Page 65 of Heartless Heathens

I was Daniel, and he would rip me apart with nothing but his claws and teeth. I was not blameless. I came here of my own volition. I was aching to feel anything that was somewhat real, even if it was pure unadulterated terror.

Here I was offering myself up like a lamb to slaughter. My butcher waited with a sharpened knife. It was somewhat relieving to know that for once there was someone out there who wanted to keep me around, even if it might have been because they enjoyed my pain.

I stood there, breathing heavily at his door.

“Enter.” His voice called to me from inside and I pushed the door open.

He put his book down on his lap, lifting an eyebrow up at me.

“I called for you,” he said and I twisted my face in confusion.

He smiled, it didn’t belong on his face.

“You felt it.” He smirked and I nodded.

“Yes.” I corrected myself and his eyes softened in a way that showed me that I’d pleased him.

“What did you come here for, Pet?” He was leaning his back against the headboard, one knee bent while his arm rested on top, and the other leg laid flat on the bed.

He was still shirtless, the fresh wound on his chest from the knife was red and puffed up. Uncovered and exposed.

“You called me,” I answered by repeating his own words and he let a crooked grin show.

“You could have ignored it. If you wanted to,” he said, looking up at me through hooded eyes.

“It didn’t feel like I could have,” I told him, stepping closer into the room.

“That’s because you didn’t want to. You can’t lie to yourself.” I stepped again. “Faster,” he whispered and I nearly dove onto the bed from the pull of his command.

My chest rose and fell with my breath in dramatic bursts while I looked up at him, that bright blue tidal wave pulling me under. It was hard to breathe around Sonny. Hard to remember to breathe, hard to want to breathe, and even more so impossible to figure out what it meant that I kept coming back for it.

“You kissed me,” I told him and he tilted his head sideways with curiosity.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he asked and I knew better than to answer silently.

“Yes.” His mouth was instantly on mine, this time without so much pressure, so much need.

It was slow, like he was trying to savor it. His tongue pushed its way in, taking control while it explored my mouth, and he sucked the oxygen right from my lungs. A heat was building inside of me and a need to reach out and touch him urged me on. My fingers gently grazed against the cut I’d made. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, tightly squeezing to keep me from touching any further.

He broke the kiss.

“You have to do it too,” he growled, pulling back and looking at me.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Move your tongue, your lips. You can’t just sit there with your mouth open.” His hand reached behind my head and he tugged on my hair with a sharp pull.

“Ahh!” I cried and he took the opportunity to lock his lips onto mine once again.

This time I followed along, trying not to fight with the movements of his tongue but use them to guide mine against his. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me up to sit on his lap and we continued to kiss, that familiar feeling slowly building inside of me again as every sensation heightened from his touch.

A moan left my chest and his hand reached into my hair. His palm cupped my breast, massaging while he matched the rhythm of his tongue against mine. It was almost enough to get me to forget the chaotic thoughts swirling through my head.

Almost.

I pulled back and he eyed me questioningly.

“Say what you’re thinking.”