“You always have a choice,” Adrian whispered before yanking the baton away, dropping it to the floor and sinking to his knees. There, he pushed my spine forward and spread my ass cheeks.
“What choice do I have here?” I asked as his warm breath fanned over my hole. I curved my back for him, giving more.
“Take it.” He wrapped his mouth over my asshole and sucked, making my legs buck and my head fall forward with a crack. My vision swam. With his tongue, he filled me with his saliva, spitting and shoving, feeding it into me with grunts and groaned of pleasure, feral and angry and unbidden as he devoured me and my cries echoed around the theater.
We could have been anywhere, anything, but we were only this. Us. A private, disgusting bubble about to pop.
Pleasure zapped through me, the delicious sensations, all rough touch and zaps of lust through my veins as he ate my hole, savored it and turned crazed. He kissed me there, sucked and licked, drove his tongue in as deep as it would go until I was stretched,until his nose was smashed into my crack and the stubble on his jaw scuffed up my pussy.
Then a finger joined. He wanted this to hurt. I knew that from the lack of lube, but like before, there was still some prep. He pressed his finger in as far as it would go and twisted, flooding my body with endorphins. Sweat beaded across my skin, and I pushed back, wanting more. Wanting the pain and the overwhelm.
“Do it,” I demanded. “I can take it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Adrian said, standing up after fucking me with his finger a few more times.
He stepped out of his sweats and kicked them to the side, but I didn’t have the view of his body that I wanted. Only his feet, his hands as they grabbed me, his breath as it burst white mist through the chilly space above my head.
I expected his cock in my ass, for that brutal shove of him entering me when I wasn’t ready. So I was surprised when he spread my legs wider and punched into my pussy instead, his hard cock filling me up with one thrust of his hips.
I cried out, still experiencing pain there, but he only chuckled, getting what he wanted. “I hate you,” he told me. “So damn much. But I can’t stop.” He punctuated his words with rough thrusts that pushed my body forward. “I want to destroy you, Penelope Karner, every inch of you needs destruction, inside and out.”
My head and shoulders went over the balcony and I grinned, my tits crushed as he forced all his weight onto me and kept telling me all the ways he hated me.
“I hate that you killed him and don’t feel remorse.” He fucked me hard. “I hate that you killed all those men, and it only makes you wet.” My hips smashed into the wooden banister, scraping and splintering. “I fucking hate you, that you’ve got under my skin like a dirty parasite.”
He was a grunting animal above me, holding my hips and forcing me down when he fucked up, slamming his cock into my cervix, into my very soul like he was piercing through me, burrowing his way through my center until it was mush.
“More,” he said, pushing me forward again until my arms fell over the edge. The only reason I wasn’t falling now was because of his grip on me.
I felt the lure of gravity tugging me down, my hair swinging, my fingertips reaching for the ground. Each thrust and jostle from him driving into me took me a millimeter closer. I made no effort to keep myself safe. If he wanted me to fall, I would.
If he wanted me dead, he held that in his hands.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, looking for where I would land, what would break my descent. “Adrian…”
“Shit,” he grunted, and stepped forward yet again, so my entire torso hung off the balcony. I should have fought it, clawed to get back up, tried to brace myself, but all I did was hang there, let him take what he needed.
We fell into a rhythm like that, where the only thing keeping me from tumbling to my doom was the way his legs kept me pinned between his body and the balcony railing.
“I hate you, Penny,” he told me again, repeating the words over and over as he clawed at my skin and ruined it for anything else. “You need to fucking die.”
“Please,” I cried out, but I didn’t know what for.
Pleasure began building in my belly, heating the deepest parts of me. He was about to go; I could tell. His breathing was even more erratic; his words barely legible. Just angry, bitter and cold, barreling towards his finish.
“I need more,” he said then, his voice lost with lust and animalistic desperation.
“Take it then,” I shouted, turning my head to the side to try to see him, see anything at all beyond the floor of the theater far below.
There was a shift, a moment when I almost fell, when one of his hands loosened from my hips and I sucked in what I thought would be my last breath.
Then– the baton, I knew what it was, what he was going to do, the second I felt the cool, blunt metal tip against my flesh.
He tried to push it in, grunted, “Shit,” and yanked me up, grasping my hair and pulling my entire body up in one vicious swoop, bending my skin to straining.
I opened my mouth to demand he tell me what the hell was going on, but before the words could come, he twisted me around and threw me back over thebalcony, hanging over the edge, my face on his, my arms scrambling to reach for him. He wrapped my thighs around his waist, giving me a modicum of the power.
“Hold on tight, little killer,” he rasped, making me squeeze around him, lifting me up higher, changing the angle. There really was nothing but my own grip on him holding me up. He was relenting, giving me a tiny piece of control back. If I let go, he wouldn’t be able to catch me.
