“The same reason being dominated by me turns you on. We’re wired differently than most – but perfectly for each other. Vanilla sex just isn’t enough. We crave the darkness, you and I.”
He fists a handful of my hair, wrapping it around his wrist and pulling my head back so that I’m forced to look at him. More of my arousal seeps down my inner thigh.
“What do you want from me, Liam?”
“Everything. I want your body, your mind, your pleasure, your pain, your fear, every-fucking-thing. That’s what I want and you’ll give it to me or I’m going to take it. I’m going to enjoy peeling back your layers one by one until all is revealed.”
“My arms are so heavy, Liam. I am concentrating but my arms are so tired in this position. Please, let me put them on the wall.”
“Mmmm, so very nice of you to say please.” His taunts only add to my arousal. “Palm the wall, then – but no matter what, don’t move your hands or that last spanking will seem like child’s play.”
He helps me straighten my arms and begins rubbing them to stimulate blood flow. When he’s satisfied that he’s kneaded my flesh back to life, he places my palms flat against the wall. His fingers trail over my body, lighting flash fires over every inch of me.
“I knew you’d be wet but, baby, you are soaked. Always so wet for me.” He taps my inner thigh and I know to spread my feet wider. He kneels behind me and caresses my ass, stroking the skin and squeezing the firm flesh, all the while humming his approval. He spreads my cheeks apart with his thumbs, leaving me utterly exposed and vulnerable in a way I have never experienced before – and yet I’ve never felt safer. His tongue circling my most intimate, taboo flesh sends a jolt of electricity through me. In the next instant, I think I hear him laugh softly as the puckered ring of muscle contracts and releases from his touch.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” he purrs with male satisfaction as he slides his tongue across the sensitive flesh.
It’s all I can do to stand as my legs begin to tremble. He runs his tongue painstakingly slowly between the lips of my sex, rolling the tip of his tongue around my clit before sliding back to tongue-fuck me and drink from my quivering, soft, slick heat.
My breathing becomes audible as I fight for control, and he can tell I’m only moments away from coming. Suddenly like he’s a man possessed, bringing tongue and lips and teeth to bear in a carnal onslaught of my senses. He kisses and sucks and nibbles my swollen lower lips just as passionately and expertly as he ever has my mouth.
“I’ll do anything you want, just please let me come. Oh, fuck, baby,” I moan, my voice sounding strained as the orgasm begins to pulse through my core, “you make me feel so good…”
His lips lock onto my clit, softly sucking as he simultaneously flicks his tongue over it. Liam sliding a thick, curved finger into my drenched opening is all it takes to make me come apart in earnest.
In the distance I hear the nearly unrecognizable voice of a woman crying out for mercy from a man who has none. While I ride out the receding waves of pleasure, he straightens behind me. After stepping out of his pants, he carries me to the bed, tossing me onto the center of the mattress. His eyes rove over me hungrily as he strips out of his shirt and tosses it on the floor. Slow, predatory steps bring him to the side of the bed. He stares down at me, unspoken demands simmering behind his eyes.
Any façade of civility I possess in my day-to-day existence has been shattered by this man, leaving only this wanton, insatiable creature he’s created. I roll onto my stomach and press my chest into the mattress and arch my back to push my ass up toward him, legs spread wide. It’s obvious what I want. I want to be fucked.
Liam thrusts that gorgeous cock deep inside me with no warning, moving relentlessly forward until he is fully seated from root to tip, his balls pressing up against my sensitive clit.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans as he begins to move inside me. “Shit. It feels like there’s a velvet fist clenching around my cock.”
His physical presence is rough and demanding, his movements brutal and raw, lacking his usual finesse. And I love it, meeting him thrust for thrust. I want him to hurt me with his thick, heavily veined cock. I want him to turn me inside out. I want him to make me his.
He’s fucking me like a vicious, feral animal, taking what he wants with single-minded intent. He pumps his hips hard against me over and over, his stamina seemingly inexhaustible. Suddenly, his rhythm becomes choppy and irregular as his cock surges inside me, jetting thick streams of semen against my womb and sending me over the edge into the abyss.
He collapses on top of me, covering me with his body like a blanket. Our fingers are entwined and his legs straddle my hips. Our sweat-slicked skin slides against each other as we murmur hushed words of praise and satisfaction.
“I fucking love to hear you scream,” he rasps in my ear. “I know I’ve pushed you past your limits but it had to be done. You needed to be claimed, to be reminded of who you belong to.”
I laugh softly, observing, “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You’re like the Marquis De Sade, you’ve turned me into a wanton, feral whore.”
He dips his head and grazes his teeth lightly across the nape of my neck before nibbling along the tendon leading down to my shoulder. “The more I hear about that guy, the more I like him. You’re my wanton, feral whore, Madonna. And you’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now.”
Chapter Forty Nine
His Destruction
They’re all the same, the way they strut up and down the sidewalk like they own the goddamn place, eyeing every approaching car like it could be the pot of gold at the end of their fucked-up rainbow.
Don’t they know there are sick fucks like me roaming the streets, looking for their next victim? Before this night is over, one of these whores will wish they had listened to their gut instincts. I just haven’t decided yet which one it’s going to be.
I don’t really have a preference; for me, it’s more about the game, the chase. My purpose is to prove my worth and to be elusive enough, unpredictable enough, that law enforcement can’t profile me. No, they’ve never seen the likes of me before.
My attention is drawn to a girl standing on a street corner. She seems out of place. Unsure of herself. The other women radiate confidence like it ain’t no big deal to sell their bodies or suck a stranger’s dick for ten or twenty bucks -- but not her. This one’s different.
She stands on the corner, biting a fingernail as she looks around anxiously, obviously out of her element. And not particularly concerned about her personal safety either, for a young woman alone after dark on a hooker-infested street corner. She’s focused on texting or whatever it is she’s doing on her phone. Her backpack leads me to believe she’s a college student and not a hooker at all. She’s perfect for what I have in mind so I pull up alongside her and make my play.
“Good evening. Where ya headed?”
Her gaze jumps furtively back and forth between my face and my vehicle as she tentatively approaches my passenger window. She scowls down at her phone and glances back up at me, asking, “So, um, are you my Uber?”
I smile benignly and silently give thanks for the random good fortune that has dropped into my lap.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great! Yeah, I missed my bus and…wow, that was super fast! I submitted my Uber request, like, maybe a minute ago and here you are already? I haven’t even gotten your driver information back yet. Can you give me a ride back to the university?” she asks, already reaching for the door handle to get in.
“Sure thing. Hop in.”
“Great, thanks!” she giggles as she gets settled in the passenger seat. “This is my first time using Uber so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but you’ve really wowed me!”
“We aim to please.”
“Well, thank you for showing up so fast. A couple of pimps had already offered me a ride but I’m not stupid enough to fall for that.”
&n
bsp; Perfect. I was right, she’s not a hooker; she’s a college student. Damn I’m getting good at this whole serial killing thing. She is completely unaware of her plight. I have to say… I do love a woman who’s in the wrong place at the right time.
“I’m glad to hear that; you can never be too careful. But, really, you shouldn’t be out here by yourself so late. Let’s get you home.”
And with that, we drive off in the direction of the university, with her prattling on endlessly about nothing in particular.
I discreetly slide the drug-filled syringe from my jacket pocket. I’ll need a compliant victim. We’ll save the fight for later.
Madonna
“Liam.” I look up from my book to offer him a suggestion. “I think you should set up a meeting with Agent Turner and his partner.”
He leans back in his chair, stretching sinuously like a big cat and groaning with pleasure as his muscles loosen up. He drops back into his chair and clasps his hands over his midsection as he gives me a long, considering look. “I’ve thought about that too. There just isn’t a whole lot I can say to them. I have no real proof that this guy is a murderer. I’m going on the word of my brother, and God knows he can’t be trusted.”
“I know, but if this guy is killing people it isn’t going to reflect well on you if you knew about him and didn’t say anything. And, regardless of public opinion, I think you’d have a hard time living with it if someone else died because you didn’t act.”
“I hear you,” he sighs, “but when we spoke to them at the crime scene I told them I thought Lance had a copycat. It’s not up to me which leads they follow up on.” He gives me a cold glare before adding, “Surely you didn’t expect me to tell them he was following you and how I stepped in to stop him by taking you for myself? Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, lady.”
His chilling gaze sends me a clear message: I’m still his captive. Whether or not he’s being nice about it is irrelevant.
“Come here,” he nods toward the office chair next to his.
“Did you put that chair in here for me?” Anything to cut through the tension that engulfs me whenever I’m near him.
“Indeed, I did. Are you aware that you change the subject when you’re nervous? Try to not be so predictable. Now come over here, I need my partner in crime.”
I pad over to him and sit down. He looks like anything but a surgeon right now. His strong jaw is peppered with a sexy five o’clock shadow and his hair is unkempt in a way that makes me want to mess it up even more. His bare chest is tan, firmly muscled, and he’s wearing nothing but drawstring pants. Yeah… good enough to eat, definitely. I continue to stare at him as I grapple with the question that’s been on my mind.
“What?” he asks, turning his head toward me slightly, but never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “Something else is on your mind. Just go ahead and ask me already.”
“Okay… Are you fucking anybody else?”
“Wow, girl, don’t hold back,” he says and rubs his hand over his jaw before turning to study me, his elbow on the edge of the desk and his chin resting in his hand.
“In answer to your question, absolutely not. I know we don’t have a…conventional sort of arrangement, but I don’t want another woman. Since the first time I saw you, I wanted only you. So I took you.”
“Were you in a relationship before me? Should I be looking over my shoulder for some crazed, jealous ex-girlfriend?”
“No. Anyone before you was just sex, no love involved. Playmates, nothing more. I don’t do girlfriends.”
“Playmates?”
“Yes, when you’re into control, dominance, and submission like I am, you don’t date -- you play. You create scenes for fantasy roleplaying or conduct simple BDSM experiences. Sometimes in the privacy of one’s home, sometimes at a club. Sometimes alone, sometimes with an audience to enjoy it along with you. It just depends.”
“Is that what we’re doing here—playing?”
He leans back in his chair and shakes his head slowly, his gaze steely. “I can assure you, Madonna mine, when it comes to you, I’m dead serious.”
“So you’d be jealous if I was seeing anyone else.”
“No, because you won’t be. If I have to hogtie your ass down in that basement to keep you from another man, I will.”
“I don’t want to see anyone else. I just wanted to see if you’d be jealous.”
“Would you have been very disappointed if I wasn’t?”
“Very much so. Oddly enough, I would have been heartbroken if my captor wanted to see another woman.” I laugh out loud at that, but it’s true. I would have been hurt if he was interested in someone else—hurt enough to never see him again because I don’t fucking share.
“No sharing, Madonna. What’s mine is mine.”
A smile of pleasure heats my cheeks and we return to the task at hand. “You should be able to pull up property records and find out the mystery man’s name. Once we get that,” I tell him decisively, “it’s should be a matter of Googling to find out just about anything we want to know.”
His eyes lock onto me smugly. “Changing the subject again? Yes, in case the agents do show up, I want to do my homework on your other stalker.”
“Oh, that’s funny, Liam.”
“So true though. Now…back to the agents; preparation is everything when it comes to engaging with an opponent. I don’t want to go into a meeting with the FBI and get blindsided.”
“Do you think they’re suspicious of you?”
“Absolutely. They’re FBI agents, they’re suspicious of everyone.”
Chapter Fifty
His Terror
“Eeeny, meenie, minie, moe, who will be the first to go?” I whisper the words in her ear in the same sing-song lilt Lance used on his victims. I remember every detail he ever told me about his kills.
During our visits, Lance went over every nuance of the time he spent with his victims. As he spoke, his eyes were often unfocused like he was in a trance. Hell, maybe he was. It was eerie to listen to him. His eyes would become glassy, his voice was suddenly deeper. I think it was the expression on his face that scared me the most; it was like he was in an altered state, he looked like a man possessed. I wonder if that was the last thing his victims saw before dying.
I sweep the knife wildly through the air in front of my victim, just like he did. There is a method to my madness. This is a big night for me; I’m about to set in motion my biggest mind fuck ever.
I pierce her skin with the tip of my knife, my movements keeping time with each word of the rhyme. A random pattern of tiny red droplets on her skin illustrates the quality of my work.
I can’t wait to taunt him with this during my next visit. He pissed me off the last time I saw him. He treats me like shit and I don’t like it. He’ll be so jealous when I rub it in his face how perfectly I copied him and how brilliantly I took his work to the next level -- a level he will never reach on his own.
“You see, it’s very important I do this just like he did,” I tell the terrified girl by way of explanation. She’s looking at me like I’m crazy—maybe I am.
“What are you talking about?” she whines, drawing her brows together in a frown.
“You’re so fucking stupid.” I jam the point of the knife into her skin just below her collarbone, just enough to draw another trickle of blood. “You never should have been standing on the corner like that. Don’t you know what kind of women work that street? It’s obvious you’re not a whore. Missing your bus was, shall we say…a grave mistake. You book-smart people, you don’t have any common sense sometimes. Don’t get mad at me because you made a mistake.”
I plunge the knife into her thigh to reinforce my next point—pun-fucking-intended: “This. Is. All. Your. Fault.”
My dick twitches in my pants as she screams and begins to beg. I close my eyes to savor every word as I palm myself through my pants. As she watches, a look of disgust combines with the pain that�
�s twisting her features. No need for privacy; I think we’ve moved beyond civility at this point.
“Let me go, please, I swear I won’t tell anyone about this.”
I rub the pad of my thumb over a tear as it slides down her cheek. I never take my eyes off her as I the press the digit to my lips and languidly lick her salty essence. I make a show of what I’m doing, slowly running my tongue over my thumb so I can savor the tangy flavor of her emotions manifested. I like seeing her fear, tasting it. I want to hear her voice crack with despair when all her hopes are dashed. I just want to play, play, play…with my prey.
“You want me to let you go, is that it?” I place my finger at my chin and strike a pensive pose much like that statue, ‘The Thinker’.
“Yes, yes, please. I swear I won’t tell a soul.”
The idiot doesn’t even recognize sarcasm when she hears it. Lance was right; that’s how they all are—grasping for hope, even if it’s just a façade. After all, she really wants to live—but I really want to kill her.
“I don’t really think you’re in a position to bargain with me, do you? It’s only fair that I be honest with you, since you’re being so polite. The thing is, you won’t be telling anyone anything. I’m going to make sure no one gives a shit about your story. Just look at it like this…you’re going to be part of history. Every time people mention your name, they’re going to think of me: the infamous serial killer who took your voice from you so you couldn’t tell on him.”
I place my palms over my ears and wince, and must shout to be heard over her hysterical wailing. “Oh, stop fucking screaming and let me tell you a story in peace. I can’t hear myself think with all the noise you’re making.”
I wait to continue until she quiets down, her screams and sobs now reduced to hiccupping breaths and occasional gulps of air. Oh, there it is, that flicker of hope is in her eyes.
“Do you know the story of The Three Wise Monkeys? No? Well, then I’ll have to explain in a little more detail -- which I won’t mind but you probably won’t like very much. Now, you being so educated and all, I’m sure you understand what the Three Wise Monkeys represent. Are you with me so far? You see, there are three monkeys and each conveys a message: see no evil; hear no evil; and speak no evil.
Cellar Door Page 15
