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KILLIAN
The expression on Glyndon’s face can only be categorized as the start of a stroke.
If it were someone else, I’d be ninety-nine percent willing to shove the situation onto that shelf and move on to other pressing issues.
Such as the state of my cock that has, once again, crossed the impulse control red line. This change of events is more blasphemous than when her face was stuffed with my dick as she cried.
And the reason is nothing other than making her orgasm.
I don’t get pleasure from giving. I don’t even give. I fuck. Often—my release being the endgame. Or I used to before the whole event became a monotonous, pleasureless chore. My previous fuck buddies know that reciprocating isn’t part of my modus operandi, but they still beg to suck my cock anyway.
As a certified non-giver, the only reason I thrust my fingers into Glyndon’s cunt was for dominance—nothing more, nothing less. I wasn’t planning on letting her finish and only wanted to drive her to the edge and leave her hanging so she’d beg for a release and still wouldn’t get it.
But then something interesting happened.
I felt her hymen with my fingers.
I’m pretty sure I don’t give a fuck about virgins. They’re a hassle, a nuisance, and usually not a good fuck, so I have to get laid before and after to get my dose of physical stimuli.
So why the fuck is my vision filled with the image of the blood I’ll smear all over Glyndon’s thighs when I tear into her cunt?
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her face is red—like the blood that I will extort out of her—and so is her neck and her ears.
Even her lips have turned redder, hotter, and should I bleed those, too? See what exactly lurks behind that thunderous pulse, the soft beauty and the translucent skin? I bet red will make her a masterpiece.
Maybe now?
I focus back on the road.
Repress.
Repress.
I chant the words in my head for the millionth time tonight, because I swear to fuck this seemingly normal, innocent, fucking boring-on-paper girl might not be boring or normal, after all.
She’s still innocent, though.
And I’ll shatter that innocence, wreck it to pieces and flounder in its blood—just like all the other things in my life. She’ll be my new masterpiece.
“We’re talking about your intact hymen, baby. Aren’t virgins at nineteen a Middle Ages currency? Actually, no, even then, they birthed babies at fourteen, so you’re a rare species.”
She shoots me a death glare—her standard expression when she’s with me, aside from the annoyed and speechless ones.
The last is my favorite. Her lips will part and I’ll start thinking about all the ways I can get my fingers between them.
“Are you done?”
“Glad you asked. I’m curious. Why have you remained a virgin until now?”
She stares out the window, huffing. “None of your business.”
“What did I say about taking the high road? Do I need to deflower you on the road like an animal before or after you answer my question? Maybe while you scream and cry and bleed?”
Her head whips in my direction. Despite her attempts to camouflage her fear, the unnatural shine in her big eyes gives her away. Their green becomes lighter, frightened, chaotic. And so does the shaking of her lower lip that’s begging to be bitten. “Fuck you.”
“Since you’re somewhat of a prude, your cursing with that sweet voice is in fact a turn-on, so unless you’re willing to suck my cock, I’d advise you to refrain from it.”
“Oh wow, shocker. You actually used the word willing.”
