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.

The thought of anyone but me seeing her in this position

tightens my muscles with the need for violence.

My blood boils at the reminder of Gareth’s lips touching hers,

slamming against hers, tasting hers before I had the chance to.

Maybe I should incapacitate him, after all, bring him down a

notch. Or maybe I need to play on his useless pride and fragile

fucking ego so that he won’t ponder touching what’s mine again.

The thought of violence spreads all over my system and I kill

the cigarette, then slowly rise from my chair.

Now, I need to point out that the discomfort from my hard-on

is a hassle, but I manage to repress the urge to ram into her cunt

raw.

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a fuck—actually, I

wouldn’t want them right after I fucked them anyway.

But for some reason, I don’t want to hurt her further…for now.

She was begging me to slow down earlier, crying into the pillow

and telling me in that sweet little voice of hers that she couldn’t

take it anymore.

And while that turned me on and made her come more times

than either of us can count, I probably pushed her beyond her

limits.

I settle at the foot of the bed on my knees and grab her

ankles, sliding her in my direction.

A low whine slips from her lips, but she doesn’t move as I

throw her legs over each of my shoulders.

The pads of my fingers dig gently in the flesh of her legs,

pushing them open before I lick her inner thigh.

I cleaned her up earlier. Again, something I don’t usually do,

but I wanted to for her, yet there’s some of her dried blood. So I

lick that up, too, my tongue feasting on the taste of her arousal.

The sight of my cum mixed with her juices fills me with a

raging sense of possessiveness and I glide my way from her slit to

the opening of her cunt.

Glyndon’s moans echo in the air, and small fingers thread in

my hair. I lift my head, and sure enough, her eyes are still closed,

but her tits rise and fall in an increased rhythm. The sight of her

engorged pink nipples is enough to make me want to fuck them.

I save that thought for another day and tease her folds with

my free fingers. She arches her back, her temperature rising.

When I feel she’s close, I thrust my tongue inside her opening.

Glyndon jerks in my hold and whimpers. My movements

become more controlled as I ram in and out of her opening,

tongue-fucking her as if my dick is deep inside her. Then I eat her

out until she’s shuddering and her fingers tug at my hair.

When I feel the wave subsiding, I lift my head and meet her

half-open eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes out.

“That’s right, your god. Worship at my altar, baby.”

I lick my lips, doing a show of darting my tongue out to catch

every drip of her intoxicating arousal. I’ve never cared for eating

pussy, but I could feast on hers for fucking eternity.

“You’re finally awake, sunshine. I was getting bored. Though

the nude show was a nice distraction. Did I mention that I love it

when you’re naked? Just for me, though, because if anyone else

sees you naked, we’ll have a homicide on our hands, and that

would just be tragic and complicated.”

Her stomach and tits are still rising and falling in an irregular

rhythm as she swallows. “You…didn’t.”

“What? Commit homicide? Not yet, but my brother thinks it’s a

matter of when, not if.”

“I mean this.” She tries to push back, but my hold on her

thighs keeps her pinned in place. “Did you just go down on me

while I was asleep?”

A grin lifts my lips. “You couldn’t have been that asleep if you

came all over my tongue. Also, I told you that your foul, pretty

mouth turns me on, so unless you’re in the mood for round

twenty, you should restrain it for a bit.”

A crimson hue covers her cheeks and she turns her head to

the side, her fingers digging into the sheets. Then, because she

likes provoking me for sport, she tries to pull her leg from my hold

again.

“Don’t do that.” I pinch her clit and she gasps, the sound

affecting me more than should be allowed. “If you attempt to

withdraw from me again, it’ll only piss me off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I rejoice at being touched by you?

Throw a party or something?”

“Watch it.” My jaw tightens.

“Or what? You’ll fuck me?” She huffs. “You already got the

virginity kink out of your system.”

“That’s only the beginning, not the end, baby.” I let her legs

fall to the mattress and crawl over her body until my chest covers

hers. Then realizing I’m probably crushing her, I flip us so that my

back meets the mattress and she’s on top of me.

To make sure she doesn’t try any funny business, I trap her

legs between mine and I let my fingers get lost in her hair,

messing it up a little.

Messing her up a little.

Sometimes, she’s so perfect it pisses me the fuck off.

Because while Gareth’s words mean shit to me, he’s right

about the shell part. She has a core. I don’t.

The fact that our differences will always be a wall between us

fills me with more rage.

She leans on her hands that are on my chest and lifts her

head to stare down at me with a furrowed brow. “The beginning,

not the end? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Beats me,” I say absentmindedly, watching the path my

fingers make through her brown-blonde hair and down her throat.

My senses are currently obsessed with the booming pulse point

that nearly pops out of her greenish vein.

I wonder how it looks on the inside, in the middle of all the

blood. What else could I find?

But that would mean I’d have to open her up for it, like all

those postmortem patients, and the idea sends a queasy feeling

to my stomach.

If I do see inside her, I’ll lose her voice, her warmth, her

temper, and even her irritating fight. Everything.

I don’t want her dead.

Fuck.

I actually don’t want her dead and I’m ready to fight my

demons so they’ll abandon the urge to see inside her.

“You wanted my virginity and you got it. What else do you

want?” Her spooked voice makes me fucking hard, and that’s an

inconvenience, considering my attempts to take it easy on her.

“I never said I only wanted your virginity. That’s your own

assumption and I hold no responsibility for it. Besides, now that

the hymen is out of the way, I can fuck you whenever and

however I please without having to deal with your overdramatic

side.”

She releases a shaky breath. “How long do I have to open my

legs for you to get enough?”

“Still haven’t decided yet, and stop acting like you don’t enjoy

this when your taste is still on my tongue and your screams of

pleasure are echoing in my ears. I might look calm, but your

attitude is grating on my last fucking nerve.”

Her glare remains in place, and I know it’s taking her some

effort, because she’s shaking against me, obviously scared, but

still refuses to back the fuck down. “Look at that. Now you know

how I feel all the time.”

“Your sarcasm game has upgraded.”

“Learned from the best.” Probably figuring out that she has no

way to go, she relaxes and lays her head on her hands. “Is this

your room?”

I make an affirmative sound and she does a long sweep of the

all black and white furniture, curtains, and desk. The only break of

color is a red toy car I’ve had since I was a kid.

“It’s…impersonal,” she whispers.

“Personal is overrated.”

“Can you not be all pragmatic for a second?”

“How else will I have you flushing like a virgin? Oh, sorry,

you’re no longer one.”

“Very funny.”

I grin, locking a blonde strand between my fingers. “I live to

entertain.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You look so pleased with

yourself.”

“That’s because I am.” I rub my semi-hard erection against her

stomach. “Have you rested enough for another round?”

“Please don’t. I’m so sore I can barely breathe without feeling

discomfort.”

“You mean feeling my cock inside you.” I smile when she

blushes again and I grab her ass cheek in one palm, making her

moan.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “You really won’t?”

“Not if you’re in so much pain. After all, you said please.” I

stroke the skin of her ass, then slide my palm up to her hips until

I feel her relax against me.

But she keeps watching me with a distrustful edge.

“What?”

“I just can’t believe you’d actually be stopped by a please. If

I’d known, I would’ve begged more earlier.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped me. If I decide to fuck my pussy,

no one, you included, will be able to stop me.”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to fuck me now?”

“I do, but I also don’t want to hurt you.”

“You did that night at the cliff.” Her voice is soft.

“I know you’re not ready to admit it, but I felt something from

you or I wouldn’t have continued.”

“Something like what?”

“Your desire.”

“No way would I have felt desire for you under those

circumstances. You’re just making excuses.”

“No, I’m just telling you my side of the story.”

“So you’re not even sorry?”

“You know I don’t feel that. And I will not apologize for

something we both enjoyed.”

“I did not enjoy it.” Her shoulders shake with how much she’s

trying to suppress her nature.

I want to push her more, to make her admit to her true self,

but what the fuck will I do if she starts crying?

Her tears, outside of sex, do shit to me. The bad type of shit.

When I remain silent, she wiggles in my hold, and to my

surprise, it’s not to pull away but more to find a better position.

“Also, you didn’t use a condom just now.”

“So? I know you’re on birth control.”

“How did you know that? Pretty sure I didn’t post it on IG.”

“But you had your IUD insertion at the hospital I intern in. I

have access to records.”

“Ever heard of patience privacy?”

“Yeah. The professors bitch about it all the time.”

“And you still breached it. That’s illegal, you know.”

“Never stopped me before.”

“Then…how about STDs, aren’t you like Mr. Manwhore or

something?”

“No, Miss Ex-Virgin. I am not a manwhore. In fact, I didn’t

have sex the past two months and I’m clean. I always use

condoms.”

“Not with me.”

“Not with you,” I repeat. “How else would I have felt your

blood on my cock?”

“Would you stop talking like a creep?”

“A hot creep.”

“A creep is a creep.” She clears her throat. “I can’t believe you

were celibate for two whole months.”

“Miracles happen.”

“Why?”

“Because sex started to get dull and I would rather not be

bored to death.”

“I find that hard to believe, considering your persistence of

fucking me.”

“You’re different.”

I can feel the moment her heartbeat quickens against my

chest even as her face remains the same.

New resolution—always be in a position to feel her pulse,

because that beautiful fucker never lies.

Unlike her.

“Is that why you’re giving me time out? Because I’m

different?”

“I told you, I can be nice.”

She snorts. “You should really stop calling your down version

nice when it’s merely a calm phase.”

“Down version?”

“You have those moments where you’re slightly amicable, but

they’re often drowned out by your devil side.”

“Because you provoke it.”

“So it’s my fault that your nature is devilish.”

“No. But you can bring out my nice side if you choose to. It’d

take effort since it doesn’t come naturally to me, but it can be

done.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You don’t have to try sometimes. Like right now. Just having

you this docile in my arms is enough.”

Her lips part, which is either an indication of surprise or being

touched, or both. Hopefully, it’s both.

I like getting under her skin. It’s as close as I can get to seeing

inside her without having her blood decorate my carpet.

She clears her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did.”

She rolls her eyes. “Can I ask another question?”

“You don’t have to ask for permission to ask me anything.”

Her throat works up and down with a swallow and I can barely

resist the need to wrap my fingers around her neck.

This is bad.

I don’t usually like strangling outside of sex. But maybe the

nudity status of our bodies is what’s triggering this.

Or I choose to believe that.

“Earlier, if I’d said no and asked you to stop, would you have

stopped?”

“Why are you asking a hypothetical question when everything

is said and done?”

“Because.”

“Bullshit. You feel guilty that you wanted me and you’re trying

to convince yourself that you couldn’t have stopped this even if

you’d tried.”

“Could I have stopped it?” she whispers.

“Maybe or maybe not.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’ll get.”

She releases a frustrated sound then remains silent, probably

thinking of methods to get what she wants or piss me off. She

seems to have a knack for those.

After a while of complete silence, she reaches a hand to my

side. It’s hesitant at first before she becomes bolder and slides

her fingers over my skin.

“Why did you get ravens as tattoos?”

“They’re crows, not ravens.”

“There’s not much of a difference.”

“On the contrary. Ravens are all about bad omens and ill-fatea

terminology I don’t believe in.”

“Don’t crows have the same symbolism?”

“No. Crows are all about death—more spiritual than physical. I

got these tattoos after I killed the impulsive, low on self-control,

blatantly violent Killian. He was a disgrace to the balanced me

from the present.”

“Or he just wanted to be understood.” Her soft murmur echoes

in the air, then she purses her lips as if regretting what she said.

My body goes rigid. That’s the first fucking time someone ever

said that about my less sophisticated version.

And I don’t know whether or not I should strangle her for it.

I wrap my arms around her middle and lift her up with me as I

rise to my feet.

She gasps and automatically holds on to me as I step to the

bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take care of your pesky soreness before I fuck

you again.”