by K. L. Savage
I cup her face, rubbing her wet cheek and smearing the tears. I have the urge to lick them off. Are they salty? Sweet? I want to know, but now isn’t the moment. “You can tell me anything.”
“I have a form of psychosis,” she whispers, ashamed. Daphne bends her head, placing her forehead on my chest. “I thought you were a form of my darkness inside me. It was the only thing that made sense because you were there one minute, then gone the next.”
Psychosis… I’m not too familiar with it, but I have heard of it before. It’s mostly when people lose touch with reality.
Her admission makes me feel … bad. I don’t usually feel bad about how I make people feel, but Daphne is different. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to feel that way. I’m very real. I’m the man who followed you, stalked you, and watched you, and I don’t regret a fucking thing.”
“You don’t care?” she asks with wet lashes, blinking at me with an innocence I want to ruin and own.
“I hope you lose sense of reality when you’re with me.” Because my reality is completely different than what I thought it could be. My thumb brushes over her bottom lip, and I inch forward, wanting to kiss her for the first time when I remember the blood on my hands. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I need to go wash my hands off. I just touched your mouth with…”
Daphne leans into my tainted palm which causes my fingers to press against her mouth again.
My eyes zero in on what she’s doing. “I have blood on my hands,” I remind her.
Her tongue flicks out along my thumb, and I growl when I see the pretty pink muscle licking the pad of my finger. I know she had to taste blood. Sarah’s blood.
I’m guilty.
I deserve a thousand deaths for allowing this to happen, but something about the woman I’m obsessed with, tasting the only other woman I’ve ever cared about has me almost coming unhinged. I want to get my knife and cut my wrists. Would she drink me down? Would she want our DNA to combine?
The thought has an orgasm blitzing through me. My cock pumps thick streams of seed, splashing on her arm. I grunt, not apologetic at all for what just happened. I crack my neck, roll my shoulders, and glare at her, daring her to question me.
I won’t apologize for how she makes me feel.
She meets my intensity with her own. Daphne surprises me, dragging her fingers down her arm and then she brings her fingers to her lips. The little she-devil rubs my cum over her mouth like fucking lip gloss. “You taste good,” she purrs. “I want more.”
I do something I’ve never done before.
I slam my lips against hers and kiss her as if I’m about to die.
For all I know, I might be.
But right now, I know what it’s like to finally live.
And I’ve been missing out.
I don’t know what got into me.
He brings the woman I’ve been suppressing for far too long out.
His tongue is long and thick, just like his cock, and he licks his cum off my lips. His fingers grip my chin before flattening his palm over my neck and squeezing. I gasp, the threat of the lack of air beading my nipples as he claims my mouth.
There’s no way he has never kissed a woman because he is in complete control right now. He snags my bottom lip in his mouth, growls, and bites down. I gasp, feeling the throb between my legs as he leans me back against the bed.
My knee aches as he spreads my legs with his hands and settles between my thighs. His shaft is hot and heavy against my thigh, rubbing in the remainder of his cum that’s dripping from his slit. His hand dives between us, and he rips my panties from my body. I’m so damn glad I took my pants off before I went to sleep.
“Yes,” I hiss when he roughly cups my pussy, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Tongue.”
“Wayne,” he whispers into my mouth in between kisses. “My name is Wayne.”
My arms wrap around his back, the scars that hide under his tattoos rub against me, and knowing I can touch him, smell him, and taste him. It makes all of this real.
I’m not crazy.
But he makes me insane.
“Wayne,” I repeat his name to him, and his shoulders bunch in response. He freezes above me, and he usually does that right before he vanishes into thin air. I hold onto him tighter, so he doesn’t move.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone say my real name.”
“Do you like it, or do you want me to stop?”
“Does it feel like I want you to stop?” He rocks his hips between my thighs, and I feel more cum on my leg.
He orgasmed again.
Tongue steals my mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss. It’s sloppy. It’s clear neither of us have much experience, but I’m happy because I think I’ve been waiting for someone who can accept me for me.
Psychosis and all.
I break away from his kiss, and he snarls at me, digging his fingers in my cheeks to force me to look at him. I reach for his hair, the strands I’ve wanted to feel since I saw him, but my hands hit short, choppy pieces.
I rip my mouth from him, he sneers, showing his straight white teeth like a mad man. “I’m not ready to be done with you.”
“You cut your hair,” I say with horror, wondering how in the hell I didn’t recognize it sooner.
“Do you like it? I thought you would.”
“Don’t ever cut your hair again, Wayne. Do you understand me?” I clench my fingers on the side of his head, gathering the hair from the root and pull. “I asked you if you understood me.” I threaten to rip his hair from his scalp, tightening my hold.
A sardonic slip of a chuckle escapes him, and the tilt of his lips turn sinister along with the shape of his eyes. Pools of endless, black ink stare back at me. His hand leaves my throat for a moment, and he bends down to pick something up off the floor. The moonlight shines against the silver metal of his blade as he slides the flat side down my body.
“Don’t forget what I can do to you,” he warns, and a gush of liquid heat escapes me, and my virgin hole flutters for his cock. “You have no idea the danger you’ve allowed in your bed.” My shirt is in the way of his pursuit, and he digs the tip of the metal into the shirt, ripping it in half. “The danger you’ve allowed between your legs.” He dips the blade down and presses the cold, flat side against my clit.
I let out a shaky breath, filled with fear and anticipation. Goosebumps prickle along my skin, my body warning me, but my insanity likes it.
“I think you’re interested in the blood,” he states, rubbing my clit with the knife.
I arch my back, gripping the sheets in my fists.
“You’re interested in the chaos.”
He plunges a bloody finger inside me, and a rumble matching the sound of his motorcycle vibrates his chest when he feels how wet I am. He pulls the finger out, then shoves it in my mouth. My nectar mixed with the blood on his hand has me moaning. I wrap my tongue around the wide digit and lick him clean.
Iron and honey, a combination that does not mix, yet belong together.
He continues to circle the knife along my clit, and the sense of danger looms. He could slip, he could cut me, kill me even. I trust him. I trusted him the moment I saw him, and if cutting me is what he wants to do, I’ll let him.
My thighs begin to tremble, my belly burns, and I tilt my head back, gasping for air. I try to hold out for as long as I can. I don’t want this to end. He parts my ripped shirt and exposes one of my tits, cupping the small curve in the palm of his hand. Tongue bends down and sucks the red bead into his mouth and bites down hard.
It hurts.
Tears prickle my eyes, but it’s glorious. I shove my hands over my mouth to silence my screams as I come long and hard. A sliver of pain stings my thigh, and my orgasm is prolonged. I climb to another height, soaring over a peak I had no idea existed. Another sting happens on my other thigh and when I glance down, I see blood.
Fresh, dripping, red blood.
The cuts aren’t big.
They are thin, but it’s enough liquid for Tongue to use to massage into my skin, staining me with my own life liquid.
He inches his way down my body, and I think he’s about to eat me out, but he doesn’t. Instead, he licks the blood clean off my legs, lapping his tongue over the wound he gave me.
“Would you leave with me?” he asks, and I watch as he licks the knife clean, a line of red laying over his taste buds.
“I’d go anywhere with you,” I say, drunk off pleasure, high off Tongue.
Bleed me dry and dump my body if he has to; as long as I experience this feeling, life can’t get better.
He puts the knife in my hand and guides himself to my entrance. My thighs sting as our flesh rubs together, but I love it. I never want this to stop. Is it possible to want to be so close to someone that you want to bathe in their blood? To live underneath their skin. Because that’s what I want to do with Tongue.
Close will never be close enough.
“I’ve never…” I start to say.
“I trust you,” he tells me, leaning over to take my lips in a wicked kiss, promising a life of new manic experiences.
All he said was three words, but with the fractures in his eyes from his soul being broken, I know those words aren’t easy for him to say.
I press the tip of the knife against his shoulder right as the tip of his cock enters me. I gasp from the intrusion, and my hand slips causing the blade to tear into his skin. His neck tendons protrude as he feels something other than pain for the first time in his life.
I’ll soothe his soul. I’ll give him everything he needs.
I’ve found sanctuary in the kind of crazy, my crazy was looking for.
He grips my throat, and I slice another line into his skin. With a curl of his lip, he roughly shoves inside me, breaking through my virginity without the gentle thrust normal guys give. He yanks out, then fucks himself back in. With every rock of his hips, the knife cuts into his shoulder, and eventually his blood drips onto my chest.
Tossing the knife aside, I lean up on my elbows and latch my mouth onto his wound, cleaning him up like he did for me. I moan, wishing we were something other than human so we could be bound together for eternity.
I pretend our blood joins, are DNA mixes, and I’m his.
He throws my head against the bed by keeping his hand around my throat and kisses me. He fucks me harder, and his balls slap against me with every thrust. His hand grips my leg, keeping it around his waist, and he sweeps me into another kiss, tangling our tongues together.
“So fucking tight,” he rumbles into my mouth. He glances down, watching his big cock saw in and out of me, owning me, possessing me.
That’s what he and I need. We both need something that is beyond love. We need someone to possess our souls in the most forbidden, unacceptable, taboo way.
“You’re fucking mine, Daphne. You’re mine. No matter where you go, no matter where you run, I’ll fucking find you. You can’t leave me.”
“Never.”
“You can’t fucking leave me. I will follow you. I will bring you home. You’re mine. You belong to me. Say it, Daphne. My Comet, tell me.”
“I’m yours,” I moan, scratching my nails down the plains of his strong back.
He lifts up and wraps the other hand around my throat. I cough, unable to breathe, but I’m able to feel every inch of him powering inside my channel with my other senses being on alert. “You don’t get it,” he sneers with a hint of disdain. “You can’t get rid of me. If you leave me…”
“I’ll let you kill me,” I tell him, and the statement has him gripping the headboard, using it as leverage to put more force in his thrusts. For a man who has never had sex, he sure knows how to fuck. “And then, I’ll let you cut out my tongue,” I whisper into his ear, sucking the lobe into my mouth.
Our mouths lock again, desperate and needy, failing to try to get closer, but physically we can only do so much. All I taste is blood and the sinful aftertaste he leaves in my mouth.
“Say you’ll marry me.” He flips me over, my knee somehow on the damn elevated pillow to give it cushion, and he bites my ass and sucks the flesh in his mouth. He bites the other side, then plows inside me once more. “Fucking marry me!” He slaps my ass with his palm as a loud, pleasurable cry escapes me.
Saying yes would be crazy.
“I’m going to come,” I warn him.
Not happy with that answer, he pulls me against my chest by gripping my neck, choking me. “I said marry me.”
“Yes!” I scream, clenching on him so tight, he has no choice but to fill me with his seed. “Yes, more. Give me all of it,” I moan, loving the heat filling my pussy.
He bites the meat of my shoulder, thrusting one more time as he fills me to the brink. I wish he could stay locked inside me forever.
“We will get married tomorrow,” he tells me. “You’re mine. Need you to be mine.”
It’s a good thing normal doesn’t belong here.
“Now you can tell that asshole who gave you those flowers to fuck off.” Tongue’s voice turns to nails as he spits hatred toward the roses.
My eyes land on the flowers, Tongue’s cock still flexing inside me when my body goes rigid. “Those aren’t from you?”
“Fuck no, Comet. If I’m going to get you something, it isn’t going to die. Well, at least, no so quick.” He lays a kiss on the side of my neck, chuckling.
“Wayne?” I say his name to let him know the seriousness of the situation. “If they aren’t from you…”
He doesn’t wait another moment. Tongue yanks out of me and stalks over to the vase, grabs them, opens the window, and tosses them outside. He’s fucking furious. He grabs my good ankle, pulls me to the side of the bed, and slams his cock in me again. I’m scared. Tears drip down my cheeks, but I’m not afraid of Tongue.
I’m afraid of what will happen to me if he isn’t around. If this man is always watching me, anything can happen.
Tongue bends down and licks the tears off my face, and I cry more because I want to give him what he wants.
“I’m going to rip the tongue from the depths of his throat,” Wayne whispers the filthy words in my ear, a whole new level of dirty talk.
And he gives me what I want.
“Sarah made it out of surgery. She’s going to be okay. Reaper doesn’t want you back yet. Let things calm down. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.” The read-out-loud option on my phone reads the text from Slingshot.
I’m equally relieved and saddened, but I understand. I’m so glad Sarah is okay. I was scared, and that fear was what led me to see Daphne at three in the morning. I should feel regret, especially after what happened with Sarah. I don’t deserve happiness after what I did to her, but there’s a part of me speaking to me that’s been silent for so long.
I wasn’t in my right mind.
It doesn’t make it okay, but it makes the guilt a little easier to burden.
If Reaper doesn’t want me there, it’s the least I can do. I wish I could grab the books from my room, the journals too. I don’t fucking know if I’m ever going to be able to show my face in that clubhouse again after everything that has happened.
NOLA might be the best place for us right now. We can stay there for a few weeks, and maybe things will fall into place.
After we get married, of course.
I wasn’t kidding when I asked her. I’m a possessive man. I know what I want, I take it, and I want to take her. Forever. I never thought I’d find a woman who wants me for all of me, yet here I am, in bed with one.
I love her intensely, unhealthily, obsessively, dangerously, and to the point where it fucking hurts.
I’ll always be watching her from the shadows, though, because I have an inkling it’s going to be our ‘thing.’
Rolling out of bed, I walk to the bathroom to take a piss and glance at myself in the mirror. Jesus Christ, my hair is fucked up.
And she doesn’t even like it.
I don’
t like it either. Good thing hair grows back.
I turn my hands over next, seeing Sarah’s blood. Some areas are clean; some aren’t. I trace the wounds on my shoulder with my nails, and dried blood is smeared along my chest. I look down. My no-longer-virgin-cock hangs low, plumping when I think about how good last night felt.
My shaft has blood on it too from taking her virginity. Was I too rough? I don’t know how else to be, but maybe she can teach me. I can learn.
A knock at the bedroom door has me tensing.
“Daphne? Are you okay? I’m going to San Diego. I won’t be back until tomorrow night,” her aunt calls through the door.
“Okay,” Daphne answers sleepily. “Sorry, naked!” she warns her aunt, giving her a reason why the door is locked.
Damn right she’s naked.
Mine.
I’ve never felt so primal before.
“No worries. Glad you’re okay. I’ll text. Love you.” Her aunt finally leaves. Damn, that woman is annoying. She’s been around so much. Well, only the last few days, but that’s too much. I don’t want to share Daphne.
I flush the toilet, scrub the blood off my hands, dry them off, and reach my arms up to grip the upper trim of the door.
Daphne is in bed, looking fucking delicious and exhausted. The knife is on the floor, blood still on the silver, but Daphne doesn’t seem to notice it. She stretches, yawning as she tries to shake the morning. When she sees me, she blushes. “Hi,” she says, shy and soft.
“Hi,” I say in return, cocking my head at the interesting creature that’s stolen the man I thought I was, only to give back the man I’m supposed to become.
“Um…” She bites her lip, and my eyes fall to her mouth. Her lips are still red and swollen from how much we kissed and how hard. I want to feel my cock slide down her throat. I want to feel her gag and choke. I’ve seen Bullseye with a few cut-sluts, and he seems to like it when they do it, so why wouldn’t I? “Last night was…”
“Did I hurt you?” I cut her off. My eyes land on the slightly pink bruise around her neck where I choked her. I didn’t know I gripped so hard.
