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That fucker … he’s still wearing one of our masks like he’s fucking one of us, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
Suddenly, Lana groans. “Are you finished yet?”
“Not yet,” Jason murmurs, teetering on the edge, and fuck me, I could gut him for even suggesting he’s going to burst inside her.
Lana sighs. “Hurry.”
“Ahhh, almost,” Jason says.
“Can you be a little more …?”
“More what?”
She sighs again. “I don’t know. More aggressive?”
More aggressive?
My eyes narrow, and a hint of a smile tugs at my lips.
Now why would she suggest that?
It’s quiet for some time while he’s pounding away like some lumberjack without giving a second thought to her needs and wants. But I don’t think that’s what she meant by aggressive.
“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Lana says.
“Just a minute more,” the fucker moans.
And the tip of the knife hovers so close to the mattress I’ve almost severed a strand.
It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to burst out and kill that motherfucker for trying. For making her sit through this mediocre, yawn-inducing self-absorbed meat slapping.
Jason sighs out loud too now, and the mattress dips less, then I see his feet appear next to the bed. “You know what, never mind. I’m gonna go take a shower. You go rest,” he says, and he marches off, socks and all.
Fuck that motherfucking leech.
I swallow away the rage and focus on her. She’s still in the bed, doesn’t move, doesn’t make a single sound. One single sigh follows before it goes quiet.
I retract my knife slowly.
Has she gone to sleep?
Color me surprised.
I would’ve expected her to get angry when he just made a mad dash for the shower after not getting his fill. Even though I didn’t hear her moan, didn’t hear even a semblance of pleasure coming from her. But maybe she was too tired to care.
Or maybe he just couldn’t fulfill her needs.
I suck in a breath and touch the mattress, which is far less bent than before, and I can almost feel her through the fabric, her movement, hear every small sound and every breath she takes. And for a second, I can’t even do anything but feel, wondering if she can feel me too in her dreams, if she’s thought of me the way I’ve thought of her. Because this little killer kitty has invaded every corner of my mind.
I slowly crawl out from underneath the bed, carefully checking if anyone is in the room before I get up. I can hear the shower running down the hallway, which means that fucker is still here.
I look at her lying in her bed, one hand above her head, her legs parted, hair splayed, as though the last bit of energy was siphoned away by a guy intent on solely meeting his own needs.
Fishing my knife from my pocket, I hover over her, trailing the knife across her skin.
I could kill her right now. Stop both our secrets from getting out. Puncture her skin and end this game of cat and mouse we’ve got going on.
But this is the first time I can finally have a good look at my pretty little killer, and now that I’ve finally gotten close enough without her trying to kill me, I want more.
