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His eyes shot open as his gasp preceded a moan. I wanted to leave a mark he wouldn’t be able to hide, so Bunny could see what he really was.
His smile, his body, his fucking scent. Why did he taste so good? He was so close, under my lips, under my skin, looking at me like he wanted to fuck me. I licked the cleft of his chin, and his whole body thrust against me, his bulge grazing my pussy as he pulled me tight. I choked out a gasp, moaning at the new wave of anger and heat. I almost lost it.
I opened my mouth, letting his chin go. I wanted to bite his face off, but if I kept my tongue on him any longer, he would win.
I could have gone further, buried my hands in his hair, and licked those lips before plunging into him, claiming his mouth as my own. He was so tempting. Millions of women fell over themselves just to touch this face, yet he was here, in my grasp. His lips had turned blue, his tongue swollen, a trail of spit ran from the corner of his mouth. I could taste it if I leant closer. His kohl was streaking from his tears, the light freckles that rode his nose vanishing.
Another thrust, another shudder, one more groan, and I was sure that was it. I thought he had passed out. My hands were screaming against the pressure, and I couldn’t hold on when I wanted to come so desperately.
I released his throat. He bent into me, his entire body shaking, racking, and holding me, coughing and gasping over my shoulder as he clung to me, finally pulling air into his lungs. We stood together. I could feel moisture on my shoulder, but I didn’t know if it was sweat, tears, or spit.
He felt so good, so weak and pliable. It felt so right to have his body moulded to mine again. It was horrible, the feeling of safety and comfort flowing through me as he held my hips and choked on my name.
“Cat… I…”
“Shhh.” I stroked his back, trying to work the air into his lungs, soothing him like he was a sick dog about to die. “Don’t speak. Just breathe.”
He couldn’t see my tears. I prayed he couldn’t feel them against his cheek. I wanted to wipe away the evidence of my helplessness. Even though I was responsible for this, I kept comforting him.
Even when I was trying to kill him, he still got to me.
His breathing finally slowed, the shuddering easing to a light tremble. I guided him, taking deep breaths, showing him how to breathe, asking him to follow me. We breathed together, our chests rising and falling, expanding and shrinking, meeting and parting.
“Cat…” he groaned.
I flinched. His voice was hoarse. He kept his cock pressed against me, rubbing his nose into my neck, using my ass to hold me in place. He moaned, and I felt it echo through my body. I wanted to scream at how wrong it was, but the sound was carving itself into my memory.
I was stupid. I was stupid then, and I was stupid now. Stupid for even giving him space here, in this glasshouse. This was his engagement party. Bun was out there, chatting to all the guests in the ballroom about how excited she was about the wedding, what a great couple they were, how they fell in love, and I was here, trying to claim him. I was taking it away from her, and I was disgusted with myself.
And he was here, anchored to my hips, rubbing himself against me and moaning my name. I had strangled him until he was limp in my arms, and it still wasn’t enough for him?
He straightened as much as he could, hands on my hips, using them to push himself up, capturing my eyes and tilting his head. His questions were silent.What do you want, Kitty Cat? What do you need?
My hands pulsed with pain, my heartbeat rapidly pounding in my ears. The hint of a panic attack had subsided, but the feelings were still there as I ran my eyes over him. The anger, the nausea, the disgust. He would bruise, his voice would be hoarse, and he would walk out of here free, alive. It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted him to know, to remember how much I loathed him. I wanted Bun to see he wasn’t worth it.
I despised myself for craving him. How could he think there was anything more between us than this? How dare he stroke my hip in slow circles like he used to when we danced together in the living room to cheesy pop music on the TV, drunk on wine and love.
I ran my thumb over the points of my french tips. My nails were sharp and ready.
One more thing.
I leant towards him, lifting my fingers to his throat. Max grinned, licking his still blue lips, his eyes silky. He was serious. He wanted more? I’d give him more.
I sneered as I positioned my fingers along his jawline, up to his ears. He didn’t die tonight, but I wasn’t letting him get away by ending it with a cocky smirk.
I pushed my fingertips in deep and hesitated as he gasped. It must hurt him, it had to. This wasn’t about sex. It was payback.
I pressed harder, feeling his skin pop as I pushed into his flesh as easily as cutting a steak. He nearly screamed, and it was the most delicious sound I’d ever heard him make. I’d stand here all night just to hear him crying out like this. It was intoxicating, the push and pull between us, creating this moment.
“Look how easy it is for me to cut you.” I admired how much his skin gave way under my fingers.
With what little strength I had left in my hands, I pulled, dragging my nails down his throat. Beautiful streaks of blood followed the path, an incredible contrast to the dull red bruise already forming.
His throat bobbed, and his rasping cries of “Cat, please, no,” was the sweetest music to my ears. He wasn’t fighting to get away. Quickly, his weak no’s became yes’s and he gripped my hips so tightly I hoped they would bruise. His flesh was gathering under my nails, blood creeping down my fingers, sliding over my palms, curling around my wrists. I wanted to lick him so badly that my legs were quivering.
Warm blood and cool air. Trembling bodies, fixed gazes. I loved his complete submission, his pleasure at my torture.
“You’re so beautiful.” I sighed into his lips.
