Page 3

Selene

I hold up a hand, Dante halting his approach. “Wait,” I rasp, my other arm still clamped tight over my chest. I’m still searching the open area for anything that will tip him off. Specks of blood dot the hardwood, a breadcrumb trail snaking down the hall to my bedroom. Fuck, that’s bad. Worse, the guest room’s a slaughterhouse and my real bedroom’s got bloody fingerprints smudged across the wall, a map to my hidden stash of glass hearts. One wrong glance and he’ll see the Reaper unmasked and my sick little world laid bare.

I still don’t know if he’ll turn me in, praise me, or punish me–that sadistic part of me mirrored in his eyes at times. Secretly, I’m hoping for one of the last two, maybe a combination. Hell, an entire night session would be fantastic.

Remembering that Dante gave me a command, I face him again, the man an inch away from me, towering over me. I shouldn’t have told him to wait. Telling Dante anything never ends well for me. Before I can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers wrapping around my throat. His nose drags along my cheek, no doubt catching the mixture of blood, sweat, and the faint tang of coconut body wash still clinging to my skin. His growl rumbles low in my ear, a shiver running down my spine. “You don’t tell me to wait, kitten. That’s not how this works.”

Another shiver snakes down my spine, my sick twisted mind reveling in the blood, the violence, the sadistic thrill of peeling my victims apart before they break. It’s my fucking gospel. But this? Dante’s rough hand on my throat, this man demanding my submission? It’s a different drug, one I crave just as bad.

I never give in easy, but goddamn, I love every bruising, breathless minute of it. The only thing that’d make this better is if the lights were off. But not now. Darkness would draw him to the bedrooms, to the gore, the jars, the truth.

He growls again, right in my face, and yanks me forward, his lips crashing into mine. It’s rough, bruising, all teeth and hunger, his tongue claiming me like I’m his to devour. He wants me to bend but I’m going to make him work for that right, my teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the taste of copper coating the tip of my tongue.

He snarls into the kiss, his free hand moving south, two fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties. The fabric stretches taut before he rips them off as he pulls back just enough for me to see the dark expression on his face.

“You ruined a good fucking pair of panties,” I groan at him, the man’s fingers digging into my neck a little more. “I really liked those ones.” Not quite the most important thing at this moment but still a sore point.

A wild smile slides across this man’s face, the embodiment of my own nightmare and desires wrapped up in one. He leans down again, lips brushing against my ear, voice a husky whisper that has me pressing my thighs together. “You see, I was going to reward you. Take you out to that hamburger joint you like so much after having to deal with your ex, maybe romance you up a little, make love to you.”

My ex, Harley, is a whole bag and chips to deal with, a drag on my otherwise ‘exciting’ life. But that’s not what catches me off guard. “You’ve never made love to me, Dante.” That’s not entirely true. When we were young, irresponsible teenagers, we thought we knew what love was. We thought the world was ours to take, to mold. But then he went off to college and my stepfather died. I definitely killed that bastard for hurting my mother. And then, I found the both of us on different paths.

This is all I deserve now and I will drink up every last drop of what he’s offering like the depraved bitch that I am.

A feral grin splits his face as he brushes his lips against mine again, teasing me. “No, you’re right,” he murmurs, “and I’m not about to start now.”

I yelp as Dante’s hands clamp around my waist and lift me against the wall. “What the fuck are you doing?” My voice cracks, caught between the slick heat flooding my cunt and the confusion spiking my pulse. My thighs clench, already wet, betraying how much I want this even as my mind scrambles.

“Putting you in a position where you can’t move while I take what’s mine,” he growls. His strength’s obscene as he hoists me higher, my legs splaying wide as he hooks them over his shoulders, my pussy level with his face. Before I can catch my breath, he buries his head between my thighs, tongue plunging into me, starting a ruthless pace I’ll never survive.

He sucks my clit hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting, drawing a garbled scream from me as one of my hands flies up, slamming against the ceiling for purchase. The other twists into his hair, yanking viciously, nails raking his scalp as he devours me like the beast he is. Dante always likes me in vulnerable positions, positions I can’t demand my own way, positions where I’m helpless but to take what he’s offering.

His hands slide to my ass, fingers sinking deep into the meat of my cheeks. He squeezes, bruising, spreading me wider as his tongue fucks into me, lapping up the slick mess I’m making. My hips buck forward, grinding against his face, chasing the filthy rush as he groans into my cunt, the vibration shuddering through me.

Just as the crest of my orgasm starts moving toward me, the fucking bastard drops me. My pleasure is dangling so fucking close I can taste it as my feet hit the floor. My knees buckle and I stumble against him, an animalistic snarl tearing from my throat. I glare at him, pissed off at being denied my release. Dante just chuckles, spinning me and slamming my tits against the wall, my nipples scraping rough paint. I barely have time to brace myself before he rams his cock into me, splitting me open in one savage thrust.

A ragged, desperate cry fills the air, my body pinned between him and the wall, my traitorous cunt trying to suck him in further. When did he undo his pants? I don’t know, don’t fucking care, focusing on the pleasure instead. His dick’s buried to the hilt, balls slapping my pussy, and my nails claw the wall that will definitely have to be painted over.

Not sure how I’ll be able to explain to the landlord about fucking claw marks in the wall if I don’t.

His breath scorches my ear, a hissed whisper dripping every last bit of his dominance over me. “You make me so fucking angry sometimes.” Each word’s a thrust, his cock dragging against my inner walls, hitting spots that make me sob with need. My pussy’s drenched, sucking him in, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room.

He fucks me like he wants to break me, hands bruising my hips as he yanks me back to meet every punishing stroke. And I love it, crave it, this pleasurable torture he wields like a blade, carving me open in ways my kills never touch.

Dante comes hard, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as his cock pulses, spilling hot and thick inside me. He holds me there as his lips graze my shoulder until he’s done, and then he pulls out, my cunt constricting around nothing, my orgasm still just around the corner. “Go change,” he says, a hint of amusement lacing his words as he steps back to tuck himself away. “We need to get to the station to meet Harley.”

I didn’t come and he knows it. Fucking asshole. It’s his sick game, his torture, and I’m hooked on it, some depraved part of me panting for the denial. I should have known he wouldn’t come over to fuck me, to scratch an itch I desperately needed scratched. No, every last minute of his presence tonight was to teach me a lesson for keeping him waiting. Not Harley, but him.

“I just need to take a quick shower,” I rasp, voice wrecked, reaching for a shred of control.

A dark, cruel laugh comes from him as he leans against the edge of my couch. “Only good girls get showers, kitten. And you?” His eyes rake over me, lingering on my flushed tits, the sweat glistening my skin. “Are not. You’re gonna walk into that goddamn station with my cum still leaking out of your sloppy little cunt.”

My nose scrunches, disgust warring with the twisted heat still coiling in me. I press my thighs together, the odd feeling of his cum starting to trickle back out causing me to grimace. “And to think we were ever childhood sweethearts.”

“You’re still my fucking sweetheart,” he purrs, “and I love knowing you’re stuffed with my load while sitting across from that prick Harley, who thinks he’s still got a shot at you.”

I give in, knowing that any fight will have me enduring something else this man throws at me. He’s going to fuck me at some point later anyway so there’s no use continuing to debate him. Leaving the living room might give him time to wander, so I hurry over to the dryer, hoping and praying I was lazy enough to leave clothes in there.

Bingo.

I step into a pair of panties, grimacing at the slickness pressed against my pussy. That’s going to be so fucking uncomfortable, but I keep going, dragging out a black dress that’s really more of a sleeve. It’ll show every last curve, my nipples poking through the thin fabric. The moment I slip it over my head, there’s a grunt of disapproval from behind me.

“Change.”

Just one word, a command that I’m not going to follow. “Actually, I won’t.” I twist around to look at him, that possessive expression back on his face, his arms folded over his chest.

“You do realize what’s going to happen to you if I catch Harley staring at you, right?”

“Empty promises, Dante.”

This man is as possessive as they come, ruining dates and one-night stands to show that he’s the only person who can truly satisfy me. The problem is that he’s right and I’m constantly trying to prove to myself that I don’t need him. That I could break away from him. That one day, I could leave him behind.

But who am I kidding? Dante’s not going anywhere.