Page 49 of Half the Summer's Night

“Don’t stop,” I pant. “Please. For the love of god. Don’t stop this time.”

My killer chuckles against my pussy, then drags his tongue hard over my clit. I shriek, arching my spine up to him. He presses down on my thighs, spreading my legs wider. I’m so close to spilling over. I’m just about to?—

He pulls away.

“Fuck you!” I scream, jerking myself up to sitting. But my killer shoves me back down, pinning me by the arms. Every part of his face not covered by the mask is glossy with my arousal. And some of it’s streak on his mask, too.

“I’m sorry, little detective,” he purrs, leaning close. “But there’s something I want from you.”

He kisses my mouth then, and I moan into the salty taste of myself. Then he jerks back, his eyes blazing behind his mask.

“What do you want?” I whimper.

He rubs his thumb against my wrist, like he’s feeling for the blood in my veins. “I want you to beg for it,” he says softly. “Beg for my mouth. Beg for your release.”

I shiver, curling my hands into fists. His own hands are wrapped around my wrists, and when he shifts his hips against me, I feel a thick, hard ridge.

The idea of his cock sends another pulse of pleasure through me.

“Why?” I manage to ask, not taking my eyes off him.

He smiles. There’s something almost familiar about it, that smile, and I jolt.

I’ve seen him before.

I don’t know where, though. And I can’t think about it further, because he slides one hand between my legs to roll my clit around in slow, teasing circles.

“Because,” he says. “I want to know that you want it.”

Then he’s eating me out again, and I don’t see his mouth or his smile, just the dark curve of the mask’s leather between my legs.

I glance sideways at our reflection again. At my thick thighs, my breasts swelling beneath my shirt.

At my killer, devouring me whole.

“I don’t hear you begging,” he says from between my legs. “If you want to come, you’d better get started.”

I watch our reflection as I answer. “I thought you wanted to taste my orgasm.”

He laughs again, which just teases my oversensitive pussy even more. “I’m a killer, Abi. I know how to wait for what I want.”

The wordkillerricochets around in my head. It makes my pussy ache.

“Please,” I whisper, watching my reflection’s mouth form the words. “Please, um—“ I swallow, and lift my eyes to the track lighting overhead, warm and tasteful and designed to soften the hard edges of death. My killer’s running his tongue over my cunt in long, slow licks, like he’s savoring my desire. “What should I call you?”

He stops, his breath warm on my pussy. “I don’t have a name,” he finally says, and he rubs my clit softly as he speaks.

“Everyone has a name,” I say shakily.

My killer kisses along my thighs, still teasing my clit. “My name belongs to someone who isn’t really me,” he says. “The real me, the man who’s going to make you come, is nameless.”

“Nameless,” I breathe out. I hadn’t realized I wanted his name until now, and this, it seems, is the closest I’ll get. “Please, Nameless. Make me come.”

Overhead, the lights blur until they look like stars.

“Oh, Abi,” he purrs. “You can do so much better than that.”

He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of my inner thigh—gently, like a warning. I yelp, startled more than anything, and he chuckles and slides his tongue inside my pussy.