A Cruel Love: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Soto, S. M.

  “Perc—”

  “Shhh.” I cut her off by spreading her pussy lips with my hands and swipe her right down the middle with my tongue. She yelps. Tossing her head back, she arches into me, and I grin against her folds. Her hands slide through my hair, tugging me closer.

  I devour her pretty pink little cunt like it’s my last supper. She’s fucking magnificent. Her folds are soft and pink, just like a perfect little rose, and she tastes like the sweetest nectar. I can’t get enough of her.

  I flutter my tongue over her clit and slide my fingers back inside at a much faster tempo now. Her chest rises and falls violently, and she’s trembling, like her body doesn’t know how to handle all the sensations flowing through her at once. When I add a third finger, she cums with my name on her lips. It’s the sweetest fucking sound.

  I steady her legs that are trembling with my hands, and when she least expects it, I wrap the leather cuff around her leg and click the lock mechanism in place. Her body stiffens almost immediately, and her eyes fly open, still filled with lust. It takes her a few seconds to realize what I’ve done, and when she does, her face turns the exact shade of a tomato.

  “You…h-how…son of a—” She trips over her words, trying to string together a sentence in her state of anger.

  “Shhh,” I coo at her and place a gentle kiss on her leg, right above the cuff.

  She’s fucking fuming. Her nostrils are flaring, and I can practically see the steam billowing from her ears. Even though my cock is straining painfully against the zipper of my jeans, I push off the bed and walk backward with a smirk on my face.

  “I hate you,” she grinds out, and this time when she says it, my smile widens because I actually believe her.

  “Do you now?” I taunt, and just to really fuck with her, I make a show of sucking my fingers that she just fucked herself on into my mouth. Her lips part and her eyes widen with disbelief.

  “I’ve gotta say, Blossom. Your treats really are fucking delicious.”

  I turn my back on her when she blushes and head into the bathroom to shower. I close the door behind me, without worry about her escaping. Poor little Blossom isn’t going anywhere, at least not anytime soon, not while I have a say in things.

  Twisting the dial to scalding hot, I step under the spray and let the scorching water rain down my body. It burns, like fuck it does, but it helps me remember why I’m here and why I’m doing this. I grasp my dick that’s still hard as a fucking rock and squeeze my shaft, stroking from root to tip. I imagine Blossom’s tight, wet pussy riding up and down my cock, squeezing the fucking life out of me. I tighten my grip and pump faster and harder. I tip my head back and replay the soft mewls she made while I ate her pussy. The way she whispered my name when she came. I picture all of it and in no time, hot sprays of my cum shoot all over the tiles and swirl down the drain.

  With a clear head, I wash away thoughts of Blossom and get cleaned up before I have to make the two-hour drive up to Baywood. There’s someone’s routine I need to learn before I can deal with the woman on the other side of that door.

  Once out of the shower and dressed, I’m not surprised when I open the door and find Blossom glaring daggers through me. While I was in there, she got up and turned on the TV, which means she probably tried the door first. For some odd reason, her anger satisfies me, and I can’t tell how much of a monster that makes me.

  Fuck if I care.

  I watch as Blossom takes in my fully dressed form, her eyes narrowing even further. I pluck a cigarette from my pack and light the end, sucking on it simultaneously.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out,” I clip.

  “Get this thing off me, Percivale, or so help me, I will scream.”

  I chuckle between puffs from my cigarette. “Is that a promise? I can make you cum with my mouth again if—”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near me again unless it’s to take this damn thing off! Understand me?”

  I raise my brows, a cruel smirk twisting my lips. “Yeah? I think your cunt says otherwise, Blossom.”

  She flinches at my use of the word cunt, and something sparks behind those intricate eyes. “It’s easy to trick your body into thinking it wants something in order to get your way, Percivale. If I wasn’t held here at your will, I’d never let something like that happen, especially not with a man like you.”

  And there it is.

  My shoulders tense and my jaw clenches with anger. I shouldn’t care, because hell, I know it’s true, but that doesn’t stop the sudden bout of anger from soaring through my veins. Inhaling the nicotine, I watch her for a beat and nod mostly to myself.

  Grabbing the black duffel off the table, I sling it over my shoulder and head toward the door. I pause over the threshold and toss over my shoulder in a cold tone, “No worries, Blossom. I have no inclination to touch you again.”

  And with that, I slam the door shut behind me and leave.

  * * *

  *BLOSSOM

  I flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut. Blowing out a gruff breath of air, I deflate against the headboard, and for reasons I can’t explain, I stare at the door longingly with a strange aching sensation in my chest. It hurts every time I breathe, like little knives are slicing into my lungs and heart repeatedly.

  I may have taken things too far just now with what I said. We both know it was all a lie, but that didn’t seem to stop the clench of his jaw and the stiffening of his shoulders. I know my words got to him, and now that they’re out and he’s gone, with no way to take them back, I feel bad. I was just so angry with him for strapping me to this bed like I’m an animal. I know I haven’t given him much reason to trust me, but I haven’t so much as tried to leave, not since that last time.

  That should at least count for something, shouldn’t it?

  I don’t even know what came over me. It was like his touch flipped a switch inside of me. He tapped into a live wire, and now that I know it’s there, it’s scaring the shit out of me.

  I close my eyes and think about the way I sank my nails into his back, and the way he responded by wrapping a hand around my throat in warning. God, my core clenches just thinking about it. For some reason, it didn’t scare me; his hand wrapped around my throat only made me wetter. The savagery of our connection. The viciousness with which he handled my body. Percivale broke through a part of my psyche that I didn’t know was there. Hell, after everything I’ve been through in my life, it shouldn’t be there. As much as I hate to admit it, there was a part of me that liked the fucked-up things he was doing to me. I’m so angry with myself. Angry with my body, for betraying me and lashing out at him.

  I have to force my gaze away from the door and try to focus on the mindless noise of the TV. It’s just the anchor with the nightly news, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of my interest. Nothing works. Instead, all I can seem to focus on is the heavy weight of guilt crushing my chest because everything I said was a complete and total lie. From the very second I laid eyes on Percivale, back in my bakery what feels like a lifetime ago, I wanted his hands on my body. I wanted him fiercely. And even though that should’ve been wiped away after everything that has happened, it hasn’t. That is the problem. It isn’t him or what he did to my body. It’s me. All me.

  If anything, I want Percivale more now than I did when I first saw him, and that’s what really scares me.

  * * *

  After about five hours of watching basic cable and infomercials, Percivale still isn’t here. I finally click off the TV and roll onto my side. Sleep pulls me under almost instantly. The next time I wake up, it’s from the sound of the front door clicking shut. I shift on the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and glance at the crappy, old-fashioned digital clock on the desk that reads 3:50 a.m. My eyes widen as I glance at Percivale, who is discarding his duffel bag quietly on the table and toeing off his boots. My brows furrow, and I push myself onto my elbows.

  “Percivale?” My voice is thick with sleep, but I k
now he had to have heard me. Is he just now getting in? Where the hell has he been all night? He strips off his leather jacket, still not acknowledging me. “Perc?” I try again.

  All I get is the cold shoulder.

  Percivale slips into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. I don’t know what bothers me more, the fact that he didn’t speak to me or the fact that he couldn’t even find it in himself to look at me. I collapse back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. It’s dark in here. I can’t see much, but the light that’s shining from under the bathroom door gives off just enough light that I can make out all the shadows in the room.

  I wait up for him to finish his shower just like a wife would for her husband who slips back into their bed at the crack of dawn. I tell myself not to go there—it’s not like I have any right to—but I can’t seem to help myself. All I can think about is the chance that he went out and had sex with some random woman. He was hard as a rock earlier, while we were…while he was… I squirm just thinking about it.

  He’s a man—of course he’d go out and get his fix if he wasn’t going to get it from me. Especially when I told him in no uncertain terms I didn’t want him to touch me again. I hate myself for thinking about all the ways he probably pleasured that other woman. The ways he could’ve trailed his mouth along her skin and made her orgasm with his fingers. Though, she probably got a lot more than what I did. There’s no doubt.

  A sudden thought strikes me. It has my heart pounding violently and adrenaline soaring through my veins. I glance toward the closed bathroom door and swallow thickly. I know I shouldn’t do it. Hell, if he catches me, chances are I’ll be dead. But none of that stops me.

  I toss off the itchy comforter and grasp onto the chain as I climb off the bed so it doesn’t make too much noise. Tiptoeing toward the table, I risk another glance over my shoulder before I pry the zipper open on his black duffel. The sound is loud, and I wince as I tug it all the way down, figuring it’s like a Band-Aid—the quicker I rip it off, the faster it’s over with.

  My mouth is painfully dry as the duffel gapes open. I dig my hand in, trying to peer inside at the same time. My hand glides along a smooth, flat surface. My brows crease as I try to figure out what it is.

  Is that a laptop?

  I move elsewhere, my fingers skimming something cold and hard. It feels like metal. Swallowing thickly, I wrap my fingers around the item and lift. My heart freezes when I realize what it is. A gun.

  Is it loaded?

  Do I want it to be?

  Would I even be able to use it?

  At the sound of the water being turned off, I drop the weapon back into the duffel and hurriedly zip it back up. My stomach is swirling with nausea, and my heart is banging so hard within the confines of my chest, I’m surprised it hasn’t burst through the cavity. I dart back into bed with a heaving chest and fear swirling in my gut. I yank the covers back on, and I try to control my breathing before he gets back to bed and realizes what I did.

  By the time Percivale is out of the shower, I’m relatively calm, only now I’m angry with him and myself. Why didn’t I keep searching in the duffel?

  Why didn’t I take the gun? I could’ve used it against him to get out of here. I mean, maybe I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, but he doesn’t know that. It would’ve been just enough to scare him off.

  The bathroom door opens, releasing a billow of steam that clouds around Percivale. My eyes widen, and my mouth goes completely dry as I take him in. With one of the cheap motel towels wrapped around his hips and another he’s using to dry his hair, his full body is on display. Every firm slab of corded muscle, the deep vee that drops beneath the towel. He looks dark and rugged, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him insanely attractive. There’s just something about him that is so…aesthetically pleasing to look at.

  With my mind made up, I lick my lips and push myself upright, resting my back against the headboard.

  “Look, Percivale. I was angry earlier, and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.”

  He turns his back to me and drops his towel, and I can’t help but admire the muscular globes of his backside and the two dimples along his lower back. I can see shadows along his upper back, probably intricate tattoos that I haven’t noticed before. He slips on his briefs, still silent, and it bothers me more than I’d like to admit.

  “Please say something.”

  My heart squeezes when he says, “Go to sleep.”

  My bottom lip quivers the more I think about my situation, so I try a different tactic. “You know I’d never say anything, right?”

  He still doesn’t answer. Even when he slips into bed next to me and lies on his back staring at the ceiling. He slides his arms under his pillow, behind his head.

  After what feels like forever, he says, “I know.”

  “Then why haven’t you let me go? It’s obvious you don’t want me here. You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me.”

  Finally he turns to look at me, and ice grips my lungs as warmth fills my chest when our gazes collide. The sensations are at such odds with each other. “Maybe I don’t want to let you go,” he says quietly, and my eyes widen, but not for the reasons they should. “Maybe I plan on keeping you,” he says as more of an afterthought.

  Heat rushes up my neck to my cheeks, and I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I search his eyes. There’s no ignoring the way my stomach is fluttering, and honestly, I don’t even waste any time berating myself for it anymore. There’s no point.

  “So you do want to keep me around?”

  He turns his gaze back toward the ceiling, the softness in his tone now gone. “Don’t twist my words, Blossom. It won’t do either of us any good.”

  My face crumples. “What is that supposed to mean? Don’t you think it’s cruel to keep me here for your own selfish reasons?”

  He scoffs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” I ask, tone affronted. “How would you even know how I’m looking at you—your eyes are glued to the ceiling.”

  He grunts, still refusing to look at me. “Don’t look at me like I’m a person who is capable of being good and doing good things. I’m not—I think we both know that. Cruelness is all I can give you, Blossom.”

  With those harsh words, he shifts onto his side, and I take that as a clue that the conversation is over.

  Murder in Room A2

  Blossom

  The next morning is awkward, to say the least. Thankfully, Percivale slipped out early this morning without so much as one word. At least I didn’t have to try to come up with anything to say. I didn’t have to dwell on the riot brewing inside me where he was concerned. A look out of the blinds told me he was gone, the car missing from the parking lot.

  For a while I sat mindlessly watching TV, until I heard the sound of movement in the room next door. I don’t remember the old man saying there was anyone staying in the room next to us, but apparently, we have company. My stomach churns, and I nibble on my nails, until finally, I summon the courage to push off the bed and walk toward the wall that separates the room next door. I press my ear against the retro wallpaper, straining to listen for any noise on the other side. When I don’t hear anything, I curl my hand into a fist and raise it, preparing to knock, but I pause.

  Do I really want to do this? This could be an innocent person, an innocent family that I’m dragging into my problems.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, blow out a deep breath, and rap my knuckles against the wall. The seconds of silence that follow the knock feel like hours. My heart climbs into my throat when a heavy knock vibrates just above my head. I jerk away from the wall with a pounding heart, my eyes wide with disbelief.

  For a second, I think I imagined it, so I lean back into the wall and do it again. The heavy knock sounds again, and I choke back my gasp.

  This is it. This is my way out.

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I knock more urgently this time. “E
xcuse me! Can someone help me, please?”

  I press my ear against the wall, straining to hear again, but this time, there’s no movement, no knock back. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn.

  “Please! I’m stuck here. You have to help me!”

  Dead silence.

  Urgency fills my veins. I pound my fists against the walls, trying to get the person on the other side to come back. They have to help me before Percivale comes back.

  I bang my head against the wall in defeat, letting it rest there as I try to come up with another way out of here. The sound of gravel outside has me jerking away from the wall toward the window. Sure enough, Percivale’s car is there, and there he is, getting out of the car, not privy to what I’ve been doing. I run back to the bed and stare at the TV, hoping the person next door won’t suddenly try to come to my aid.

  I watch him push through the door with a scowl on his face and a bag of food gripped in his fist. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, trying to act normal. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to strike up a conversation; I don’t know if I’d be able to keep the tremor out of my tone. Percivale tosses a breakfast platter at me, the McDonald’s logo unmistakable.

  I don’t waste time before digging in. I stuff my mouth with food and chew nervously, my eyes constantly darting to the wall I was just knocking on.

  Why did they stop?

  Are they getting help?

  I watch Percivale covertly. He’s not eating. Instead, he’s sipping from a takeaway coffee cup. Either he’s already eaten or he’s not hungry. His leather jacket is slung haphazardly on the table, and his white T-shirt hugs the planes of his body and his muscles perfectly. I’m just about to open my mouth and say something when there’s a loud, deafening bang and a huge hole is blown through the door. A scream tears from my lips, and I fall from the bed as wood chips and pieces of the door fly everywhere. I realize much too late what’s happening when I spot Percivale pull a gun seemingly from thin air, and then he’s shooting. Deafening pops ring in my ears, and I scream louder. From my position on the floor, hidden by the bed, I can see multiple pairs of legs storm into the motel room. I try to roll under the disgusting excuse for a bed, but it’s too low; I won’t fit.