I follow her down the cellar stairs after flicking on the light. I placed the blanket in the laundry room, so she’s not in her normal mummy garb. The gentle sway of her hips holds my attention. I admire her long legs and want to run my fingers through her tangled hair. I have a nagging sense that I should keep her for myself and not send her back to her brother. Would that be punishment enough?
She peels the shirt over her head once she’s off the stairs. Calmly she folds it and places it against the wall. Naked, she walks to the bed. The fresh ink is still covered and I can’t wait to see the entire design once healed. I set up my equipment while she settles onto the bed. This is a routine I’ll miss. I haven’t inked anyone in several years. I may need to change that.
I’m about to peel the plastic from her chest when she asks, “Why don’t you listen to music when you tattoo?”
It’s a surprising question. “I like the silence. I never cared for noise.”
“Humph,” she grumbles. “I guess I should shut up then. Too bad I don’t give a fuck what you want to hear while you scar me.”
It’s hard to hold back a smile. I pull the tape slowly from her skin knowing it hurts worse this way. She’s never complained. Once I’ve pulled the plastic completely back, she glances down. The gasp that escapes her throat is not pleasant. I’m aware the skeletal hand is rather startling, but it’s part of her now and represents the hands of death.
“It’s a fucking skeleton. A creepy skeleton. Are you out of your mind?” she shouts. I ignore her distaste of my work. When she sees the entire piece, it will make sense. This isn’t a cute little rose-on-the-ankle session. This is about fucking revenge and art and she’s my fucking canvas. The steam goes out of her and she rests her head back and closes her eyes. The hum of the Dragonfly relaxes me back into the mood I need to be in to finish the piece.
She keeps her eyes closed and grits her teeth while I work. The curve of her jaw is lovely. I’ll miss her silky skin and the sound of her voice. Hell, I’ll miss having her locked in the cellar waiting for me to come down. I’ll miss knowing she’s here waiting for me to provide her food and daily care. It would be easier if I wasn’t attracted to her pain. The life she’s led brings her up a notch in my world. Surviving with her will intact brings her up another. She’s not the slightest bit broken and it fucking turns me on.
I ease my foot off the pedal and study her closed eyes. She looks nothing like her brother, but he’s all I saw when I first captured her. She expected me to rape her. I laugh internally—a sociopath with a line drawn in the sand. I will never cross that line. Killing her would be easier.
I kill out of necessity even though I feel a thrill when they scream and the light finally dims from their eyes. Melina’s eyes would be so different if I wrapped my hand around her throat and squeezed. I would feel her pain as her life slipped away. I’ve never dwelled on the pain of others. Melina is a first. Even Cindy’s torture didn’t disturb me in the way it would most people. I understand this world and the violence involved. Cindy understood too even though she never participated until the end.
Melina is different. She’s fought violence her entire life. She doesn’t want a life of crime even though she would be so fucking good at it.
I rest my hand back on her skin. There’s something about the silky texture that’s absent in everyone else. I have absolutely no idea what it is. Her skin is pure and takes the ink beautifully. She’s the ultimate canvas. I stare at her breast with its pointy, rose-colored nipple begging for my lips. Better yet, my teeth. My eyes travel the lines of my art and I know deep in my soul the ink makes her mine.
“I ran away when I was sixteen.”
The tension I didn’t realize was there leaves me. My foot hits the pedal again. She’s my music. I love her dark, twisted life. Her hate and pain make me crave her like no other woman. Hatred is salvation and death is the reward. She would understand that.
Her eyes remain closed while she lulls me in with her voice. “I had no place to go and no money, but I ran anyway. I didn’t stop until my side hurt so bad I couldn’t take another step. With my cell phone, I called the boy I lost my virginity to. That’s how desperate I was for a ride. He laughed at me and I heard his buddies laughing in the background too.”
I can easily add another name to my hit list. I dip the machine in white ink to add definition. I follow the black outline with a slight tilt to my wrist and smooth strokes. Her precious skin holds the white after I wipe.
Such a gorgeous canvas.
The short laugh that escapes her draws me from the ink. “My brother’s men found me and took me back home. I had to wait four hours for my punishment. Diego finally came for me and dragged me by my hair to stand in front of his men. He beat the shit out of me while they laughed and cheered him on. A stray kick took me in the head after about twenty minutes. It knocked me out, which was a blessing. I didn’t get out of bed for two weeks and I never tried to leave again. I’m weak. I’ve always been weak.”
My plan was to take out Fernandez and the men directly responsible for Victor’s and Cindy’s deaths. That’s changed. I plan to wipe Fernandez and his entire gang off the planet.
“I told you about the boy I lost my virginity to. If I remember correctly I told you it was awful. It was but this is the thing… it’s all I have. I’m going to die with one, bad, sexual experience under my belt and I don’t want to take that memory with me.” She stops talking and my hand stills. Her dark eyes open and I read her thoughts and needs. For several long moments our eyes remain locked. “Make love to me before you send me back to my brother?” she finally whispers.
I pull the Dragonfly completely away. She has no idea what she’s asking. I fucking get off several times a day fantasizing about fucking her. She doesn’t know how much I want to hurt her and that’s the only way I fuck. My palms sweat and my heartbeat accelerates at the thought. I kill without remorse. I fuck the same way. Melina is strong, but she’s not wired to take the pain I need to get off. Few women are.
I lean down and move closer so our lips almost touch and our breaths mingle. “Don’t make offers you can’t fulfill.”
She lifts her head and rams her mouth against mine.
Fuck me.
I’ve wondered how she tastes, and I don’t stop kissing her. Hell, I’ve thought about it to the point of obsession. Now I know. I also know I should never have sampled her. I can’t be the person she wants, and I’ll damn sure never be the person she needs.
The kiss continues. Her tongue parries mine. We share the same breath. I’ve never done this. Never taken small sips. When I fuck, it’s about reaching the pinnacle and moving on. It’s about pain and misery set to the tempo of two people on a destructive course. That’s what fucking is all about. Not this. This is why I pay prostitutes. What Melina needs is missing in me. It’s an emotional disconnect, or at least that’s what I always thought it was. I want to fuck this woman my way, yet I know it’s impossible. After everything she’s survived, she deserves soft.
It all processes in my mind as I fuck her lips. My fingers slide into her hair and I pull her upper body closer to mine. She tastes as incredible as she smells. I’ve never tasted lips as soft as hers. How would she look covered in blood? I could run my fingers through it and paint every part of her with coppery beauty. I could wreck her so damn easily.
I force myself to pull away and her eyes slowly open. I see uncertainty. I see need. She doesn’t understand who and what I am. “I’m not the man to give you what you want, Melina,” I say without feeling. It’s on the inside, though.
She blinks. Her nose scrunches up and I see her anger take over. “You can’t or won’t?”
This is such a cruel world for the innocent. “I don’t make love. I pay for women and I hurt them. I don’t do gentle.”
She looks away and licks her lips. My dick goes from rock to pure steel.
“How much pain?” she asks after licking my taste away.
Fuck. I turn
around to gain control. My cock needs the time too. I pick up the machine and sit back down on the chair. When I move closer, Melina closes her eyes and I feel relief until I watch a tear trail down her cheek. Fuck me. Tears have never mattered, but that single drop of liquid guts me. Having sex with her is not part of my vengeance and making love isn’t in my vocabulary.
The joy of finishing her piece dissolves. I add the finishing touches with an emptiness I haven’t felt since the week Cindy died. I need to take Melina back to her brother—the sooner the better. An hour later, I sit back and see the finished product. Melina’s eyes remain closed. I wipe down the ink and cover the piece. She lies there without moving while I clean up.
“Would you like to wash before you go to sleep?” She shakes her head without opening her eyes. Another week and she’ll be gone. Our daily sessions are at an end. If I were smart, I would have one of my men deliver food and take care of the waste bucket. I won’t. I’ll keep caring for her and torturing myself. Maybe torturing us both.
She opens her eyes when I place my hand on her unmarred arm. I assist her up until she shakes off my touch when I try to lead her to the wall. I allow her token resistance because I’m still thinking about her lips. I secure her leg quickly and get the hell out of the cellar. She must already regret asking me. I regret not taking her up on the offer.
Chapter Twelve
Melina
Austin won’t even give me a pity fuck when he knows I’m going to die. I lay in the dark feeling sorry for myself. I really need to suck it up. Suck up the disappointment called life. Suck up the fact that I will die and no one will care.
To make this entire day worse, I turned on the flashlight and the batteries failed within two minutes. If I’m lucky, I’ll die down here tonight just like the flashlight batteries. I could probably tear the blanket and fashion a noose. That would work if I wasn’t a chicken shit. I’ve thought of suicide most of my life and have never been able to take that final step. Now is no different. After yawning and trying to find a comfortable position to sleep, I manage to let the world fade and take me into nightmares.
The bright overhead light startles me awake sometime later. I blink and try to focus. Same damn basement and it feels like the same damn night. Austin walks closer and bends down to release me from the chain. I’m waiting for him to say something, but he scoops me up like I weigh nothing. I grab the back of his neck as he takes the stairs. What the hell is happening? Is he taking me back now?
He carries me to the master bathroom and sits me down on the counter next to the sink. Without talking, he fills the sink with soapy water and picks up a washcloth. He lifts my right arm and begins washing it.
This is such an odd sensation. It shouldn’t be, though, because he washes me before he inks my skin. This is different, though his attention to detail is the same. I shiver as the warm cloth glides across my skin. After my hands and arms are clean, he moves to my legs and feet, giving them the same treatment.
He finishes and stands. He fingers the bottom of my shirt with a question in his eyes. I nod nervously. He lifts the shirt and pulls it over my head. He lifts the cloth, warms it in the water, and then washes my chest below my breasts. He moves the cloth beneath my arms. The anticipation of his next touch is killing me. I inhale sharply when he finally runs the cloth over my breasts. Oh God my nipples are entirely too sensitive and go hard.
He looks up when I make an odd sound in the back of my throat.
My cheeks heat. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, I’m so fucking turned on I can barely breathe. His pupils dilate as he watches me. He fixates on my eyes. His see everything—every shiver, every harsh breath, every ounce of need pulsing through me. His are now hot with fire ready to combust too.
I need his hands on me, right now. His burning gaze slides to my breasts as he continues washing them. He moves the cloth lower and my entire fucking body ignites. When he reaches the junction of my thighs, he uses his knee to push my legs apart. His hand glides lower and he touches me with the washcloth. I want his fucking hands on me. I want his cock inside me; even the washcloth feels so damn good. I grip the edge of the counter so hard my fingers turn blue. My head tilts back and another sound escapes me. My eyes snap open when his mouth replaces the cloth.
Holy fuck!
I grab his silky hair and moan because I can’t hold back. He’s going to make love to me. I won’t die with the horrible memory of my lost virginity. He nibbles my clit and even the most basic thought becomes impossible. This time my gasp is embarrassingly loud. His lips are the sweetest torture. I’m almost there and it’s so much better than I could ever imagine. The cliff is so near. My body spins out of control and my nerve endings hum with the steady build of pressure. Fulfillment is within my grasp and my eyes roll back, my hands shake while keeping a death grip on his hair.
And still, he’s able to pull away.
I inhale and open my eyes, preparing to scream my objection. He’s standing and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. He shucks his pants and underwear in another swift move. I don’t have time to admire what I’m seeing because he lifts me again, carries me to his bed, and sets me down.
“I should brush—” His lips crash into mine. This kiss isn’t gentle. It’s wild and allows me to unleash the desire I’ve buried for years. He fucks my mouth and I love every second. His teeth hit mine, causing him to groan into my mouth. I’m new at this, but it’s obvious he isn’t. His tongue dances against mine until he pulls back slightly and bites my bottom lip. I’m gasping for air at this point, squeezing my legs together with need, convinced this is a dream.
He releases my lip and tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him. “I don’t fuck sweetly, Melina. I enjoy hurting women.”
I already know this, but the sound of my name on his lips sends a zap of electricity so strong I almost orgasm. “No,” I say as I shake my head. “I don’t want sweet.” I grasp his hair again. “Hurt me, Austin, I want it.”
I don’t just want it, I crave it. My entire life has been about hurt piled on hurt. Maybe he can take the memories away. Maybe I can get so lost in the pain that I forget who I am. Maybe I can forget who Austin is.
“There’s no going back.” He holds my gaze—his green eyes see clear to my soul.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I say because I can’t take the waiting. I need release.
He shifts to his side, allowing me to breathe easier and his right hand moves to my breast. I’m not expecting the sharp pinch to my nipple and I almost buck him off when he does it. Until I look into his eyes.
They’re cold again…burning cold. “Did that hurt, little girl?” He watches me inquisitively like I’m some form of experiment. When I don’t answer, he pinches my nipple again. I push myself into his hand and moan. “You have no idea what’s about to happen.”
I don’t care, as long as he fucks me. I gasp when he flips me to my stomach. “Don’t move,” he says in a voice that promises movement would be very bad. God I want to laugh. We’ve wasted so much time by keeping me in the basement.
He climbs from the bed and walks into his closet. He appears a few seconds later with a belt in his hand. The dark leather slides through his fingers. I’m wet with anticipation as I struggle to pull enough air into my lungs. I’m out of my fucking mind and I guess that’s what happens after weeks of being isolated in a dark room.
He leans close and warm breath slides across my skin. I half bury my face in the pillow near my head. He takes one wrist and loops soft material over it. Not the belt. I roll my head on the pillow and look. The long black scarf circles again and he pulls my other hand up, loops the material through the slats of the headboard, and secures it. The belt resting beside me sends a powerful thrill straight to my pussy.
“I won’t stop until I’m done.” The look in his eyes is mesmerizing and there’s no way I will stop what’s about to happen.
“Will you fuck me after the belt?” I ask breathlessly. Hell, I’m begging him for it.
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His lips tilt at the corners and I’m rewarded with a smile. “If you scream for me.”
Fuck. I can do this. “Hurt me.” Solid lust does the talking even though the words come from my lips. He raises his arm and I scream, “Yes,” before the strike lands on my upper thigh directly below my ass cheek. It’s agonizing torture and sweet beautiful pain all rolled together. The next strike lands on my ass. A burning tsunami eats my flesh. I can barely breathe, and screams swell inside me until I can’t fight them. Austin lifts his arms and I see Satan with a whip of fire. A demon’s eyes aren’t red, they’re pure glacial green. The belt lands again and again—each strike a precise fire burning into my skin. Tears fall and my fucked up life shrinks into the background until all I have is pain. He keeps the strikes to my right ass cheek, lower left ass cheek and legs as I writhe. The burning intensity increases and my screams grow louder. There’s no faking the agony he’s inflicting. There’s no escape from the fire.
This is the world I’ve wanted. A place without the horrors I’ve lived. I’m small like a child, caught in this moment, not running but embracing every blow. Hoping I’m left with scars to celebrate my liberation. Pictures flash inside my head. Not bad thoughts but good. My mother’s smile. Her laugh. Feather and his soft belly wiggling as I dig my fingers into his fur. The zoo, the baby elephant. Bobby’s soft gaze when he spoke to me. Austin’s very slight smiles.
He doesn’t stop and my body reaches its limit as the swirling pictures recede. “No, please, no,” I finally beg. I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe. I twist my head and peer up at Austin as his arm lifts again. He’s so damn sexy and my words hold no sway. My begging only excites him. Maybe this is how I’ll die. If it is, I’ll take it.
I try picturing my brother’s face, but it won’t appear. I try picturing my father too. Austin is now my world. My eyes are swollen and snot runs from my nose. Not a pretty picture I’m sure. The red-hot burn continues. Through my swollen eyes I see his. They’re on fire. I muffle my next scream by focusing on his eyes.
Combust (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 6) Page 8
