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I pause, wait for an answer.
“Lynch.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“Don’t stop.”
“Ah.”
I slide my fingers in and out of her. I’m painfully fucking hard, hard with the anticipation of what her pussy will feel like aroundmy cock. How tight and wet it’s going to be, how fucking good it’s going to feel to know how goodshe’sgoing to feel, how much she’s going tohateme for it.
“Ask me,” I murmur, right against her pretty cunt. “You’re so fucking close, Lynch. I can feel it. You might be the queen of lies, but your body isn’t. I want to give this to you. I want to make you feel good.Come on, vicious flower.Ask me.”
“Fuckingdo it, then!” Willow exclaims, voice strangled and high, higher than I’ve ever heard it. She didn’t even sound like this when that vile man tried to kill her or when Cerberus tore her leg up; she didn’t sound like this at the height of her fever, high off codeine. “You fucking piece ofshit. Make me come already.”
“Yes, Lynch.” I laugh, cruel with arrogance. “Anything for you.”
And I make her come on my tongue, easily, so fucking easily, because Willow Lynch might hate me all she likes, but ultimately she’s so simple, this poisonous flower of mine. She just wants to feel good, and isn’t that what we all want in the end?
Willow comes with abroken cry, like I’ve just torn the very soul out of her chest and wrapped it around my fist to punch her with it. She wails, a high, keening sound, like a wounded animal, and when the hard spasms of her orgasm subsist, she falls back and kicks me off her with a heel to my shoulder.
My mouth comes away from her pussy with a loud, slurping sound, and her eyes widen with mortification. She rolls herself over, thighs clamped together, curled up like she’s in agony, butI know she’s not. Her entire body exudes heat, and her thighs gleam with the wetness of her arousal.
I take off my trousers, finally letting my cock spring free, gloriously, ferociously hard. Fucking Willow is the ugly ghoul that’s been sitting on my chest every single night, the leech that’s been crawling underneath my skin whenever she’s around. And I’m finally going to give in to it.
When I rest one knee on the edge of the bed to lean towards her, Willow rolls herself onto her stomach. It’s a pleasant enough sight: dark hair feathered over pale skin, a tattoo of a black leathery monster poised on one shoulder, the curved dip of the spine like an empty riverbed, round, pretty buttocks. But it’s not the sight I want, and I’m not naive.
Leaning down, I kiss Willow on her shoulder, right above the tattooed monster, and I command against her ear, “Turn around.”
She shakes her head, turns to glare at me through black strands. “No.”
I glide my lips up the ridge of her shoulder to the nape of her neck, nuzzling through the hair, sucking lightly. “Turn around, Lynch.”
“I don’t want to.” Her tone is all petty belligerence, but the pleasure of her orgasm drags from her syllables, heavy and heady.
“I know you don’t.” I let her hear the smile in my voice. “But I want to look at you. I want to see what you look like with my cock inside you. I want to see how pathetic you look when you try to pretend you’re not enjoying every second of this.”
“You’re such a creep,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
“And you’re a dirty little coward. Turn around and insult me to my face.”
She rolls herself over. She’s a sight: dishevelled and flushed and glossy with sweat. Her poison-green eyes are full of wantand resentment. My cock twitches. I drop forward over her, caging her in with my body, pushing into her so that she has no choice but to part her thighs around my hips.
“You’re disgusting,” Willow says, eyes on mine, mouth twisted. “You sick, creepy fuck. Youdisgustme.”
“I disgust you so much you came all over my disgusting face.” I smile at her, line the head of my cock against her cunt. She’s so wet my cock slides right against her entrance, and I hear her breath hitch. “Are you going to come all over my disgusting cock too?”
She shakes her head, but her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and her eyes are wide, wet eyelashes fluttering. The smell of her fills my senses—dark flowers and sweat and the earthy perfume of sex. I want to take a bite out of her, to taste her skin, to draw a scream from her like music from a violin string. But tonight isn’t about taking what I want.
Tonight is about taking from Willow Lynch.
“Tell me to stop,” I command her, pressing into her. She’s wet and throbbing against me, tantalisingly inviting, and it takes all my willpower to not bury myself inside her in one true thrust. “If you hate me so much, if I’m so disgusting. Tell me to stop, Lynch, and I will.”
She watches me, and her lips part, and she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are glazed and gleaming like she’s drunk, but she’s perfectly sober. Perfectly sober, with her breasts rising and falling with each panicked breath and her thighs shivering uncontrollably against my hips.
I press into her, the hot, sweet tightness of her, and she catches her breath in a hiss, and I stop, and I say, “Say no, Lynch. Come on. Tell me to stop.”
