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With one hand braced behind me to hold me upright at an angle, I used the other to drink. His eyes closed as he worked his tongue over me, attune to every reaction.
Once I'd finished the dry wine and lowered it with a bit too loud of a clink, his hands traveled up beneath the shirt. The soft pressure placed upon my chest had me lowered until my back touched the table.
The full glass of wine must have relaxed me too much. Instead of the knife, my grip went to his messy hair, pulling it like reins. Once again, I felt the undeniable need for him. I wanted him inside me and doing so much more to permit my release.
He responded, pulling the thin cups of the lacy bra to the side so he could firmly pinch my nipples. The intensity had my hips bucking, and he pushed me higher on the table as he became more impassioned with his mouth.
All I had to do was stretch just a little to grab the steak knife, which I did. For the fineness of the home, it seemed a bit flimsy. But that didn't matter, not for stabbing him from this position.
When my attention returned to Armon, his eyes had locked to mine. He knew. The tremble that formed in my hand and clammy palm had my grip weakening. He didn't stop. His motions sped, mouth sucking harder, fingers squeezing more, face pressing firmer.
With a fleeting resolve, my neck relaxed, and I looked up to the golden chandelier above us. The climax built, forcing a quake through my muscles and blur to my vision. After this, I could kill him, but only after he pleasured me as I deserved to be. After his ego soared from what he knew he could force upon me. Assuming he didn’t stop early. If he did, I’d kill him immediately.
My hips jerked as my walls convulsed in an orgasm that had me muffling moans and holding in the gasps of my satisfaction. His lips trailed to my upper thigh, kissing.
I had the knife pushed away when he rose to brace above me. Our stares lingered for far too long as he scrutinized my expression. Even that scrutiny let me know his delight in my lack of ability to kill him.
"You know how much it turns me on when you hold a weapon." His sights flicked up to the knife. "I'm a bit disappointed you didn't try, my Sweet." His breath smelled of the musk of my core.
All the hatred for him returned. Yet again, he proved to be the arrogant prick who wanted to break my mind. Give a little, then mock me for what I’d allowed him to do. I answered with fury for his cruel satisfaction. "I'm disappointed you didn't wait for anyone else to watch."
His face lowered to mine before he whispered against my lips, "I want them to see my pleasure as you drink down my seed like it's a milkshake you can't get enough of." He kissed me, but my cheek turned to his face. "Unless you want to suck other cocks. Your choice. I won’t stop you."
A choice; always a sick fucking choice he would give me.
"I hate you," I muttered, looking to my empty wineglass. They were weak words I spoke in reply, but they were all I knew to say to describe how much I despised him.
He chuckled, tickling the side of my face.
"I want more wine before you use my mouth as your personal cum bucket."
The kiss he planted on my cheek had me rubbing it away before he pulled my hand to stand me up.
"Of course." He went to get the wine and poured it into a fresh glass from next to another spot of untouched food. “But not much. I know how much you enjoy my cock pulsing into you.”
I would have responded, except the unmistakable sound of a gun startled me from gripping the extended glass. It crashed to the floor and shattered, splashing up in droplets that resembled blood on the lower fabric of the shirt.
I felt every bit of myself wanting to melt into the remnants of the glass and disappear. Not more killing. I didn't want to be present for that ever again. I didn't want to hear the sound. I didn't want to be offered the chance to save a life in exchange for whatever abuses Armon could unleash upon me.
Chapter Twelve
Armon pulled out his phone and messaged someone. "Tomas gets trigger-happy, but he’ll wait for us before any more shots are fired." He took my hand in his and led me toward a room that looked like a personal library combined with an office. It wasn’t somewhere that looked like bad people would perform daily tasks. Then again, the people about to be shot might be innocent victims of Armon’s and whoever this Tomas he mentioned was.
At the desk, Armon reached into a drawer. Within seconds, a section of a bookshelf moved backward, revealing a dark passage. I thought that only happened in movies, but apparently it was real. In the movies, these hidden halls were never used for good reason. The thought made me fear what might be down this narrow path.
In a way, I wanted the connection of how Armon held my hand. It felt like the only safe thing in the current darkness. But it also felt like he might be leading me to some sort of underground torture cell or dungeon. Perhaps to my doom, since this did seem so thrilling to him. Whatever terrible thing he promised I would love was about to strike terror into me. I knew that.
My hand grew clammy in his.
A gentle pull had me glancing forward and aware of my bare feet that shuffled slowly. He squeezed my hand in mock affection. "Don't worry, Sweet One. This will be fun."
Fun? Fun was a trip to a carnival or shopping. Anything involving gunshots wasn’t fun for a sane person. "And why shouldn't I worry?"
He stopped and turned to me, causing me to bump against his firm chest. "Because you're with me."
That didn't provide the comfort he was going for, but maybe he said it to humor himself. He was my captor and intent on making sure I was humiliated. I wasn't sure how much cruelty he had in mind, and I hoped not to find out. But I would find out. He would make certain of that.
When I attempted to back away, Armon pulled me close and held the base of my head, so I looked up to him in the darkness. He kissed me; slow and controlled. The affectionate act returned to weaken my knees before whatever waited behind the door. The moment the kiss ended, I attempted to turn my head, but his hold remained firm.
