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My words snap him from his shocked state. His head swivels down to find his hands, just merely smoldering now, but still…they don’t look good.
That’s gotta hurt.
He flails, trying to put the embers out on his jeans. He’s making a mess of himself, but I honestly think he’s in shock and maybe even drunk, so clearly, he’s not of sound mind. As I unzip my jeans I smile. He’s not the only one.
“Here, I’ve got something that’ll help with that,” I grunt, wrapping the hand still coated in Rayvn’s cum around my cock. The realization that she’s coating my flesh, spurs me on. He releases a sob, his eyes locked on my cock in confusion, or, like I said–shock. Either way, my dick’s been pusling with need from the second I touched my Little Fox tonight.
Get rid of her scent on him. Ruin him. Defile him. Protect her.
The words swirl through my head like a chant, a prayer, as I stroke my cock in long, fast pumps. One of my hands is braced against the brick wall as I lean over the sobbing, trembling man. My spine tingles with every pump, sending me closer to the edge.
I focus on the feelings coursing through my body. The pride that I protected my girl. The vengeance. The violence. The breathtaking power surging through me as I look down on my victim. It takes less than a minute before I’m shooting hot ropes of my cum across the motherfuckers burnt hands. He screams and my cock spurts out another shot at the sound. I wonder if Rayvn’s screams will be just as pretty? No. They’ll be better.
I tuck my still throbbing dick back in my jeans and step away, leaving him to it. “Call the cops, you die. And that’s not a threat I make lightly. Never go near her again.” With that, I spin on my heel, barely suppressing the urge to skip.
The acrid smell of piss and burning flesh fills my nostrils. It’s disgusting and vomit-inducing, yet I find myself chuckling as I walk away from the last man to ever get away with touching my Little Fox.
KillerClown4u: I have to go out of town for work, Sweetling. Be my good girl and remember my warning.
KillerClown4u: For tonight.Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear.Sweet dreams, Pet.
KillerClown4u is offline.
I slide my phone back into my pocket after sending the fourth message that’s gone unread. If it weren’t for the fact that I can see from the tracking software on her phone that she’s safe and tucked in her apartment, I’d be losing my shit.
I get it. She’s freaking out. I showed up unexpectedly. I blew my cover and the well-laid out plan to watch from a distance. I fucked it all up, and then, I fucked her. With my fingers. On a public dancefloor. I choked her throat and destroyed her pussy until she shattered all over my hand…then I left her. Burned a guy’s hands off then fucked my fist with the scent of her cum staining my skin.
Yeah. I’m a real fucking winner. I may be slightly insane when it comes to her, but I’m personallynotinsane. At least, I don’t think so. Honestly, I spend so much time alone and working, I very well could be. However, I hadn’t intended to do a single one of those things. I had honorable intentions to let her enjoy her girl’s night and keep her safe from the shadows. Then I saw her, looking like a fucking snack in that tight, tiny dress, tall heels with her hair up on top of her head, exposing that swan-like neck I love so much, and everything went to shit.
Part of me wanted to stand in the background and watch her dance all night. I probably would have if not for that cunt touching her. I wanted to punish her. Wanted her to feel even a small amount of the fury and betrayal I was feeling, but then, she pushed him away, and he refused. The fucker forced my hand, and quite frankly, so did she. So, maybe in a way, I did punish her. And now…she’s punishing me.
Fuck. Relationships are hard work.
Scoffing at the ridiculous thought, I climb off my bike and head into the building that both fuels my dreams and haunts my nightmares.Remény. I scan my badge, and the tiny red light pings green before the doors slide open. My heart rate picks up a few notches, the same way it always does when I enter.
The smell hits me first. It’s not your average medical facility smell. The combination of bleach, sadness, and death. Instead, the automatic room fresheners give the place a heady, artificial lemon-orange scent that I think is supposed to be refreshing or calming or some shit. For me, it’s like a sucker punch to my trachea, and I have to stifle the urge to gag.
I drop my helmet onto the welcome counter, giving Ophelia a quick smile as I pass. I ignore the way she blushes and fawns at the sight of me. My leather jacket covers all of my tattoos, but my glasses are nowhere in sight. My hair is fucked up from my helmet, and I’m sure I’ve got some sort of rich, bad-boy vibe going on right now that has women sending me furtive glances. I ignore them all the same way I did Ophelia. Not only am I not interested because Ray consumes my every thought, but this place is the opposite of boner-inducing. It’s skin-crawling, balls crawling back up into your body, scare the shit out of you, inducing.
“Mr. Nash. We weren’t expecting you today, Sir,” Dr. Kohli says, his brows lifting in surprise as he drops the charts he's working on and dashes to greet me. I extend my hand, offering it to him along with a kind smile. He’s not my favorite doctor here, mostly due to his incensent fawning, but he’s brilliant and a good man.
“Dr. Kohli, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Wolfe?” I chuckle, sliding my hand into my pocket. His cheeks perk up in a grin beneath his gray beard. His dark skin is wrinkled with age but his smile is earnest, if not a little twitchy with nerves.
“About as many times as I have to tell you to call me Rohan, apparently.” He laughs and tilts his head down the long corridor that leads us to our destination. The white walls are clinical and pristine, as always, but the artwork lining the walls makes the space feel warm and inviting despite everything. “When are you going to bring us more of your work? The patients love seeing new pieces.”
I grin, shaking my head. “You’re hellbent on insisting they’re mine, aren’t you?” I joke, eyeing one of the larger pieces. It took me three months to complete it during one of my uninspired seasons. Fuck, most of my life is uninspired at this point. It’s hard to want to create when your muse no longer exists. Except…I have been painting again recently. In fact, I’ve been painting a lot. Not that I’d ever share those pieces with anyone except maybe the woman who inspired them.
He rolls his eyes and huffs a sound of annoyance at what he perceives as an act of modesty. Really, I just don’t want to be an artist. I don’t want the praise and faux appreciation. I don’t want the notoriety. More than that, I don’t want the questions.
What is this one? What does it mean? What inspired it? Who is the woman? Why does it look so sad?
Yeah, no thanks.
“How are things? Any updates on the new drug? I received a call from Jorgenson last week confirming the recent transaction was enough to finally put us where we need to be. He said he’d call you if anything changed,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the floor as we enter the patient wing.
The sounds of people laughing and crying are almost drowned out by the persistent beeping of countless heart rate monitors. It’s almost as though they’re trying to sync up just to annoy me. My teeth grind together, and my jaw aches from the force of it.
He sighs, and at first a wave of anger tinged with desperation washes over me, but then he pauses and turns to face me. Finally, I look up, meeting the gaze of the doctor who has worked for me for a decade. I almost jolt back when I catch the tears in his eyes. In all the years I’ve known him, through death and loss, I’ve never seen him cry.Never.
