by Sadie Grubor
"Oh God," I cry out. The relief is exquisite.
Tossing my head back, I fuck the fingers of his right hand.
His mouth latches to my throat, sucking, licking, biting, adding to the sensations sizzling across my skin.
"You're so wet," he rasps against my skin. "My hand is soaked."
The words inch me closer to bliss.
I just need…I need…
His left hand tightens on my ass, spreading me open. Then he slips a third finger through my wetness and into my ass. At the invasion, I tense.
"Take it, Mei," he orders, pumping his fingers into my pussy and ass in a delicious and dirty rhythm. "That's it," he praises when I start meeting each thrust of his hand. "You belong to me, dead girl," he states. "They can't have you."
The gravity of this moment is lost in my overwhelming need to come.
"Say it," he demands, squeezing my ass cheek enough for the pain to ebb my pleasure.
"Fuck," I cry, dropping my head to his shoulder. I was so close, and the ache just grows stronger.
Saint's hand begins a painfully slow assault on both holes, and the moment he knows I'm close, I get a painful squeeze on the ass.
"You belong to me," he repeats, increasing the thrusts.
Opening my mouth, I bite down on his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt dry on my tongue.
"Say it," he demands, slowing once more.
I nod against him, trying to fuck his hand faster.
"That won't do," he reprimands, removing his fingers.
My guttural cry is the only way I can express the pain. Two wet fingers enter my ass, and I gasp. My pussy clenches in anticipation, but it doesn't come. Each contraction seeking fulfillment, relief, sets my clit pulsing like a ticking time bomb.
Crying out in frustration, I press my body against his stomach seeking any type of friction I can get—anything to set off the orgasm lingering and burning me from the inside out.
A third wet finger joins in the probing of my ass, stretching and filling. It's not enough to set off my release, but it's enough to torture me.
Releasing his shirt from my mouth, I turn my head, and beg, "Please."
"Say the words, dead girl," he coaxes, "Tell me who you belong to."
"Okay," I gasp against his neck, sliding my body against his like a cat in heat.
"That won't do, my dirty little girl," he admonishes, using another finger to tease my soaked slit before taking it away.
"Please," I beg on a strangled cry.
My hands find their way over his stomach. Just one touch of my finger and my body will have what it seeks, but he figures me out too soon.
One moment, I'm straddling my captor, begging for him to fill me in every way. The next, I'm on my back, hands pinned above my head, empty without his fingers. His body looms above me as I wiggle my ass like a mindless, sex-starved whore.
His free hand moves between my thighs, but no matter how I squirm or thrust, I cannot reach him.
When his hand comes to my throat, a thumb presses my chin up.
"Who do you belong to?" The edge to his voice gives away how close he is to losing control.
"Fuck me," I demand, hoping the dirty words will push him over the edge. His hands flex, but he doesn't concede.
"Those aren't the words I want to hear and you know it," he growls, and I bite my lip, keeping myself from making the declaration that will seal my fate. But my lips part on a gasp the moment his dick slides inside me.
"Yes," I exclaim, trying to move against him.
Using his lower body to hold me still, I'm only allowed to feel the fullness of him filling me.
"Goddamn it," I cry in frustration, struggling against his hold.
"Tell me what you already know is true." The hot words fan over my nipple, then he licks the hard tip. I feel it all the way to my clit and the walls of my sex tighten.
"Fuck, Mei, say it."
I clench around him again, earning a groan. Pulling back, he gives a demanding thrust, and every part of me immediately focuses on only one thing: the need for him to fuck me, hard, rough, and punishing.
I can feel every inch of him, smell the mixture of lust, need, and sex. The sound of my blood rushing through my body is all I can hear. This man is the key to my demise, and I've never wanted anyone to possess me more than I want him.
"Christ, you're dangerous," he growls, giving one more punishing thrust before withdrawing.
Closing my eyes, I drop my head back to the mattress and fight a sob. The loss of him is the last thing my body can take, and it overrides all rational thoughts or concerns.
"I'm yours," I cry out, raising my hips to him. "I belong to you."
Thinking my admission, my oath, would earn me immediate satisfaction and release, I'm surprised when my wrists are freed and the heat of his body disappears.
Opening my eyes, I look up and find Saint staring down. His shirt hangs open, allowing me to see the dark ink on his defined chest. Moving my eyes lower, I find his pants barely clinging to his hips and the tip of his hard cock exposed. I can't tear my eyes away from the glistening tip, knowing it's my wetness.
Then, the feeling in the room changes. The dark gleam I saw in his eyes the night of Vicky's death was nothing compared to what's blazing in them now. The air around us grows thick, and I can't catch my breath. His lips curl at the edges in a sinister smile, the intensity sending a chill along my spine. Instinctively, I crawl backward to get away from the creature standing over me.
Before I get too far, his hand clamps around my ankle. I try to use my other foot to free myself from his hold, but he grabs that one too. With a hard tug, I'm yanked across the bed. He releases my ankles and grips my thighs. Shoving them open, he moves between them.
"You belong to me." His words are raw, and not to be argued.
He presses my legs as far as they will go.
"Your body only receives mine."
His cock slides inside me.
"Yes," I agree on a heavy sigh.
"I'm yours," he says, but there's an unexpected question in his words, and I don't know how to respond.
This isn't some romance, of that I'm sure. The only feelings involved here are fear, lust, and something like Stockholm. I've chosen the gilded cage and become his possession, until he tires of his new toy.
In a Saint move, my jaw is seized in his large hand, and he squeezes until my eyes meet his.
"I'm yours," he presses.
"Yes," I whisper, giving him the answer he desires.
Surprising me, it sends a wave of satisfaction through me.
Releasing my chin, he trails his hand down my neck, over my collarbone, between my breasts, and over my stomach. When he reaches the cleft between my legs, he pulls out, dips his fingers inside, and collects my wetness before rubbing them against the entrance of my ass. Swirling, coating, entering, he prepares me.
Now prepped and ready, he enters in a slow, deliberate act of ownership.
Once fully seated inside, his large hands grip the back of my thighs and he rocks in and out. My inner thighs tense and my pussy clenches, seeking anything to fill it.
Finally, two fingers slip deep inside, providing the sought after relief. He finger-fucks me to the point I'm so wet, it drips down to coat his cock between each thrust. The double assault sends my already sensitive body into a frenzy, feeding my need to come.
Unable to take any more of the teasing, I reach down between our legs. His fingers entwine with mine and use both our hands to bring my orgasm crashing over me, consuming me like a hurricane.
"Feel how you come for me," he boasts, thrusting harder into my ass.
My body jerks and spasms in the most delightful way until I melt into the mattress.
Not finished with me, he grunts with force he fucks me. His fingers, covered in my orgasm, slip against my skin, but he doesn't relent. Not until his back stiffens on an animalistic groan.
He collapses over me, catching his weight on his forearms in
the bed. His damp forehead presses between my breasts, each pant of his breath warming my skin.
"You're mine," he reminds, nipping the side of my breast.
Too exhausted to argue or even comply, I say nothing. Instead, I close my eyes and try to catch my breath.
Saint slips free of my body, taking the weight of his body with him. I gasp from the sudden loss and the ache, my muscles contracting at the emptiness. I don't have to open my eyes to feel his body cage me in. His knees pressed into the mattress next to my thighs. His fists planted on each side of my head. The warmth of his body reaches my skin before his tongue presses to my breastbone. Sliding up my body, he leaves a wet trail to my ear.
"Tell me who torments you," he whispers.
I snap my eyes open and stare over his shoulder. Shadows darken the ceiling, and the longer I focus on them, the more they grow and close in around me. Just like my past and present, everything swallows me. Exhaustion and anger swirl up from deep inside.
Tired of being out of control, pissed off at his relentless questions, and hating myself for wanting to hand everything over on a blood-covered silver tray, my emotions bubble over.
"Who torments me?" I retort on a laugh, and he lifts his head and grips my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"The person who looks back at me in the mirror," I admit through clenched teeth.
Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I try to remove his hold on me, and just like all the times before, he doesn't release me. Instead, he brings his face an inch from mine.
"I'm growing tired of this game," he growls. "I've killed men for less." His fingers tighten, and the bite of pain brings my other hand into the effort to remove his grip.
Ignoring my attempts, Saint continues. "And they didn't belong to me, Mei."
With a flick of his wrist, he releases my face, causing my head to jerk to the left. It's not enough to hurt, but enough to make his irritation clear.
I close my eyes, fighting back the urge to tell him everything. I want to throw every dirty detail of my deranged and dangerously insane past in his lap just to watch him recoil.
Saint may be a dark, bloodthirsty killer, but not even The Saint could shrug off the damaged goods spread out beneath him. Killing Winter was one of my greatest sins, but it's not what stained my soul. No, the blackness was born unto me, nurtured and praised by the sickest kind of evil.
I clench my eyes shut tight, trying to fight the memories from emerging and fail.
"Isn't she lovely?" he coos, running a hand over the glass.
Instead of responding, I approach the large water-filled case. Reaching out, I run my finger over the condensation.
"It's cold," I state, a question in my young voice.
Running his hand over my dark curls, he says, "Mermaids can only survive in colder water, doll."
She looks so much like the mermaid toy I have for the bath. The white shells of her top sparkle and her tail is almost the same shimmering green. Her blue hair flows through the water as she swims, but the movements aren't smooth and graceful like the stories Daddy reads. No, she jerks, shoves at the glass, and pulls at the shell on her face.
"She doesn't swim very well," I note, looking up to him.
"Mermaids are used to the open ocean, my doll." His hand runs over my head. "She just needs to get used to her new home."
Focusing back on the mermaid, I grow curious. "Why does she have a shell in her mouth?"
"We don't have ocean water. The shell is magic, helping her with our water."
"Can she go in the bathtub with me?" I ask excitedly.
"I'm afraid she's much too large to fit in your tub with you," he explains. "But perhaps you can swim together one day."
For days, I spent as much time as possible watching the mystically beautiful creature. She would often press her hands on the glass, and I would place mine in the same spot.
Her movements were often jerky and erratic. Adjusting to her new surroundings, Daddy said. Until one afternoon, she didn't place her hands on the glass, didn't swim, and didn't open her eyes. Bored, I left her to sleep.
The next day, the tank was empty, and I cried. Like a spoiled child having its toy taken away, I cried.
Until Daddy brought me the marionette.
Yes, the urge to offer it all up to him is tempting. It would ensure my freedom. The moment he learns exactly who and what I am, I will be released from his penthouse prison and back to the streets or freed from my life altogether. But now there are two dolls. One where I lived, and the other where I worked, meaning he's found me. And that right there keeps my lips from parting with my confession. I'd rather die than fall back into the nightmare of my past.
So many doctors, so much therapy, and still, the peace I find in those terrors is what feels like home.
Saint pushes away from me and off the bed, instantly chilling my body. Fighting against the threatening shiver, I prop up on my forearms and meet his hard gaze.
"With or without you, I'll find them. And when I do, I will have all your secrets."
Grabbing the blanket beneath me, I wrap it around my body and move to kneel on the bed before him.
"I look forward to the day you have them all," I hiss. "Just so I can watch each one of them unravel everything you think you own."
In a flash of movement, he grips the back of my neck, pulling me to him. His right hand comes up, splaying against the side of my face.
"Make no mistake, doll, you belong to me."
Raising my chin, I glare into his eyes.
His thumb rubs over my tightened lips as he whispers, "You should know by now, I enjoy your resistance, the fight. It makes taking you so much more gratifying."
"Let go of me," I growl, hating the way his words relight my lust.
Smirking, he flexes his hands, letting me feel the possessive hold he has on me before releasing me and wrapping his arms around my waist. Hoisting me up his body, he brings my face so close, our noses touch.
"You should be thankful for my interest," he grounds out. "It's the only reason you get to keep breathing."
"And when you lose interest?" I ask, not liking the way my stomach knots in worry. I can't be sure whether the anxiety is from the thought of losing my life or losing Saint.
"Tell me what I want to know and we'll find out," he responds, dropping me on the bed.
His hands make quick work of divesting his clothes. Knees in the bed, he plants his fists in the mattress, the weight of his cock hanging between his thighs.
"Why make it so easy for you?" I ask, scooting up the bed until my back presses against the headboard.
Tilting his head, he scans my body before crawling on hands and knees toward me.
Drawing my legs to my chest, I wrap my arms around my knees, close my eyes, and wait for his touch.
I can feel him close, within reaching distance, but instead of grabbing me like I thought, the bed dips next to me.
Peeking out of one eye, I find him stretched out, one muscular arm bent over his face.
Uncoiling, I slide to the edge of the bed and scream when my wrist is caught.
"Don't do anything stupid," he warns.
Pulling at my arm, I snap, "I'm going to the bathroom to clean up your mess."
Lifting his arm from his face, he turns his head.
"My mess?" he asks, the twitch of his lip giving a hint to amusement.
Ignoring the question, I yank at his hold and he jerks me to the side, then pulls me on top of him, running his hands down my back and over my ass until his fingers curl into the flesh at the back of my thighs. Pulling my legs apart, he positions one at each of his hips so I straddle his waist.
I push against his chest to sit up, but a hand between my shoulder blades stops me, holding me in place. When he's sure I won't move, the hand moves into the back of my hair and fists, bringing my face closer to his.
"I like my mess on you," he admits, his hands moving up to my ass and caressing one globe before dipping a finger be
tween my spread cheeks and slipping around the sore hole.
My mind attempts to dredge up the memory of the first man to take me there, but his rough admission pulls me from the dark thoughts.
"I like my mess in you."
Saint presses his hips up from the bed, teasing the sensitive skin between my ass and pussy with the tip of his cock.
"The way your body opens to me." He rolls his hips, and I can't stop my own from seeking out the friction he promises.
"Even now, tired, angry, and afraid, you want me."
The more he speaks, the more strain I hear in his words.
"I'm not afraid of you," I lie.
Twisting my head by my hair, he places his lips close to my ear.
"Good, because remember, doll, I'm yours." The warmth of his breath against my skin causes my nipples to tighten and my clit to throb.
Keeping us chest to chest, he maneuvers us so his back is against the headboard. My pussy slips over his hard length, the tip pressing to my clit.
One hand on my hip and the other back in my hair, he commands, "Take what you want, doll.”
"What are you?" I whisper.
It makes no sense the way the fight leaves me and I surrender to his demands.
Lifting his hips, he slips between my wet lips, and I gasp, but don't move, fighting the desire to let him climb inside and own me, though I know it's a losing battle. The heat of his body, smell of his skin, the feel of him beneath mine, and the surrender he's laying out before me…it's all too tempting. It's something I want to possess.
The Saint, the dark killer, is submitting to me.
Nostrils flaring, eyes wild with frustration, he jerks against me.
"Fuck, Mei, take it!” he demands, accentuated by the collaring my throat and putting a foot of space between our chests.
The act should frighten me, but, like all the times before, it sends my libido into overdrive. With one hand, I grip the thick arm holding me and jerk my hips against him.
"That's it," he growls in approval.
It's a praise I never would've thought I wanted, but I do. Oh, I want it so much, my body burns, leaving the wet evidence between my legs and along the ridge of his hard cock.
Using my other hand to position him against my entrance, I drop down, taking him inside me. Every nerve ending explodes and my dark desires blossom into a craving, a need only he can appease. I'm unraveling with no chance of holding it together any longer.
