But right now, in this moment suspended between violence and whatever comes next, there's just Kent and me and the body of someone who made the catastrophic error of threatening our family. Shaw's research is complete, her documentation preserved, her academic legacy secured.
The only question remaining is what happens when two killers who love each other are finally free to be exactly what they've always been.
Kent’s hands linger on my face, his thumbs brushing away the last traces of Shaw’s blood, his touch grounding me in the aftermath of what I’ve done. The kitchen is still, save for the faint hum of the recording equipment, a silent witness to the violence that just unfolded. My pulse races, adrenaline coursing through me, but beneath it, a raw, primal hunger surges—a fire sparked by the act of killing, by the unapologetic truth of who we are.
I meet Kent’s eyes, and the darkness there mirrors my own, a shared recognition of the predators we’ve become, unbound by Shaw’s manipulations or society’s constraints. His gaze is molten, heavy with pride and something feral, and it ignites a need in me that’s as much about power as it is about desire.
“Delilah,” he growls, his voice low and rough, the use of my old name sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re fucking unstoppable.” His hands slide down my neck, fingers digging into my shoulders with possessive urgency, pulling me against him, our bodies colliding in the wreckage of Shaw’s failed experiment.
I don’t respond with words. Instead, I grab his shirt, yanking him toward me, my lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. It’s vicious, a collision of two people who’ve shed every pretense, every restraint. His tongue invades my mouth, claiming me with brutal intensity, and I bite his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, his groan vibrating through us both.
“Fuck, Lila,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild with need. “You’re a goddamn force.” His hands are everywhere, tearing at my already ripped shirt, the fabric giving way as he exposes my skin to the cool air. My bra is next, torn off with a flick of his wrist, and his palms find my breasts, squeezing hard, his thumbs grazing my nipples until they harden, sending a jolt of heat through me.
I arch into him, my nails raking down his back through his shirt, leaving red trails I can feel through the fabric. “You want me like this?” I hiss, my voice sharp with challenge, my hands fumbling with his belt, yanking it free with a ferocity that matches his. “You want the killer I just became?”
“Fuck yes,” he growls, shoving his jeans down, his cock hard and straining against his boxers. “I want every fucking part of you, Delilah. The woman who just choked the life out of Shaw, the one who’s not afraid to get bloody.” His hands grip my hips, spinning me around to face the counter where Shaw’s tools still sit, a grim reminder of her failed experiment. “Bend over,” he orders, his voice a low snarl, and I obey, my palms slamming against the counter, my body thrumming with anticipation.
He yanks my pants and underwear down in one swift motion, leaving me exposed, the cool air hitting my skin as I brace myself. His fingers dig into my hips, hard enough to bruise, and I feel him press against me, the heat of his cock teasing my entrance, not entering yet, just tormenting me with the promise. “You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, his voice thick with lust as he slides against me, coating himself in my slickness. “This pussy’s begging for me, isn’t it? Begging for the man who knows exactly what you are.”
“Do it,” I snarl, pushing back against him, my voice raw with desperation. “Fuck me, Kent. Show me you can handle me like this.” My nails scrape the counter, my body trembling with need, the blood on my hands smearing against the surface, a visceral reminder of the violence we’ve just committed.
He doesn’t make me wait. With a single, brutal thrust, he buries himself inside me, filling me so completely I cry out, the sound echoing in the kitchen. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that sets every nerve ablaze, and I grip the counter tighter, my knuckles whitening as he sets a relentless pace, each thrust hard and deep, claiming me in a way that feels as primal as the act of killing.
“Fuck, you take me so good,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips as he pounds into me, the force of it rattling the tools on the counter. “Look at you, Delilah, taking my cock likethe fucking predator you are. So goddamn perfect.” His voice is a filthy litany, each word driving me higher, and I push back against him, meeting every thrust with equal ferocity, our bodies slamming together in a savage rhythm.
His hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair, yanking my head back so I’m forced to meet his eyes in the reflection of the kitchen window. “Look at us,” he snarls, his gaze burning into mine. “Look at how fucking right this is. Two killers, fucking like animals in the middle of a crime scene.” The sight of us—my face flushed with rage and desire, his eyes dark with possession, our bodies moving in brutal harmony—sends a jolt through me, amplifying every sensation.
I moan, the sound raw and unrestrained, and he leans forward, his chest pressing against my back, his lips finding my neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls, his teeth grazing my skin. “Love how my cock fills you, how I fuck you like the savage you are.” His hand slides around to my front, finding my clit, rubbing in tight, rough circles that make me gasp, my body trembling under the onslaught.
“Harder,” I demand, my voice breaking as I brace myself against the counter, my hips grinding back against him, desperate for more. He obliges, his thrusts growing even more brutal, his cock hitting deep inside me, each movement pushing me closer to the edge. His fingers on my clit are relentless, driving me wild, and I feel the tension coiling tighter, ready to snap.
But he’s not done with me yet. “Up,” he commands, pulling out suddenly, leaving me aching and empty. Before I can protest, he spins me around, lifting me onto the counter, my legs spreading instinctively as he steps between them. His hands grip my thighs, pushing them wider, and he leans in, kissing mehard, his tongue claiming my mouth with the same ferocity as his thrusts moments ago.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he growls against my lips, his hands roaming my body, squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples until I whimper. “Look at you, Delilah, spread open for me, ready for my cock again.” He grabs my hand, guiding it to his erection, and I wrap my fingers around him, stroking hard, feeling him pulse under my touch.
“Fuck me,” I hiss, my voice a desperate plea as I guide him back to my entrance, my eyes locked on his in the window’s reflection. He doesn’t hesitate, thrusting into me again, the angle different now, deeper, hitting spots that make me cry out. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he grips the counter on either side of me, his thrusts relentless, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the kitchen.
“Look at that pussy,” he groans, his eyes flicking to the reflection, watching where we’re joined. “Taking me so fucking deep, so fucking perfect. You were made for this, Delilah, made to be fucked by me.” His words are a filthy chant, each one pushing me closer to the edge, and I can’t look away from the window, can’t stop watching the way my body responds to him, the way my breasts bounce with each thrust, the way my face contorts with pleasure.
His hand slides between us again, fingers finding my clit, rubbing with brutal precision as he fucks me harder, faster. “Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice raw. “Show me how you make that pretty pussy sing.” I obey, my fingers joining his, circling my clit as he watches, his eyes dark with hunger. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growls. “Look at you, touching yourself while I fuck you. You’re a goddamn queen.”
The dual sensation—his cock inside me, our fingers working my clit—is too much, and I feel myself spiraling, thepleasure building to a breaking point. “Kent,” I gasp, my voice a desperate moan, my body trembling as he drives me toward release. “I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he snarls, his hand tightening in my hair, forcing me to keep watching our reflection. “Come all over my cock, Delilah. Show me what a fucking killer you are when you let go.” His words, his touch, the raw power of him inside me—it’s overwhelming, and I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me like a wildfire, my cries echoing in the kitchen as my body convulses around him, my fingers gripping the counter for stability.
He doesn’t stop, fucking me through it, his thrusts unrelenting, his fingers still teasing my clit, drawing out every wave of pleasure until I’m gasping, my legs shaking. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with pride. “So fucking gorgeous when you come, so fucking mine.”
He shifts again, pulling me off the counter and turning me to face the wall, my hands bracing against it as he enters me from behind once more, his thrusts even more savage now, driven by the same primal energy that fueled my kill. “You feel that?” he groans, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto him with each thrust. “This is us, Delilah. Two fucking predators, claiming each other.” His teeth find my shoulder, biting hard, and I moan, the pain blending with pleasure, pushing me toward another edge.
He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit again, rubbing with desperate intensity as he fucks me, his breath hot against my neck. “Come again,” he demands, his voice a low growl. “Give me one more, baby. Show me how much you love this.” The command, the ferocity of his thrusts, the relentless pressure on my clit—it’s too much, and I come again, my bodyshuddering, my cries raw and unrestrained as I collapse against the wall, my legs barely holding me up.
He follows me over the edge moments later, his groan primal and guttural as he buries himself deep, his hands gripping my hips so hard I know I’ll carry his marks for days. We collapse against the wall, panting, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of sex and blood and victory.
He pulls me upright, turning me to face him, his hands framing my face as he kisses me, hard and possessive, his tongue claiming mine one last time. When he pulls back, his eyes are still dark, but there’s something softer there now, a recognition of the bond we’ve just sealed in the aftermath of violence.
“You’re everything,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb brushing across my lips. “My partner, my equal, my fucking queen.”
I lean into him, my body still trembling, my heart pounding with the truth of what we’ve just done. The kitchen around us is a crime scene, Shaw’s body still on the floor, the recording equipment capturing every second of our transformation. But in this moment, it’s just us—two predators, two lovers, embracing the beautiful, terrible truth of who we are, unapologetic and free.
