Page 15 of Lonely (Wellard Asylum #4)

“Addio del passato,” from my favorite opera, La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi, filled the room as I brought a chair in from the kitchen and sat beside her.

I’d waited so long for this, and now that it was finally here, my heart hammered against my ribs.

I hummed along to the tune as I reached for the needle and thread on the table.

It took a few tries to thread the needle because my fingers trembled with anticipation. I was excited.

Once I’d adjusted her on the couch, I pinched her lips and pushed the needle through the pillowy flesh. Blood soaked the thread as I repeated the process, carefully stitching her pretty lips together.

“Such a good girl,” I whispered, forcing the needle through her skin with careful precision. “Such a very good girl.”

The music hit the bridge as I cracked my neck.

A deep, relieved groan escaped me as I worked the tension from my shoulders. It had been a long few weeks. I deserved this.

After I finished stitching her lips together, I inspected my handiwork. The results pleased me. My little heathen had spewed the Devil’s lies for the last time. She wouldn’t lead me astray again, and she wouldn’t touch Carter.

While she remained drugged and unconscious, I secured the rope to the banister, ensuring it was tight, and covered the floor in plastic sheeting.

Whimpers finally sounded from the living room as I returned with a bucket.

“Good. You’re awake.”

She looked a mess with her matted hair, mascara-streaked cheeks, and blood-smeared lips and chin.

After discarding the bucket by the couch, I pinched her chin between my finger and thumb. Her eyes were big with fear as I inspected her swollen, brutalized lips. Tears hung precariously on her wispy lashes.

She was exquisite.

Her eyes darted around, trying to see past me. I tightened my grip on her chin and shushed her when she tried to scream.

Heavy breaths rushed through her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut and held herself still.

Those wobbly tears finally fell, and I felt their descent in my dick as they trailed down her mascara-streaked cheeks.

“I always pictured you like this, but you’re even better than I imagined.”

Releasing her, I swiped a tear with my thumb, then tasted the saltiness. Fear shone in her eyes as she trembled like a lamb beneath a butcher’s gaze, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew she’d never looked more perfect to me.

All those times she’d offered me her body in my office. All those times she’d flaunted herself. None held a candle to this. She finally feared me. She knew I’d hurt her.

I bent at the waist and hauled her over my shoulder. She fought, but it was useless because of her bound wrists and ankles. The classical music drowned out her shrill screams.

I let out a low chuckle and then smacked her ass.

Anna weighed nothing compared to the men I’d had in my house. She was more of a wiggling worm as she beat her bound hands against my lower back.

Reaching beneath her skirt, I yanked her pink thong, sliding it down her long legs. When it slipped off her ankles, I kicked it aside for later.

The rope hung from the banister in the hallway. I gave it a hard tug, then strung the rope around her ankles. When it was tight and secure, I slid her off my shoulder.

She dropped and dangled upside down like a dead deer.

Only she wasn’t dead.

She screamed and fought, her voice muffled behind the butterfly stitches, while I retrieved the bucket from beside the couch in the other room. The more she wiggled and jerked, the more she swayed in midair.

I’d have to wait her out, or she’d make a mess.

Her hair skimmed the bucket’s rim as I positioned it beneath her head. Tears filled her terrified eyes as she used her core muscles to try to lift her body. I saw all the things she couldn’t say.

Please, let me go.

Don’t do this.

I’m scared.

Gravity had caused her skirt to slip to her waist, and her dark blonde triangle looked so pretty between her thighs. Even now, the Devil found ways to taunt me.

Lick it. Bite it. You know you want to.

I almost wanted to touch her, but we were beyond that. She would never lead me astray again.

Crouching down, I rested my arms on my thighs, watching her struggle. Her sweet, sweet sobs had me rock hard in my pants. But for once, I was clearheaded. We had played her game from day one. Now it was her turn to please me.

I shushed her again while trailing a finger across her cheek.

That’s enough. No more screaming.

If anything, she shrieked louder and clenched her stomach muscles as she lifted her upper body again. She soon fell back down, her face red from all the blood pooling in her head.

I stood back up and left her sobbing as I retrieved a sharpened knife from the wooden block on the kitchen counter. It slid free, gleaming in the streetlight pouring in from the window.

I returned to the hallway. When Anna saw the knife, her eyes flared wide, just like her nostrils, and she struggled even more.

Fisting a handful of her hair, I kept her still.

The blade gleamed at her throat while she screamed and wailed. The sound never fucking stopped. I clenched my jaw, irritated and aroused. She never knew when to shut up.

The knife was razor-sharp, so it took no effort at all to slice her delicate throat.

Her pale skin parted like softened wax, and blood gushed in thick waves from the split flesh, splashing into the bucket.

I angled her head, widening the deep slit in her throat. She fought, but not for long.

I was almost coming in my pants by the time she finally stopped moving, and I left her there as I stepped back to watch her dangle over the bucket.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There was slick blood on my clothes and hands. I wasn’t quite as efficient with the bucket method as I’d hoped.

Luckily, I had thought ahead and protected the flooring.

I reached up with the knife gripped in my fingers and wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

The distinct smell of copper hit my nose.

I studied the blade, my heart thudding hard, beating like a drum in time with the classical music playing in the background.

After washing my hands, I tidied up around the house and then shifted the heavy bucket out of the way, careful not to spill the contents.

I untied the rope from around Anna’s ankles, and her body collapsed to the floor with a hard thud.

I rolled it up in the plastic sheeting for now.

Sitting back on my knees, I studied her face through the several layers of clear plastic.

I didn’t know when the music had stopped playing, but it was silent now.

A splash of red caught my eye. I shifted the plastic out of the way and removed her fire-red heels.

I had always liked those, even when I didn’t.

Next up was her ankle bracelet. I studied the little heart pendant. They were just items, but they were loud items.

They had always screamed.

I stood up and placed her heels beside my boots on the shoe rack. The splash of color looked good in my dull house.

After slipping her ankle bracelet into my pocket, I carried the bucket into the bathroom and peeled off my clothes.

The porcelain was cold beneath my feet as I stepped into the bath and lay down with a groan, my muscles aching from the strain.

Raising the bucket, I poured it slowly over my head. Warm blood washed down my body, slick and heavy, slipping between my lips as I tilted my face to the ceiling.

The bucket clattered to the floor. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and stared at the mess I’d made of myself.

My long cock rested against my stomach, smeared with blood and throbbing. I wet my lips, tasting the coppery tang, as I stroked myself in long, languid pulls, drawing pleasure from my body with each tug.

Fuck . . .

“Jezebel,” I whispered, reaching down to cup my testicles with my free hand, feeling the coarse, wet hairs beneath my fingers.

My body jerked, and I moaned, afloat in a river of velvet death. My heart pounded so hard that it might break free from my chest, but none of that held a candle to the dizzying euphoria.

I felt her everywhere. She was on my tongue, tangy yet so fucking sweet. She was beneath my nails, in my butt crack, and seeping into my eyes.

I’d always known she’d be this good for me. I knew it the moment I saw her smile on herfirst day at Wellard.

That night, I’d jerked off, imagining this moment.

Her blood on my cock and balls . . . on my chest and everywhere.

Cum rained over my chest in thick ropes, creamy white against all that dark red, and I shuddered.

The blood was growing cold against my sweaty skin, but I was burning up.

The Devil taunted me from the corner of the room where the doors to Hell were wide open behind him.

Anna was there, curling her finger at me.

“Mommy wants to play.”