by Celia Crown
His partner adds, “I’ll call it in.”
These cops aren’t clean. It’s easy to read their guilty minds; they exude corruption. I can use their paranoia and make them step into a trap of their own making.
“It was self-defense,” I declare as I pet my Emmy’s back.
The detective frowns with bewilderment in his eyes. The location and manner of death scream that this was a homicide.
I would’ve taken my time, causing excruciating pain in the father-son duo.
But my Emmy came before my newly discovered need to murder.
“You know we can’t say that,” his partner claims as he narrows his eyes.
He briefly directs the flashlight to my eyes, then aims it at the ground to illuminate the dense area.
“Is that so?” I reckon unsympathetically with a dead gaze at the doubtful man.
The dominant partner thrusts his arm out to disregard the other man’s opinion.
“Yes, of course, of course!” he agrees with a faux grin of confidence.
My gray eyes darken ominously. “I trust you to do your job, detectives.”
In other words, “Don’t make me come after you too.”
A novice discovering a taste for death is bolder than a veteran killer.
Chapter Nine
Emmy
“How did you find me?”
It still plagues me a week later.
I was too disoriented to fight when they first kidnapped me. The man threw me roughly to the ground, and blood poured from my scalp as my body went limp.
They took me to a park I have visited before, but I never went into the trees. I knew I was doomed when they forced me to run into the woods. They had weapons, and I’m not a triathlete.
I was unfamiliar with the forested area and was running on adrenaline. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and my survival instinct just kicked in. The way I handled the situation only made things worse for me.
The older man kept pushing his son to hunt me down, providing tips on where to shoot me so I wouldn’t die too quickly.
The older man said: “Killing easy prey is not the path to manhood.”
I don’t know what he meant, but I didn’t care. I ran until the son caught up to me. He didn’t use his bow; he tackled me and slammed my shoulders to the ground as he shook me.
He spewed delusional garbage at me, and I used that distraction to steal his knife. I stabbed him deep in the thigh without remorse.
I wanted to live, and that man was a threat to me.
I wanted to see Vasari again. He was an answer to my prayers when he came into view with manic glee in his stormy eyes.
It reminded me of just how terrifying he is.
“Emmy,” his voice purrs.
Startled, I tremble violently and instinctively step away. As the haze of paranoia and fear clears, I see Vasari holding his hands up.
I hesitate at his warm gesture, but Vasari has proven that he will go above and beyond to protect me. He killed a young man and then held me in his bloodied hands.
He found me and brought me home.
That should be the only thing that matters, but I can’t stop the alarm in my head.
How did he find me in a dense park that was surrounded by skyscrapers?
I wonder if Vasari planned the whole thing.
Did he want to play my knight in shining armor and arrange for that arrow to shoot at me in the club?
It can’t be. He’s not—
“You took a picture of them,” he says calmly. “They were in the middle of committing a crime.”
“What?” I stammer with fear clenching my heart.
He squeezes my hand reassuringly. But his gray eyes are livid, condemning, and consuming.
“The pictures you showed me, the ones you were so proud of,” he clarifies as he pulls me into his chest.
“The younger one was wearing camo gear in the pictures. He was in the background, but I was able to identify him after enhancing the photos.”
I don’t remember seeing him in my pictures. Even if the man was in them, how did he find me at the club? I didn’t notice anyone stalking me.
On the bright side, the families of all the missing women can find peace and grieve properly.
Those criminals will never hurt another woman again; Vasari made sure of that.
“I was deep in the park, though,” I say skeptically.
“I found the jewelry you left on the ground,” he murmurs as he puts his nose in my hair.
I did leave it there on purpose, hoping that someone would find me.
My will to live stopped me from being hunted like a wild animal. I did everything I could to avoid giving them that satisfaction.
“But,” I mutter daintily, “How did you know they were the ones who took me and where to find me?”
He pauses with a rumble in his chest, his hand stiff on the curve of my waist.
I close my eyes with an anxious sigh as I count the beating of his steady heart.
Maybe I am not making him angry with my questions?
“You think I had something to do with it,” he notes candidly.
I swallow hastily, nearly choking with nervousness.
“No!” I squeak out as tears form at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t think that!”
He remains quiet, but his steely eyes cause panic in my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I say, distraught as he begins to pull away from me.
His hand calmly tugs on my wrist, so I follow him down the hall.
A cold dread hits my veins as my throat closes, hindering my plea for forgiveness.
“I didn’t mean to—” The sound of his bedroom door opening pushes my words to the back of my throat.
His angry twist of the doorknob matches the suppressed fury in his rippling muscles.
“Are you mad?” I ask against my better judgment.
He spins me towards the edge of the bed, gently pushing me to sit.
“I want you to take a nap,” he says. “Maybe that’ll clear your head.”
He’s gentle as he kneels to remove my fuzzy socks. The abnormal tenderness is unexpected and disturbing to my chaotic mind.
“Please,” I whisper as I pull my foot away so he can’t remove the other sock. “Please talk to me?”
His gray eyes are terrifying when he firmly grasps my ankle and plants my foot on his thick thigh. He flings the sock across the room and kneads my ankle. I yield to his strength as the underlying threat climbs up to my rib cage.
Vasari lodges one knee between my thighs as he kneels on the bed to tower over me.
His hand finds its usual place on my neck, massaging the tense muscles with deft fingers. He slowly slides his scorching palm to my back as a shiver runs down my spine.
“Would you believe me if I said it was luck?” he asks with a nudge of his hand.
I fall on my back as he hovers over me. His colossal body traps me under him, blurring the line between fear and simmering desire.
“No,” I admit shamefully.
“Not even a little?” he questions, pulling on the collar of my shirt to roughly toss me onto the pillows.
The air is knocked out of my lungs as I jerk away. Vasari slants his soft lips to mine, suffocating my protest.
His beating heart is soothing as he presses his chest to mine.
“If I did plan it?” he cruelly baits me.
My hands freeze uselessly at my side as he tugs on the hem of my shirt with a commanding gaze. He rips the shirt down the middle as the buttons fly onto the bed.
My fingers twitch, and he glares. I stop moving, unwilling to anger him further. My intact bra gives me a small sense of relief.
I whisper uncertainly, “Did you?”
“Do you think I’m capable of hurting you?” he counters, a daring glint in his eyes.
I do. Every nerve in my body believes that he can hurt me.
He knows it too, and his sharp features don’t change when I tentatively nod.
<
br /> The question remains unanswered, though. I’m not confident that he didn’t plan it. But it’s absurd to think he would go to that much trouble.
He has no incentive for planning my demise.
I already belong to him. It wouldn’t take an outside threat to force me into his arms when I would jump on him if I had the chance.
The need to please him overcomes my self-consciousness as he arches my back to unclasp the bra. He slips the straps off my arms as my perky nipples tighten, and I blush with shame.
His eyes twinkle, approving of my compliance.
My lips tremble as the heat reaches the damp fabric of my panties.
I haven’t been outside this week at all. I’ve been home, wearing his button-down shirts and my lacy white undergarments.
His thick fingers slip into the waistband as the risqué connotation sinks in. As if my subconscious is aware of what’s coming next, my hips lift in an offer to continue.
A strange humming sensation declares war in my drooling pussy. The squishy walls pulse and coil anxiously. Drips of the viscous slick pool around my soft folds, and my body tightens with anticipation.
“Stay still, little girl,” he sneers huskily.
A vile smile breaks across his mouth as he drags my thighs apart. He shifts, arms yanking the tight black shirt over his head.
Salacious hunger laughs mockingly in the back of my mind as intimate throbs of desire pinch my swollen clit.
“I’m scared,” I blurt, quivering.
He raises his eyes, knowingly regarding my shivers. He nonchalantly tilts his head but doesn’t say anything as he takes off his pants.
Whimpering sounds escape my throat at the sight of his massive bulge. His tight boxer-briefs stretch obscenely over his big cock, the dark color is doing nothing to hide the throbbing.
He splays his fingers over my clamped knees, spreading my thighs to keep them down on the bed.
Stringy wetness smears, and I feel the snapping strings when my little folds open. My tiny hole clenches, pushing out a flow of clear juices as my clit aches at his greedy gaze.
He grins sinisterly with sharp teeth.
“Why are you scared?” he asks in a tone of condemnation. “You’re mine, little girl. It’s right for us to be intimate.”
He is provoking me, taunting my naivety with wickedness in his words.
“It’s just—” I protest as he lies between my thighs. “I’m new to this.”
“I know,” he reckons mysteriously. “I’ve known for a long time, Emmy.”
He shouldn’t know. I have never told anyone that I’m a virgin. It’s a closely guarded secret, one I’m almost ashamed to admit as an adult.
Strength leaves my body when his tongue parts my soaked folds and travels up my slit. He growls into my pussy, whispering too quietly for me to understand. One of his hands leaves my trembling thigh with a quick pinch to warn me, and he uses those calloused fingers to lightly rub my wet pussy.
My clit is not spared from the devious touches as my hips buck for more.
He eats my pussy with a tinge of aggression as he nips at my sensitive clit, teething lightly and humming ruthlessly over the tiny bud.
He laps the slit, licking the tight bud while his fingers trace my quivering folds. He finds the leaking hole with a teasing tap to trace the ring of tight muscles, and a flush of déjà vu crashes into my heart.
My pussy tightens a moment before his demanding fingers push through the spongy resistance. They’re big, and they stretch the squishy walls with abandon, carelessly rubbing with shrewd curls of his fingers as they nudge a delicate spot.
“Let me take care of you, little girl,” he murmurs huskily. “Let me have you.”
His teeth clamp down on my throbbing clit with a strong suck while the thick fingers cruelly spread my little hole.
The squirming pressure builds in my belly. Viscous fluid catches his knuckles as he shoves his fingers deeper inside, fucking the rippling walls with squelching juices coating us.
I whisper his name with a heavy tongue. He lifts himself from my thighs, climbing over my weakened body with a sensual prowl. I taste my sweetness on his lips as his tongue glides over mine.
“Do you want me to fuck your little pussy?” he asks, roguishly crude.
“You do, don’t you?” he mocks brashly. “It’s the least you can do for me.”
I blink hazily at the insistent nudge of his bulbous tip, making my drenched pussy slobber stringy cum on his thick cock. He runs the underside over my clit, gently rocking and heightening the aftershock of my release.
“I saved you, little girl,” he says with a deep laugh. “Your life is mine to do with as I please. I owned you then, and I own you now.”
“Okay,” I mutter shyly.
His piercing gray eyes flicker to mine, “Where’s the fight in you?”
I bite my lip, tasting the residual cum on my tongue. “I want to be yours.”
Realization dawns on me, yet the revelation doesn’t stop my arms from wrapping around his massive body and sliding my nails down his back.
“Can I?” I mutter dreamily.
Determination in my voice, I ask, “Can you keep me?”
The rhythm eases the resistance from my virgin cunt as his fat cock is roughly thrusting into my pulsing little hole.
Too big. I can’t breathe. His cock tears me apart, sliding deeper until the leaking tip reaches the forbidden sponginess, and my voice returns with a squealing moan.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page, little girl.”
My pussy is tight around the thickness, but that doesn’t stop his hammering thrusts from fucking the squelching juices onto his Egyptian silk sheets.
The stretch burns so delightfully, so breathtakingly pleasing as my lost virginity aches.
It didn’t hurt too much; that concept was a lie.
He drags a hand over the curve of my hip, pulling my ass further down to him for leverage to slap his cock more roughly into my drooling cunt. He thumbs tight circles on my neglected bud as sharp thrills soak my hole and shivers reach my puffy clit.
“Vasari,” I mewl pleadingly.
When he looks at me, I don’t see the intimidating and unattainable Vasari. He’s the incarnation of menacing evil and calamity.
He grins, and fear returns along with obedience.
His hips pull back ever-so-slightly, just enough to bring out a squeak as he teases me with his sheer power.
A strident thrust fucks me into the bed, pounding the squishy walls as he recklessly uses me. I whine, shifting my hips to roll on his cock as he pounds my tight hole more savagely.
Hot slick floods out of my plugged pussy, slapping filthily on his cock he scrapes my clit.
“I see,” he sneers laughingly. “You want me to fuck you like a filthy little girl.”
I shake my head shamefully as my release fights his rough pounding. Every hammering thrust scrapes the twitching walls, yet they refuse to stop slurping obscenely on his big cock.
“If you wanted to be fucked this badly,” he muses, rolling his muscled hips to drag against my throbbing clit. “I would’ve spread your little pussy in my office, in front of the window, and let them see just how tightly your tiny hole can stretch around my fat cock.”
“You can’t!” I sob shyly with my knuckles rubbing away the beading tears.
“I can,” he insists. “Your greedy cunt agrees, or you wouldn’t be milking me.”
He thumbs my clit harder, grinding his finger and pinching the bud ruthlessly. I sob wantonly into my hands. Humiliation shuts my eyes to escape his sneering grin as I draw into myself, my puffy pussy tight around his sticky cock.
“Look at me, little girl,” he demands hoarsely. “Look at me when I fill your little pussy with my cum. Watch when my cum drips out of your defiled hole.”
I whimper weakly, unable to do as he demands.
“Be good for me.”
So genuinely degrading, yet my heart croons at his
command. I open my eyes, and his strained handsome face blurs from my hot tears.
I watch the swirling gray eyes darken. The torrent of scorching cum spurts into my suckling walls and my lashes flutter gratefully.
A stifled growl rumbles in his chest as he cruelly swipes my aching clit with greedy rolls. My rippling pussy coils and spasms on his thickened cock. Every spurt forces my cunt to accommodate the angry twitch.
Gushing globs of cum seep through my snug hole and trickle in streaks down my ass to pool dirtily on the bed.
“My pretty little girl,” he whispers distantly. “Tainted, and mine.”
I crave more. My heart thumps victoriously. Perhaps I always wanted a force like Vasari to take ownership of me.
It’s his. I’m his.
He’s mine.
My pussy pulses achingly. This exhausting wave of satisfaction is compensation for liberating me from my captors.
Epilogue
Vasari
Ten Years Later
I’ve been good.
It’s been a while since I’ve had the urge to get blood on my hands. I have these crippling thoughts occasionally. But I’ve noticed they only happen when my little Emmy is involved.
When I look at her, I see my most treasured possession. I want to lock her up and then destroy everything around her, including those who look at her provocatively.
I never limit her social interactions with her friend. She can spend time with Diana and have as many play-dates as she wants. Our son loves to play with Diana’s daughter, and he can be persistent.
He inherited that from me.
My little wife jokes that our son is the spitting image of me. All of my questionable character traits have already shown up in him.
She wonders if our son inherited anything from her. He did, but she doesn’t see it. He has her kindness, but he keeps it hidden because he’s stubborn.
Everyone got a happy ending. I have mine with our family, and Emmy received an additional gift.
Her mother came out of the coma after receiving medication from a clinical trial. She still has mobility issues, but she’s getting better every day.
She didn’t like me when we first met. I expected that; I usually come off as standoffish and angry. But it’s nothing that a humble smile and extravagant kindness can’t fix.
