Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
“We can’t have you wasting any drops.”
I’m half-dazed, not able to make out my surroundings, but I can feel him placing me on the mattress.
I can also feel his warmth gone before he’s back again and something tender is placed between my legs.
A whole-body shudder goes through me when he kisses my folds and whispers against them, “You saved this cunt for me because I’m the only one who gets to own it, baby.”
22
KILLIAN
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of my fingers drumming on the chair’s armrest flows with a steady rhythm.
But there’s no flicker of serenity in my bones. In fact, the raging storm from earlier has heightened to distances I haven’t experienced before.
The chaos from the house has died down with everyone leaving or scattering all over the property like rats.
And I’m here.
In the semi-darkness—my natural habitat—staring at the girl who’s fucking up my whole system.
Glyndon has been fast asleep since I stuffed her full of my cum. When I pulled out, her blood was all over my cock and the sheets, and that scene made me hard all over again. But since she’s a spoilsport, she passed out.
I didn’t change the sheets. I let her lie there, nude, her legs sprawled and with some dried blood between her thighs. It’s a scene I’ve been watching from my position on the chair opposite the bed while burning one cigarette after the other.
Glyndon is oblivious to the irritating change happening within me—that has little to do with the state of my semi-hard cock—since she continues slumbering. Her swollen lips are slightly parted, her cheeks are a light shade of red, and violet marks cover her tits, her hips, her neck, her stomach, her thighs.
Everywhere.
She’s a map of my creation. A potential masterpiece in the making, and yet, it’s not…enough.
Early on, I knew that I needed stimulation to drown out the constant need for more.
And more.
And fucking more.
Dad noticed my tendencies and put me in high-pressure sports and took me hunting. Those were his solutions to satisfy my inhumane need for euphoria.
However, they couldn’t last for long and the urge outshined them. So I started to fight and fuck every moving human. I took it to hardcore lengths that only exist in snuff movies.
But sex was only a temporary solution. A Band-Aid. A painkiller that lost its effect soon after the act ended. Sometimes, during.
I’d lose interest and the only reason I’d keep fucking was so it would end, hoping, and being disappointed, in a mediocre release.
Oftentimes, sex bored me to tears, even with whips, gags, and ropes.
Oftentimes, I’d go without it for weeks on end because the hassle and drama related to finding a fuckable hole wasn’t worth it.
It wasn’t until that night at the cliff that I had my strongest and fastest release in…forever.
I figured the actual fucking would be more satisfying, but I had no clue that it’d tread into unknown territory. I have good enough deduction skills to realize how much Glyndon turns me on without trying—still can’t pinpoint why exactly—but the attraction is undoubtedly there.
What I didn’t realize, however, is the level of release I could have with her. It’s similar to that first time I cut open the mice and saw what was inside them. It’s the thrill of possessing someone’s life between my fingers. Literally.
I could’ve snapped her fragile throat with a flick of my hand and sent her to a different universe. But instead of fighting as usual, she surrendered to it, and even came because of it.
Glyndon trusted me not to break her neck.
She shouldn’t have.
I don’t usually choke with my bare hands, because even I don’t trust my own strength or bloodlust. My demons could take over at any time and make me kill someone accidentally. And then there would be the hassle of hiding the crime and blah fucking blah.
Impulse control is my forte, but that wasn’t the case when I was inside this fucking girl. My impulse got out of control and I know because I contemplated choking her to death as she was falling apart on my cock.
But she did something.
Something I don’t usually allow, because it chips away at my control.
Glyndon, the seemingly innocent, absolutely clueless little rabbit touched me.
Over and over.
And fucking over again.
She was hesitant at first, quivering like a frail leaf, but the moment I allowed her an inch, she became bold and took a mile.
Her palm was on my chest, my neck, and all over my face. She didn’t stop touching me as I kissed her, bit her lips, and tasted her blood.
She didn’t stop touching me, holding on to me, fucking injecting her venom into my veins until all I could breathe was her arousal and her motherfucking fruity perfume.
I release a long puff of smoke, tilting my head as she rolls to her back, her legs slightly parted. Her pink pussy is in full view, performing some wordless mojo to draw me close.