Page 50 of Only for Him

He shifts, and I feel the powerful muscles of his thigh pressing against my throbbing clit.

My eyes roll back into my head. I hate how good this feels, but I can’t stop my hips now. Even with the gun deep in my throat, his hand around my neck, the rough material of his shirt rasping against my nipples, and the low grind of his hips giving me just enough to bring myself towards an inevitable orgasm.

His grip continues to tighten, and I start sucking the barrel in earnest now. The world is tilting around me, but all I can focus on is the contact between our bodies. Blackness throbs at the edge of my vision in time with my heart.

I’m going to die,I think.I’m going to die wet for my killer. I’m going to die as I come on his thigh.

Even so, my body continues to betray me. My hips move faster and faster. One moan after another escapes my throat and dies on my lips. I’m soaking the fabric of his pants and his fingers tighten like a steady vise around my neck.

The last thing I see before the orgasm rips through me are his eyes.

Blue.

Blue.

Blue.

I scream against the barrel as I come, and my world fades to black as he chokes the final bit of consciousness out of me.

The last thing I register is his arm catching me as I slip down the wall. He lifts me like a toy someone forgot to put away.

And as he hoists me over his shoulders like a Viking does his conquered prize, I remember what he told me on the phone when I first heard his voice.

It’s not so bad being mine. I take good care of my things

I can only hope he was telling me the truth.

15

ROMAN

Blue light pulsesfrom eleven security screens. Gate, driveway, main hall, and even the wine cellar behind the kitchen because I trust nothing. Each one is cold and unfeeling as they rotate through a different shot every five seconds.

All except one.

Ironically, it’s the one that requires the least attention yet it demands all of mine.

The one watching Giselle sleep in her own home.

The stack of police transcripts and a dossier that cost three bodies sits forgotten on my desk as I watch. In my hand, a single wilted rose dances between my fingers. Its petals are bruised just slightly at the edges. A sliver so tiny and thin that it’s easy to miss even to the most attentive eye.

But it’s an imperfection nonetheless.

It’s not good enough for her.

She demands perfection from me.

So, I crush the rose in my hand and let the petals fall on my desk. My eyes continue to watch my little viper uncoil in her sleep, and the memory of what took place just a few hours ago cuts me open.

She was everything I imagined from the moment I saw her and more. And the moment she came, every nerve ending in my body came alive for the first time in eighteen years. I thought I’d forgotten what that felt like.

Not just anger.

Not just hate.

Not just the obsessive need to punish and hurt and maim.

But something else.