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Our game had changed, developed into somethingmoreover the last week... last night. Somewhere along the line I gave up my control, or he took it. I wasn’t sure which it was, and that scared me almost as much as the perfect killer resting on the side of my bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight and he used the blade of my own stolen knife from beneath my pillow to trace patterns across my exposed decolletage.
Tears collected at the corners of my eyes, trickling along my cheeks to the corners of my mouth. I tasted the salt before he leaned forward, pressing his fingers in a surprising tender gesture to the corners of my mouth.
“So beautiful. Why do you cry? Do you fear me?” he asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling with concern.
Psycho,I mouthed, watching him, but not answering the question.
He must be a good ten years older than my nineteen, maybe a little more. His early thirties, perhaps? I had never been good at guessing ages, not when my father’s associates were often long term drug users who aged prematurely.
“Probably,” he agreed with a small smile, running his thumb across my bottom lip, coating the skin there with my tears. “But that’s not what frightens you, is it, my Wintergreen?”
I frowned a little deeper than I would usually to get my unspoken question across to him, still concentrating on my breath. Following commands.
“A question. Why do I call you that? Because you reflect starlight in your eyes, while lighting the void. But your blade has bite, and your name suggests something softer. So, the arctic starflower was my closest analogy. My Wintergreen.” Seemingly satisfied with his monologue, he probed the seam of my mouth and pushed his thumb gently inside. “Suck,” he murmured idly, removing my side of the conversation in its entirety.
I shuddered at the first taste of him, my mouth moving in a familiar gesture as he observed me with hungry eyes. He didn't taste bad, of gun oil and leather, perhaps. Something sharper like citrus I thought I might have scented somewhere before.
My lips made a slightly rounder shape without my permission and I jerked back slightly, letting go of his thumb with a soft popping sound that echoed in my head like a memory, or a dream. My eyes widened as I refocused on the present and him in another question, one I didn’t expect him to answer.
He laughed softly again, pushing his thumb back into my mouth, and waited until I opened for him again. I twirled my tongue around the intrusion's tip as his eyes darkened.
“It is my cock you remember in your sweet mouth, Celeste. Then I came across your scars, your tits, before you woke. I didn’t want to choke you to death. What an ignominious way to die.” He tilted his head to one side as I sucked his thumb rhythmically. “Dignity should be preserved in death. Is that what scares you?”
I nipped the top of his thumb and he laughed softly.
“Dirty girl. Let’s put that mouth to good use, shall we?” He rose and reached for his belt, but when I expected him to unbuckle it, he slipped a thick-handled knife from his pocket, the hilt’s shape bulging just like a–
I blinked and shook my head.
His smile disappeared. “Would you prefer the real thing already?” he hissed, catching my chin in the same hard pincer grip he used before.
Heat gushed between my thighs at his rough handling and I managed to convey a strangled mewl.Name,I mouthed, right before he pushed the bulbous head of the blade’s handle into my mouth, whetting it with my saliva and sliding it in and out a few times.
“Dante,” he murmured. “Beaufort. Your father hired me to kill you. After a month of trying, yesterday, I said no.”
My father will send men.My mouth was being used and I couldn’t get the words out. I clenched my thighs together, feeling the heat and slick there.I am so broken as his obsession.
Then his words registered and my heart stalled, an action that had nothing to do with the way he used my mouth. He’d send assassins right fucking now, if I knew my father. Take us both out, the heir and the threat, at the best possible opportunity, when the vengeance was fresh and my attacker–my lover?–was distracted.
Or was it the other way around?
I mumbled frantically around his dildo knife as he worked it slowly in and out of my mouth but my lips were filled with the rubber cock, my throat still swollen from whatever drug he gave me. I didn’t manage to make more than a whisper of sound.
He smiled, and it seemed that was how he liked it. “I can smell you, you know. Your need. Here. May I?” he asked permission again as he slowly fucked my mouth with the knife handle, and I fell into a dual state of panic and submission, parting my legs, gurgling and sucking all at once.
“So fucking perfect. So damaged and beautiful, wearing my marks,” he whispered, tracing his fingers along my neckline, over the scars I wore that he gave me when he refused to take the shot to end my life.
That choice could be stripped from us both at any moment and I was utterly helpless to do anything about it. I tried to spit out the knife, but he pushed it deeper, shaking his head in warning.
“Be a good girl, Wintergreen. Let me fuck your lovely holes tonight, and maybe I’ll take you somewhere so you can see tomorrow.”
The promise was almost too much and I nodded, gurgling and whining as he laughed at me. His palms grazed over my nipples, circling them and making them stiff until my noises settled and I whimpered, resigning myself to sucking the rubber cock until he let me up.
I twisted my wrist as he watched with amusement tinging his lips, but he’d tied me well. So well I couldn't free myself until I used the knife somehow, or he let me.
“Permission, Wintergreen,” he repeated, his voice hardening.
