draws my attention to the body hanging limply in the corner.

I’ve spent nine months keeping this despicable piece of shit alive. Engaging in completely unethical medicine meant only to stop him from dying. Breaking an alarming number of laws, not to mention the Hippocratic oath. All for the dark goddess in front of me.

There’s nothing left for me to do now, no sutures or healing methods that I can apply to keep him alive another day.

All so she can exact one final revenge upon him, brutalizing him so he’ll feel as much pain as she did.

Taking back the power that Arthur stole from her.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit that this side of her turns me on as much as feeling her come apart on my tongue.

It’s done now. She got what she needed.

As I stand here, Arthur nothing more than glorified roadkill in front of me, the rain chains squeaking under his dead weight, I can’t bring myself to regret any of it.

I’m proud of how I was able to support my girl and make sure she got this moment: her final vengeance.

Eyeballing the pieces of him that she scattered around the room—his brain, his dick, his eyes, his hands—I wonder whether she was intentionally ripping away the parts of him that harmed her.

An inexplicable wind sweeps through the basement, bringing with it the scent of fire and brimstone. Her thick black hair flares around her as she comes to a stop in front of me. “You’re here.”

I go instantly, painfully, shamefully hard at the unholy melody that is her voice. “Yeah, sweetness. Always.” It sounds like I’ve taken up a pack a day smoking habit with how hoarse I am.

“My beautiful Sam,” she purrs, tracing a clawed finger along where my cock is pressed against the seams of my scrub pants.

I groan. Even after months of increasing intimacy, that one small touch has me shaking, arching into her, alarmed I’m going to come before she ever touches me. “Lila.”

“He’s gone, pet. We’re free.” She wraps herself around me, slithering up my body until her face is level with mine.

Those snake-like, scarlet eyes gleam. They feel like they’re boring into my soul as she slides a hand into my hair, cradling the back of my scalp tenderly in her palm. “He’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

I sweep a lock of hair behind her ear, forcing myself to listen to what she’s saying and away from the desire pouring through my veins at her slightest touch.

Needing to give her comfort, support, anything she might need even as my brain is breaking at the sight of her joy, regardless of how grisly it is. “Did you get what you needed?”

A wide smile breaks across her face. “Yes, my love,” is the last thing she says before she drags my head forward, pulling me into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and the coppery taste of blood. It’s brutal and filthy, a harsh claiming that shoves every thought other than her from my head.

My legs buckle, and I’m collapsing, Lila cradled safely in my arms. I don't notice the pain when my ass hits the concrete floor because I'm too focused on the way she’s shoving at my chest, forcing me to my back and crawling up my body, tearing at my scrub top until it gives, spreading wide to reveal my bare chest. The shredded garment gets tossed into the shadows surrounding us.

She settles over my hips, sinking down to grind along my length. Throaty moans emerge with each quicksilver movement.

Jesus Christ, she’s so fucking perfect.

I raise my hands to her thighs, trailing my fingers up along the soft skin, to settle at her waist, torn between lifting her away from me—so I can manage to string two intelligent words together—and moving her faster until I come so hard I go blind. Uncertainty and desire freeze me in place.

“Sweetness, you gotta stop,” I pant.

“Is that so?” Casting me an almost offended look, she tilts her head to the side as she pauses. “And why exactly do I have to do that?”

“Because I’m gonna come in my pants if you don’t stop grinding on me.

” Reaching up with one hand, I cup her cheek, my thumb rubbing along her sharp cheekbone.

Not like I’ve never come in my pants with her before; by this point, she has seen me come in my pants, not to mention all over every inch of her body, so many times and usually at her orders.

In recent weeks, she has been way more interested in sucking me off, swallowing me down, and letting me lick her until she comes—for the second or third time since the taste of me seems to get her off first—afterwards.

Then things will naturally stop and transition into something softer. Less sexual.

Tonight, something feels different. Like she may not plan on stopping this time.

Lila blinks, her eyelashes dark fans along golden skin before she lifts her gaze back to me.

In its depths, I see both the lusty siren riding me half-clothed to orgasm and the woman I’ve fallen so deeply in love with that I’ll give her any and every part of me she wants, right down to my soul that might as well have her name emblazoned on it.

A smirk tilts up the left side of her mouth. “Oh, is that all?”

“Is that—” My brain crashes to a halt.

“It’s fine if you come in your pants now, my love.

” The other side of her lips quirk up, pulling her smirk into a hungry smile.

“You’re still going to be inside of me one way or another tonight.

Now put your hands flat on the ground while I take what’s mine.

” My hands slide from her hips, my palms slapping to rest on the ground on either side of her legs. “Such a good boy.”

I whimper as pleasure spikes through me at her praise.

The pathetic noise transforms into a full-throated groan when she whips her hips forward and back, grinding down, riding my dick harder and faster until the smell of her arousal is filling the air around us.

Her little cries become sharp shrieks as she soaks the fabric of my scrubs with each move she makes.

“Lila, I’m so goddamn close, sweetness, I don’t think I can stop it—” My vision speckles, blackness filtering in around the edges. My body contorts under hers as I thrust up into her in rhythm with her sexy-as-sin hip rolls.

“Come for me, pet,” she orders before her eyes slide closed. She does one final, rough drag over my erection, and then she’s screaming her pleasure to the ceiling, drenching me as she works her way through her own orgasm.

“Lila!” My muscles lock as I explode, pressing myself against her as closely as I can without actually being inside of her. Cum coats the inside of my boxers in thick pumps as I shout raggedly, “Fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect!”

I’ve never come this hard in my life, and I’m not even inside of her yet. What will it be like if she ever lets me sink into that sweetness between her thighs? Will it actually kill me?

My head falls back against the floor, the thunk it makes against the ground inaudible over the ringing in my ears.

Before I can so much as blink, much less figure out how to breathe normally again, Lila is shredding the remainder of my clothes away, grimacing at the tattered fabric like it offends her.

When my pants and underwear finally slough away, I’m left naked in front of her.

Her gaze flicks down, across the planes of my chest, over my pelvis, past my cock that’s still so rock hard it’s almost like I didn’t even come seconds ago, before settling on my lower right leg.

My prosthesis—the carbon fiber, titanium, and plastics that make it up—is distinct even in the uncertain light of the basement.

I shift underneath her, my lips flattening into a straight line.

After all of these years, I’ve finally made my peace with what happened to me.

It took a long time for me to stop being angry about what happened to me.

Longer still to realize that my amputation doesn’t define me or limit my ability to pursue a fulfilling life.

Anyone who believes otherwise doesn't belong in my life.

Not to mention, she has seen my leg, with the prosthesis both on and off, a million times by this point. She’s an active part of my nightly routine to prepare for bed. There’s nothing about this that should have me flinching.

None of that changes the fact that I’m twitching under her steady focus.

Seconds turn into minutes, and she’s still straddling my foot, staring down at the limb that’s a part of me but not.

I’m about to speak when she leans down and nuzzles where the socket nestles around my residual limb.

My mouth drops to release the uncontrolled noise of surprise that has raked its way up my now-dry throat.