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Twenty-Seven
Brennan
Usingmy elbow to knock the door open, my focus was on not getting blood everywhere as I maneuvered into my bedroom. Upon straightening up, I caught sight of her, face to the wall, tucked in the corner directly opposite the doorway.
Rather than acknowledge her, I moved into the bathroom. The sink was still full of soapy water from when I’d been shaving, so I plunged my hands into the liquid, then focused on cleaning them up. Using a nail brush, I made sure there were no crevices in my skin where blood could gather.
Maybe I took extra care because I knew she was waiting out there.
Maybe I was both pleased and annoyed that she’d taken it upon herself to shove her face in the corner...
Funny how I’d mentioned that this morning and here she was, topping from the bottom.
Lips pursing at the thought, I pulled the plug, releasing the vat of pink-tinged water, then turned on the faucet to clean up the sink, before I gave my hands one final wash.
That done, I dried them off on a towel, then strode into my bedroom.
“Place your hands on the glass, take a step back, and bend over at a ninety-degree angle,” I ordered her.
A whisper of breath escaped her, but she didn’t argue. Her compliance was immediate.
Shaking my head at her character’s strange mixture of gutsy and submissive, I ignored her again, and made my way to the closet. With great care, I picked out the items I was going to wear tonight.
I wasn’t known for my fastidiousness, but she’d chosen this path, so I wasn’t going to disappoint her. I selected my jeans first, and when I’d made my choice, I moved over to her side and draped them over her back. She tensed but didn’t argue.
Then I did the same with my shirt and sweater. Even my socks and boxer briefs were carefully picked and laid over her like she was a clotheshorse.
The position, though simple, required a lot of core strength, and I witnessed a faint tremble that rushed down her spine and along her thighs as she maintained the hold.
Spying that, I moved to her side, and asked, “If I touched your cunt, would it be wet or dry?”
A shocked gasp escaped her, and she jerked up slightly, which made her hands slide against the glass. Seeing the blood trails left from her palms had anger whipping through me.
“I-I don’t know,” she said after a few seconds.
“Bullshit.”
Heading over to my nightstand, I pulled open the top drawer. There was a secret ledge built into it, so I checked that my gun was still in place, and that she hadn’t taken it, before I pulled out my knife.
Returning to her side, I repeated, “Is your pussy wet or dry?”
“How would I know?” she rasped. “I can’t touch it.”
Did she know bupkis about her body?
Jesus Christ.
I wasn’t sure what infuriated me the most in all honesty. The blood which meant she had opened her wounds again—at least, that had better be what that meant, and not that she’d self-harmed while I’d been dealing with business downstairs—or the fact she was in the dark about her body.
Were there any other twenty-four-year-olds this naive in the fucking country—never mind the city—or was she just trying me?
With her ass poking out the way it was, I saw the seam that ran down the peachy curve to between her legs. The yoga pants gave her a camel toe that was almost too perfect to wreck, but I had plans, and I was pretty sure she’d own a couple dozen more pairs of yoga pants so I’d get to see that plenty more times in the future.
Pressing the tip of the knife to that seam, I sliced it open. It parted like butter against the sharp blade, and because she’d pissed me off, I continued down that seam until I reached her cunt.
Resting the knife at the base of her back, using her like a stand again, I grabbed both halves of her pants and tore them wider open.
With that done, I plucked at the gusset of her panties, pulling it away from her pussy lips which, as I’d suspected, were drenched with her arousal, and keeping it that way, I reached for my knife and slashed through that fabric too.
