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Then I feel him twitching and releasing deep inside me. He pulls out, then gathers his cum with his fingers and thrusts them back in me. Over and over until I think I’m going to come again.
“We can’t have you wasting any drops.”
I’m half-dazed, not able to make out my surroundings, but I can feel him placing me on the mattress.
I can also feel his warmth gone before he’s back again and something tender is placed between my legs.
A whole-body shudder goes through me when he kisses my folds and whispers against them, “You saved this cunt for me because I’m the only one who gets to own it, baby.”
22
KILLIAN
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of my fingers drumming on the chair’s armrest flows with a steady rhythm.
But there’s no flicker of serenity in my bones. In fact, the raging storm from earlier has heightened to distances I haven’t experienced before.
The chaos from the house has died down with everyone leaving or scattering all over the property like rats.
And I’m here.
In the semi-darkness—my natural habitat—staring at the girl who’s fucking up my whole system.
Glyndon has been fast asleep since I stuffed her full of my cum. When I pulled out, her blood was all over my cock and the sheets, and that scene made me hard all over again. But since she’s a spoilsport, she passed out.
I didn’t change the sheets. I let her lie there, nude, her legs sprawled and with some dried blood between her thighs. It’s a scene I’ve been watching from my position on the chair opposite the bed while burning one cigarette after the other.
Glyndon is oblivious to the irritating change happening within me—that has little to do with the state of my semi-hard cock—since she continues slumbering. Her swollen lips are slightly parted, her cheeks are a light shade of red, and violet marks cover her tits, her hips, her neck, her stomach, her thighs.
Everywhere.
She’s a map of my creation. A potential masterpiece in the making, and yet, it’s not…enough.
Early on, I knew that I needed stimulation to drown out the constant need for more.
And more.
And fucking more.
Dad noticed my tendencies and put me in high-pressure sports and took me hunting. Those were his solutions to satisfy my inhumane need for euphoria.
However, they couldn’t last for long and the urge outshined them. So I started to fight and fuck every moving human. I took it to hardcore lengths that only exist in snuff movies.
But sex was only a temporary solution. A Band-Aid. A painkiller that lost its effect soon after the act ended. Sometimes, during.
I’d lose interest and the only reason I’d keep fucking was so it would end, hoping, and being disappointed, in a mediocre release.
Oftentimes, sex bored me to tears, even with whips, gags, and ropes.
Oftentimes, I’d go without it for weeks on end because the hassle and drama related to finding a fuckable hole wasn’t worth it.
It wasn’t until that night at the cliff that I had my strongest and fastest release in…forever.
