by Soto, S. M.
Blossom climbs my body, wrapping those toned legs around my waist, and I walk us into the closest room. I toss my cigarette into the sink, gripping the globes of her ass and grinding my cock against her hot, wet center that’s pressed against me.
The kiss is hot and messy, just a clash of tongues and teeth. She nips my bottom lip, I bite hers. She digs her nails into my skin, and I tug my fist in her hair. She pushes, and I pull. I drop her down onto the marble counter, tugging her dress up and yanking on the scrap of material she considers panties. Blossom yelps when the globes of her ass make contact with the cool marble counter. I spread her legs, stepping between them, and force her mouth back to mine, my hand tangling in her hair. She moans into my mouth, her hands clawing at my shirt and pants, trying to get them off.
We’re violent as we rip at each other, which is fitting, considering we’re standing in the same place she once tried to end my life. I drive my cock inside of her, smiling at the pleasured scream that rips from her throat. I tug the straps of her dress down, freeing her breasts, taking the delicate pink nipples into my mouth while I fuck her. We make no attempt to move this to the bedroom; I take her right here in the kitchen, feeling her body spasm around mine. Her moans echo off the walls.
“Fuck,” she breathes out on a moan. “I’ve missed you so much.”
It’s fucking sick and twisted that I’m fucking her in here, a place she stabbed me and watched me bleed out. A place that was coated in my blood and deception. But this is us. And I wouldn’t fucking change a thing.
* * *
I run my fingers through her soft hair, still trying to get used to the length, but loving it no less. Blossom’s hands trace circles on my skin, her head resting on my chest as we lie tangled in the sheets, her leg tossed over mine. Her skin is damp and sticky from hours and hours of fucking.
“How long are you staying?”
She blows out a sigh. “However long it takes.” I chuckle at her short evasive answer. It sounds like something that would come from me. “I only booked a flight here. Haven’t booked one back yet,” she eventually says. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking, especially when I can’t see her face.
“The bakery?” I ask.
She presses her lips to my chest before propping herself up to look at me. “I have people holding down the fort for me. Once I was able to build back up my clientele, demand got a little out of control, so I hired more people.” She shrugs. “Now, I don’t have to worry about doing everything myself.”
I nod, staring down at her. Her chin rests on her hands as she watches me. Unable to help myself, I stroke my thumb across her cheek, loving the way her eyes flutter closed.
“I want to make this work, Percivale,” she whispers.
That heaviness settling in my chest is back. I don’t say anything, I just keep stroking her skin. It’s all I can do. I can’t give her what she really wants.
“We don’t work together, Blossom,” I finally say, trying to lessen the blow by pressing a kiss to her lips. She frowns at me as I pull away.
“I think my vagina begs to differ. She took multiple beatings today.” That makes me laugh. My chest vibrates with my laughter. A rueful smile twists her lips. “See. I told you. We work, Perc.”
My laughter tapers off, and I stare up at her and shake my head. I’m about to list all the reasons we don’t work, but she beats me to it.
“Just listen for a second, okay?” She pushes off my chest and sits up. The sheet falls away from her body, exposing her breasts, and of course, I look. “Jesus, Percivale, focus please. I’m being serious.”
I drag my eyes away from her perfect tits and raise my brows. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve been thinking about expanding Blossom’s, possibly making it into a chain. Business has been booming. Hell, maybe I can even open up one here.”
“Here?” I ask dryly, not buying it.
“This is the perfect place, is it not? Tons of tourists. I’d probably make more here than I do in Jericho anyway.”
I hate to admit it, but she does have a point. There are enough tourists here to keep her business afloat. It won’t be easy, but it is possible. And she’s right—Blossom’s will likely see more traffic here than in the shop in Jericho.
“I travel a lot.”
“I can travel with you,” she counters.
I scoff. “Not to kill people you won’t.”
She sighs, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Okay, fine. So, what. You’re going to be gone a lot because you have to kill people. I can be here, focusing on the shop. Building a customer base. And when you’re home, you’re home.”
My lips twist and a crooked smile spreads across my face. It must be infectious because a smile breaks out across her face while she looks at me.
“Are you in or are you in?” she asks. “Because no matter what you say, I’m not going anywhere.”
I rub my calloused palms up and down her thighs, regarding her intently. “I don’t want to ruin your life anymore. You mean more to me than anything; it’s enough that I’m willing to give you the life you deserve, even if it doesn’t fucking include me.”
Blossom pauses, a softness taking over her features. “Don’t you get it, Percivale? You are exactly what I want. Exactly what I need. You push me to dig deeper, to be the person I’ve always been too scared to be. I speak my mind now because of you. I can blindly trust because of you. I can do this—” She rolls her hips over my erection seductively. “—because of you. You’ve helped me become the person I was always meant to be.”
My chest fills with something unfamiliar. Something Blossom is only capable of eliciting. Gripping my fist in her hair, I yank her mouth to mine and give her my answer. She moans, crawling over my body, gliding her hands across my skin.
“I love you,” she pants into my mouth, and my fingers dig into her hips, grinding my cock into her center.
“Sit that pretty cunt on my face and ride me.” I swat her ass, soothing away the sting with my palm. She doesn’t hesitate. Blossom climbs up my body, rests her hands on the headboard, and lowers her swollen pussy over my face. And then I get to fucking work.
Epilogue
Blossom
A Fairytale Written in Blood
Percivale grips onto the armrest so tightly that I’m afraid the damn thing is going to crumble at his fingertips. His knuckles are white, and the veins protruding against his skin are straining as he tries to compose himself.
And he’s failing. Miserably.
“Perc—”
I’m cut off by the aircraft jolting as we dip through turbulence. Damn, even that one made my stomach dip a little bit. I turn to Percivale and take note of the angry scowl stretched across his face.
“Think of it this way,” I say, trying to distract him, “only a few more hours of this and it’ll all be over. Isn’t that better than driving in a car for days?”
“Shut the fuck up, Blossom,” he growls. An older woman and her husband sitting near us in first class gasp, looking at me and Percivale with wide eyes, horrified by his words.
I laugh it off, mouthing, “First-time flyer,” as I discreetly point to Percivale, but by the grimace on his face, my guess is he can see me. The couple nod, turning back and minding their own business.
“Who the fuck is flying this thing?” His body is stiff as a board, and I’m losing my hold on my laughter.
“I think this is the pilot’s first big practice flight.”
“Practice flight?” Percivale’s gaze swings to mine. “Fuck no!” He starts unbuckling his seat belt and pushing out of the seat. A laugh bursts past my lips as I grip onto him, tugging him back down.
“I’m kidding! It’s just turbulence, babe. We’re fine. And what would you really do? Go in there and fight the guy for his flying skills?”
“No, I’d go in there and kill the son of a bitch, then take over flying for him because the fucker obviously doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.”
I drop my head to his shoulder and laugh. My body is vibrating as I try to contain myself and my laughter. I never thought I’d see the day Percivale was afraid of anything. The man isn’t even afraid of death, but here he is, scared shitless of flying. It’s comical.
“We only have two hours left until we’re in Sacramento. Just try to chill, okay? We’ll be at the hotel in no time.” I rub my hand across his chest, trying to soothe him. “Plus, I thought you’d be a little more worried about meeting my parents rather than flying.”
He grunts, giving me the side eye, and I take that as my cue to zip it.
The rest of the flight is much the same. It isn’t until we land and file off the aircraft that the normal, self-assured Percivale is rightfully back in place.
When we get to the hotel, we shower, then eat dinner before Percivale says he has “business” he needs to handle.
“I’ll be gone a while,” he says, stopping to press a kiss to my forehead.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask as I settle under the hotel sheets, getting ready for bed. He shakes his head, and I nod. It’s our unspoken agreement. I pull him down again, pressing a kiss to his lips, and narrow my eyes. “You better not be late to my parents’ house tomorrow. Understand me?”
He smirks down at me. “I won’t.”
* * *
I dial Percivale for the hundredth time, and again his phone goes straight to voicemail. I grit my teeth and let out a string of curses, pacing my old bedroom floor at my parents’ house. We’re having dinner with my parents tonight, and of course, Percivale is thirty minutes late. I know Mom and Dad aren’t too concerned. Dinner isn’t finished yet, and I told them he had to “work,” so they’re understanding. But that isn’t the point. I’m starting to worry. I haven’t heard from him all day. You’d think the bastard would at least send a courtesy text, something like, “Hey, running late, still drenched in blood,” but no. I’ve gotten nothing.
I run my hand through my curled hair again and start nibbling on my nailbeds. My boots are starting to wear a hole through the carpet, and my skirt is beginning to chafe against my thighs from all this damn walking.
Heaving a sigh, I decide to try his cell again. It doesn’t even ring. Just goes straight to voicemail. I let out a growl of frustration and toss my phone on the bed. The sound of the doorbell chiming makes my stomach flip. I throw open the bedroom door and file down the stairs, straining to listen to voices. I hear my father’s voice, then my mother’s, and as I round the corner, I hear him. I let out a sigh of relief, and my heart starts pounding for much different reasons.
“Oh, there she is,” my mother says, pulling away from the hug she was giving Percivale. “She’s been upstairs, nervously pacing her room for most of the day.”
I force a laugh, and Percivale’s lips crook into a smirk. I drag my gaze up and down his body, trying to make sure he’s okay, finding no signs of duress.
“Go on and get comfortable, Percivale,” my mom says, shooing us into the living room. “I know you’re probably tired after working all day. I’m going to check on the food with Oakland—hopefully we can finish everything off and sit down soon.” She smiles brightly at him, and he returns her smile and I can tell my mother is affected. I have to stifle my own laugh and not roll my eyes.
Like mother, like daughter.
We settle on the couch and it’s then I notice Percivale’s bag, and as I take a closer look at his clothes, my eyes widen. Winding his hand around my neck, he pulls me in for a kiss that I stop with my fingers pressed against his lips.
I glare at him, and I see the laughter in his eyes. It only makes punching him in his stomach that much easier. He laughs at my weak hit, and I shoot to my feet.
“Upstairs, now,” I growl and stomp off toward the back staircase. He follows, and I hear him chuckling the whole way, which only fuels my anger.
“Are you shitting me right now, Percivale?” I hiss, dragging him into the bathroom. The second the door clicks shut, I whirl on him. “You come to dinner with my parents after murdering someone!”
I jab my finger in the general direction of the light blood spatters. His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile, and I press my mouth together in a grim line, trying to control my anger.
“You didn’t call. You didn’t text. I thought you were fucking dead!” I whisper-yell. “And you were fucking late. The one thing I asked of you, and you couldn’t even do it.”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time and tried to get here as fast as I could.” He looks down at my hands placed firmly on my hips and then up at the scowl on my face, his mouth spreading into another smirk.
I narrow my eyes. “This is not funny. They could’ve seen the blood!”
He smirks, stepping into me while twisting a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Look at you, daddy’s little princess getting all worked up. You worried he’s going to know the real you?”
“Stop it. You know I’m not a princess, and you know how much my parents mean to me. I don’t want them…seeing that on you.”
“They wouldn’t have.”
My brows raise. “Oh really?” I keep my tone sarcastic. “How do you figure that, genius?”
As if to show me, he dangles his bag in one hand and unzips his jacket. I choke on my breath.
“Oh god.” My stomach churns and I gag. “Oh my god!” I hiss louder now, taking in his clothes beneath the jacket that are drenched in blood. “What is wrong with you?” I gasp incredulously.
He chuckles, pressing me into the bathroom sink. “This is me, baby. And I came prepared. Always prepared.” He presses his body against mine, and I can feel his erection poking me. It causes my stomach muscles to clench and my breasts to grow heavy.
Damn him.
This is not the time.
“My sweet little Blossom,” he whispers, dipping his mouth near my ear. He traces the shell of my ear with his tongue and uses his finger to do the same to my erect nipple through my bra. I let out an embarrassing whimper. “I bet you’re soaked, baby,” he taunts. “I can practically smell your cunt from here.”
I punch him in the arm. He knows I like to pretend to hate that word. It only makes him laugh. The sound is husky, and it wraps around me. I clench my thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache between my legs.
“We can’t do this here. My parents are downstairs, they’ll know,” I whine. My mouth says one thing, but my body pushes itself farther into his arms.
“That’s what makes this so fun,” he whispers before his hand slips under my skirt. His finger wastes no time pulling aside my panties and swirling through the wetness there. “You’re fucking dripping, Blossom,” he praises, dipping the tip of his index finger in and out. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, trying not to moan.
We can’t do this.
What the hell are we doing?
“Let’s go back downstairs,” I pant out, but my voice doesn’t sound convincing. Not even to my own ears.
“Nuh-uh,” he whispers against the skin of my neck, his teeth nibbling and his tongue soothing the sting. He slips his fingers inside me, and I moan. I can’t help it.
“Better be quiet if you don’t want them to know what’s happening, dirty girl.”
I tamp down another moan, but it gets caught in my throat, sounding like something that’s a cross between a mewl of pleasure and pain. He pulls his fingers out and lifts me onto the counter, spreading my legs so my pussy is on full display. His eyes gleam.
“Fucking gorgeous.”
Then he drops to his knees and his mouth is on my clit. His fingers are inside me, stroking my walls, stroking that spot, fucking me senseless, and rendering me speechless. His tongue flicks my clit back and forth, his tempo slow at first just like his fingers, but then he speeds up and his warm tongue is fluttering wildly over the bundle of nerves and I’m writhing on the counter, grinding my hips into his face, riding his mouth like I have no inhibitions.
I feel my orgasm blooming, and of
course, so does Percivale. He strokes his fingers deeper, sucks my clit in his mouth longer, and right when I’m on the cusp, he pulls out his fingers, yanks his pants down, and slaps my pussy before he buries himself to the hilt. He swallows up my scream as the orgasm rips violently through my body. I jerk on the counter, my body seizing with pleasure.
“That’s it, dirty girl. Milk my cock just like that,” he growls as he thrusts into me, bottoming out with each stroke.
With his hands gripping onto my hips to steady me, he drags them down to my knees and spreads me wider. My muscles scream, and I almost do too at the new angle of his cock.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.”
Percivale kisses me, swallowing my moans and my sounds. “You know I prefer when you say my name, baby.”
“Percivale,” I pant into his mouth, and he chuckles over my lips.
“Not that one, baby.” He pulls out of me, and I frown at him. He ignores the look, lifts me off the cool marble, and bends me over the counter. He spreads my legs and drops down behind me. I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle my cries when his tongue flutters through my folds and dips into my soaking center, fucking me.
Pushing upright, he slides into me from behind and grips my hair in his fist, yanking my head back. I watch us in the mirror. My tits jiggle each time he pounds into me, and his body is a work of art, the muscles in his arms bunching and flexing with each thrust. He trails a hand up my stomach to my breasts, tweaking my nipples, squeezing my tits almost painfully. He slides up higher around my throat, and at the same time his hand clenches, so does my pussy on his cock.
“There she is,” he praises, a crooked smile twisting his perfect lips.
“Harder,” I choke out, as I feel another orgasm blooming.
“Call me daddy first,” he whispers.
“Don’t you dare!” I hiss. And he laughs.
He slows his pace, stroking his cock out of me slowly, twisting his hips in an irritatingly delicious rhythm, but he knows that’s not what I want. His hand around my neck squeezes tighter the longer I stay silent, and his other finger stroking my clit applies more pressure.
