I guide her head closer, my hand steady in her hair while my eyes lock onto hers.
“Good girl,” I breathe out, the words ghosting over her.
She’s kneeling between rows of corpses, touching me like she belongs here in this graveyard. Like she belongs to me. And she does.
Her gaze suddenly snaps to the security camera perched in the corner, a flicker of logic trying to claw its way back into her brain. I answer before the question even leaves her lips.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say quietly, sliding my thumb briefly along her jawline, forcing her to focus back on the only thing that matters. Me.
“I already took care of them. Bryan won’t see anything unusual. Tonight, the only record of this will be in your head”
My own gaze scans the room, a smirk forming at the sheer, macabre beauty of it all.
“The only souls watching us are the ones you so obediently pushed out on the metal trays. The corpses you studied. My work.”
I lean down, my voice a velvet promise.
“They will watch you as you take me. A quiet, cold presence to witness your fall.”
Her eyes almost roll, and for a quick moment, I catch a glimpse of disgust. It only makes my smile wider.
“I’ll put that attitude of yours to use. By the end of this night, you’ll learn exactly why you should never interfere with my observations or work with the detectives.”
I tilt my head, looking down at her. Something dark has taken over, a desperate need to be understood by the only person capable of seeing the real me. I’m not sure how making me feel this good helps her understand my soul, but we’ll see about that later.
I need her. Now.
She slowly wraps her hands around my cock, unconsciously licking her lower lip as she takes a long, lingering look. Amused. Shocked, maybe. I’ll make it fit. She was made for me.
She starts to stroke slowly, her eyes locked on mine, before leaning in and kissing the tip. That single agonizingly soft movement almost brings me to my knees too. She’s teasing me. On purpose. She knows exactly what she's doing, using my own hunger against me.
A deep, guttural groan rips from my throat as I stare down at her. My eyes are darkening.
The corner of her mouth lifts in a ghost of a smile. She’s enjoying this. Fuck me, she’s even more ruined than I thought. She has no idea what that just unleashed. I was trying to keep some semblance, to keep myself restrained, but I won’t anymore. I physically can’t. Not with those perfect, defiant eyes looking into mine, challenging me to lose it.
She leaves a trail of soft, burning kisses along the shaft. I don’t know how much longer I can take this torture.
“Madeline,” I growl her name as a warning, my heart hammering against my ribs. She doesn’t flinch. She looks satisfied, teasing the absolute shit out of me. Revenge.
And the worst part? I’m enjoying her rebellion far more than I should. I’ve never been so fucking desperate in my life. For a single touch. For her.
The grip in her hair reappears with my patience burns to ash with each kiss she leaves on my skin. I lean down, my voice a jagged wreck of authority and need.
“Open.”
And she listens.
I push her head down deep, taking what’s mine without warning. She doesn’t deserve one. Not anymore.
She gags as tears form in her eyes almost immediately, trying to take all of me. I can feel it hitting the back of her throat, her eyes rolling back in a mix of shock and surrender.
My eyes almost roll as I push my hips further into her mouth, my pulse echoing the rhythm. She grips my thighs desperately, her nails digging into my skin as she struggles to breathe around the thickness.
This is the sensation I’ve been craving since I first saw her examining my masterpiece. Watching her cold, analytical mind try to make sense of my chaos.
Obscene choking sounds echo around the room. Saliva drips down her chin, mixing with her tears as mascara runs down her face in ruined tracks.
She looks absolutely destroyed. Nothing like the professional forensic pathologist who walked in here with her head held high, and everything like the slut she’s becoming for me.
