Page 23 of Killer Bones

I just want.

“Why do you write killers?” His lips whisper over my ear lobe. “This room may have ears. Be careful if you want to keep your tongue.”

I shiver at the threat, feeling the warm wet tease of tongue and teeth as he tells me he would love to needle me, shove a knife in my pussy, and leave me mewling and kicking on the floor.

I’m guessing he means the hilt of the knife, though him doing worse with the sharp end is scarily possible for my stabbed hand is a bloody testament. Yet an ache shudders and worms about, deep within me, like a vulgar graveyard fuck.

Threats are his currency.

“Killers, they’re interesting. Fun,” I murmur, my eyes closing. I’m naked and trapped against him, with his iron-hard cock cramming up and down my slit.

“More,” he says.

I wriggle in his lap, lick my lips with the tongue he wants to sever. He’d do that singing nursery rhymes and taunting me. Why, why, why do I write killers? I’m stalling with whimpers queuing in my throat, begging to get out.

I dig encouraging fingers into his wrist, but stop when he whispers nastily, “Needles in your fucking tits. More. Interesting isn’t good enough.”

“I might like that,” Stupid, stupid. Except he knows my secret. “I need to whisper this, closer. Can I turn over and say?”

He opens his arms which I take as a yes. I clear my throat, then carefully turn over and climb onto him on all fours. To do this I must open my legs and my breasts sway in his face. I straddle his hips and sit up.

Then I lean in and say my soft-spoken words. “You may as well ask why I have this sick attraction to you, a man who kills and enjoys it.”

The facial scars contort as he inches his back further up the wall. Then he repositions me with his hands about my waist. Hands slip to my rear and mold themselves to me, caressing.

I squeeze shut my eyes, getting my thoughts in order.

“I know I’m perverted, sick. Ever since you said you read my stories, if anything my fascination with you is worse.”

Am I betraying myself? Will this help my cause? Or will he kill me now for being a fool?

I’m flustered, struggling to make sense of what has never made sense to me. Again, I lean in and whisper.

“It seems a darker, stickier fascination. Like, I know you are bad.” He smirks. We both know that bad is an understatement. “You ignore the humanity of others, their right to life. And yet…” I raise my hand, advance it, until it hovers, shaking, near his face. I touch his mouth, dare to cradle his stubbled jaw. My fingers ride the bumps of his scars and still he only watches me.

My thumb ventures into his mouth, dipping past his teeth. He could snap them shut.

Be terrified later. If I were sensible, I would be asking about our deal.

His cock twitches at the crease of my ass, his nostrils widen. I can almost hear his bemusement.

This is not the time for being sensible. Ride the wave. Ignore the fear. I need him on my side.

I. Need. Him.

“And yet?” he prompts.

I’ve forgotten what I meant to say after that.

With both hands he cups my breasts. His gaze zeroes in on my nipples. I arch, offering myself, and he takes a nipple in his teeth, sucking on me, pulling.

Mouth open I feel my arousal leak from me.

Desire washes higher.

After one harder, prolonged suck, I’m gasping.

He leans back. “To bite or not to bite, that is the question.”