I can’t shut it down.
The angel on my dick is killing every wisp of warped mania within my head. The touch of her is a priceless drug more coveted than narcotics and more valuable than world class psychiatrists.
Hatred still blisters my senses and melts the humanity from my evil bones. Except, the violence I normally vented without control is contained. A toxic antidote to my curse claims my dick as hers.
Blood. Sex. Violence.Carina.
Everything that shouldn’t forge together has. The mishmash of chaotic urges makes me feel invincible. It sickens me to the pit of my stomach. This courageous young woman, spoiled of her innocence, has the unearthly power to incite impulses within me that run deeper than the sea. And right now, I’m adrift in that immeasurable ocean, losing myself inside her.
She grinds deeper when I yank her messy hair kissed with the scent of my sandalwood soap and acidic blood. I hiss through clenched teeth, the gunshot wound burning as I try to capture her neck. It continues to ooze under the makeshift bandage she’d thoughtfully wrapped around it.
What girl would willingly treat the man who tracked, hunted, and snatched away her freedom? She’s a perplexing anomaly. And that fact alone makes her the most powerful woman I’ve ever met.
From the minute I first saw her at the plantation, intrigue haunted me. The beauty with exquisite firestorm eyes and delicate scars gave me a buzz. Her imperfections seized my attention and became the very things that saved her life. She’d already ventured to Hell, just like me.
I had chosen recklessness. I went against my father’s decree, because the shadow of her soul rested on mine.
The enchanting teen wasn’t a meek, unfortunate soul cast into my kingdom as fodder for the wildcats. My attuned instincts told me she was so much more. A virginal goddess with an unquestionable thirst for the darker side seeping out of me.
For the monster born of duty and violence, soldered together with ice, blood, and unease, would be the death of me—and quite possibly her.
Yet, my goal is simply sex, to master control over the crippling flashbacks. When blood stains my skin, I’m swept into a pit of pain. The sight of it pouring doesn’t bother me in the slightest. In fact, causing a human spillage is common practice in my world.
However, that slippery sensation on my skin, the coppery aroma, the acidic taste—it all takes me back to that time and place, where my eight-year-old self forever relives in a loop.
Carina offers the distraction to snap my glitch in two. Her body is the education to discipline my inner demons. And once I’ve learned how to monopolize the trauma, she’ll be gone. Far away from me.
I attack her with an anarchic thrust, so she’s well and truly impaled on my dick. Her eyes blaze and she hunts for my mouth with hers. I jerk my face away and refuse the connection. She can fly without wings. We both can.
There’s nothing merciful about this fusion of feverish skin, slick blood, and salty sweat. Red stains coat her hands and streak her soft belly. Rather than repulse me, I’m consumed with how I’ve claimed her on so many levels. Her skin is a canvas, my blood the artwork. Her pussy is nirvana and I’m the creeping twilight.
“This is the second time I’ve fucked you,” I hiss into the side of her face. “You’re not quite the good little girl you like to think you are. I see you…all of you.” She swallows hard, her skin a mess of goosebumps. “You’re a bad girl. Isn’t that right?Mybad girl, mylittle liar.”
Feral eyes fuse with mine. We both breathe hard, our exhales quick and dizzying. The touch of her hand makes my pulse react, knocking the rhythm out of sync.
“I may as well take what you’re offering to spare my life.” She speaks with confidence into my ear.
“That’s a lie,” I growl, scooting down the seat a little to give me a better position to piston my hips. “If I stopped now, you’d beg me to keep going.” Plump breasts hang before me, perfectly still as I deny her the satisfaction of moving. “Isn’t that right?”
The truth is, if I pulled out, I’d likely snap. Stopping is not something I could do, even if she begged me. Her tongue skates across her lips as she balances over my new placement. I’m hypnotized by the wetness coating the landscape of her damaged mouth.
The paltry flaw is only visible to anyone who’s this close to her. This near—within kissing distance. And I’m the one who’s claimed that enviable spot.
It would be so easy to kiss her again. Too fucking easy, but I won’t welcome that hedonistic fuel. It only crosses wires that have no place in this arrangement. Right now, I don’t need to kiss––I need to fuck––her.
She writhes, her tight pussy clamping down on my dick, hunting the savage movement she craves so much. Whether she can tell or not, I have the same chronic thirst. If there’s enough space to spin her onto all fours, she’d be screaming by now.
However, my right arm is slowly becoming unusable, and she’s primed for a hard ride. I grab her wrist and slam our chests together. Her flushed cheek lands next to mine, her chin in the crook of my neck. And then I start to fuck.
I can’t remember a day in my life when I’d been so turned on by something so indecent. I’m violently jack hammering my painfully swollen dick into a virginal prisoner. It doesn't matter that I’ve already battered her tight inner walls, because the grip of untouched flesh is still vice-like and beyond snug. We work together in the restrictive back seat, me grinding and her bouncing into the motion.
Those fine-tuned instincts I live by willfully argue with the damaged muscle in my bicep. They command me to strip the jacket from her dainty shoulders, throw her on the seat and violently take her from behind. I would if my driver didn't have a front row view of her body. She’s my little liar to screw as I please.
An untamed snarl of ownership mangles with my intentions to use her and leaves me bitter. Hating the need, but I crave it at the same time.
Lightning strikes from within my ribs, the sharp bolts casting fucked up sunbeams onto the turbulent shadows choking me. I could be mistaken to think her body is paradise, but it's like taking a precise aim blindfolded. Impossible.
Silky strands tickle the skin on my shoulders, the black lengths wild and unbrushed. The featherlight strokes offer softness against rough thrusts. I focus on my destructive pounding, noticing her tight nipples and the sharpness of her nails diving into my hair. It takes everything within me to halt the natural impulse to ejaculate.