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“Yes.”
He smirks, pinning the knife to the side of my head, pointed at my throat. One wrong move and I’ll impale myself. His hot mouth trails over my nipple, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the peak. He flattens his tongue between the valley of my breasts, trailing down to my hip bone where he bites down. My hips roll against him, and he chuckles, placing a kiss against the assaulted skin. I turn my head, the knife barely biting into my neck before I jerk away. “Careful,” Beckett whispers. “I’m not into necrophilia.” He yanks on my thin panties, tearing the seams until they bunch in his hands. His nose runs against my slick heat, and he inhales deeply. “But for you, I may make an exception.”
I swear, I grow wetter. Thrashing myself into his face, my core aches, begs for release. “Beckett, shut the fuck up and touch me,” I moan.
He pauses, eyes looking up, searing into mine. He licks his lips, pulling the knife down the bed, running it over my thighs. He lightly pokes the edge of the knife into the crease where my stomach meets my upper thigh. “If I cut you here, you’ll bleed out. A vital artery hides behind this snowy skin.” He drags the knife lower, more on the inside of my thigh. “But here—” He pushes the knife into my thigh, dragging it. My leg explodes in pain, a sharp sting following the path the tip of the blade makes. I feel the blood dripping down my thigh, mixing with my arousal. “—you should be fine.”
I whimper and he places a kiss to the leaking wound, eyes glued to it as he pulls back up. Lips red with my blood. His tongue sweeps out to taste me and he closes his eyes in pleasure, the sight has me forcing a moan down my throat. “Don’t worry, beautiful, I’ll make you feel better.”
He wraps his arms under my thighs, lifting me as he brings me closer to his face. He swipes his tongue over my bloody thigh before he latches down on my clit. The moan that tears out of me is more of a scream as he sucks on my bundle of nerves. “Eager little rabbit,” he rasps. “Already ready to explode and I’ve just begun.”
My legs shake as he inserts two fingers into me, pumping and curling them against my sweet spot as his lips wrap back around my clit. I feel myself rising, knowing I’ve never had an orgasm as intense as the one I’m about to have. Knowing he’s about to ruin me. My hands fist in the sheets as my body tingles, back arching as I move my hips against him. One more pump and I’ll be done. His hand slams down on my stomach, pushing me back into the bed, ripping his fingers and mouth away from me. “You want to come?” he asks darkly, a cruel twist to his lips.
“Yes,” I whimper, gripping the sheets tighter so I don’t force his face back to me.
“Then apologize,” he demands, fingers pinching my clit.
I throw my head back into the sheets. “For what?” I gasp.
“Just fucking do it,” he growls, fingertips sinking into my wound.
“I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”
“Fuck, Brixley.” His hand squeezes my thigh, coating his palm in my blood. He uses the same hand to grip the knife, covering the handle with my blood and then to my shock, fear, and pleasure, he shoves the bloody handle inside me, and I scream, exploding around it. I ride wave after wave of my orgasm, my eyesight going black as my body jerks and trembles. I feel the hot salty liquid leaking from my eyes. The orgasm is so intense I become emotional with overwhelming feelings.
Beckett throws the knife to the floor, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind him.
I lay on his bed, embarrassment and shame wrapping around me like a noose. I pull the sheet over my naked body, curling into them. A lot of questions play in my mind but only one really matters.
What do I need to apologize for?
14
Brixley
When I wakeup the next morning, the bed is still cold beside me, my thighs are caked with crusty blood, and I’m so confused I could scream. Did that psychopath actually cut me? Did I let him, and… oh my god. Did he use a bloody knife handle to get me off?Jesus, Brixley.
I roll to a sitting position, using my nail to scrape through the crusted blood on my thigh. I rub it between my fingers. What’s his obsession with this? I’ve never met someone so confusing in my entire life and I worked at a club with men who fantasized about degrading, unhinged, sinister things, but this… It’s different. Not necessarily in a bad way either. More like I’m intrigued and would like to learn more, but then he stormed out, and judging by the state of his bed, never came back.
I grab my clothes, slipping them back on, sans the panties since they’re completely ruined now. I tiptoe out the door, choosing to leave it open so no one wakes up. Walking down the stairs, I spot my bag and phone on the couch where I left them. Grabbing my phone, I look at the time. Four in the morning. There is also a new message from the dean.
Lockdown until further notice.
That’s fine, but I won’t be staying here.
I slip the straps of my bag over my shoulders and slap a hand over my mouth as Devlin emerges from the hallway. I let out a deep breath. “You scared me,” I laugh softly, calming my racing heart.
Devlin tilts his head, eyes manic as he watches me, causing me to take a step back. “Going somewhere?” I nod. He blinks, eyes slowly fading back to normal. “You need the code to get out or the alarms will go off. Come on, I’ll let you out.”
I step behind him, making sure to keep my distance, not wanting to be too close. He opens the door for me, allowing me to walk by him. “If I were you,” he whispers close to my ear. The hair on the back of my neck sticks up, and a violent cold shiver racks my body. “I would run. There is a killer out there.”
I swallow, pulling my straps higher on my shoulders as I take a step away from him. The door shuts quickly behind me. The deadbolt echoing in the misty dark morning. I crack my neck, my feet sinking into the damp ground. The walk isn’t far, I can make it to my dorm in maybe ten minutes if I walk. Five if I run. Maybe.
I begin walking, looking to the clouds and wishing I had brought a jacket with me. The breeze is light and crisp, causing razor-sharp goosebumps to assault my skin. I know before drinking my daily dose of coffee I should not be analyzing everything, the murder, the cryptic way Beckett demanded me to apologize, how he seemed to lose control. I bet if someone was analyzing my life, they’d be confused as well. At this point, whatever invisible force—if any—is confused about my life. I need answers. But where do I begin?
I see my dorm in the distance, a little bit farther and I’ll be there. I hear a branch snap behind me and I holt in my tracks.No, Brixley, keep walking. As if you haven’t watched a thousand scary movies. You don’t stop, you keep walking.
My pace picks up as I try to convince myself not to run. Not to give away that I know someone’s behind me, but as the footsteps grow louder, closer, not running becomes a hard task. I slam my card against the reader to get into the building, quickly shutting the door behind me and running to my dorm. Once inside, I keep running all the way to my bedroom. As if I can’t stop. The frightening energy stimulating my brain urges me to run. My shaky legs carry me to my window and as I peer down, I swear I see a dark figure positioned just inside the shadows of the trees. I pull the curtains closed, my back resting against the window. My eyes zero in on my pillow, and a small whimper whispers across my lips.
