“Do it,” I dare her, my smile wide, brows lifted. “I would love to feel you take me apart,” I lick my own lips, flicking my tongue over my canine, my fingers combing through the length of her hair, my other hand coming up, resting gently on her throat, applying a light testing squeeze. “Piece by tiny piece,” I whisper, dragging out the words, crossing my eyes to look up at the gun digging into the centre of my skull. “Don’t you want to make me hurt, baby girl?”
She shoves the gun at me, smacking the barrel into my head, forcing me backwards, my back foot catching on the edge of the rug, sending me down hard to the floor.
Air knocks out of my lungs as I grab hold of Penelope on my way down, her silk covered body slamming on top of me. The gun still in her hand, she rears up, straddling me, repositioning the gun to my forehead, arms straight, elbows locked. Hairstrewn across her face, she blows at it, strands still in her eye, but she stills. Suddenly feeling my hardness between her legs.
Slowly, a single brow lifting, she stares at me in disbelief, making me chuckle, a low dark raspy sound, “Ohhh, Little Lamb, it’s like you don’t know me at all.” With one quick motion, I flip our positions, cradling the back of her head as her body thuds against the floor, me straddling her now, a smile still on my mouth. “If I don’t do a good job here, you have permission to shoot me.”
“I don’t need your fucking permission,” she quips back venomously, a spitting hiss on her tongue like hot wax hitting cold stone, but I hear it in her voice, the want, a secret she can’t quite keep.
“No, you’re right,” I hum in agreement, my hands sliding from their splayed position on the floor either side of her head up to her waist, her arms lifted still, extended straight, gun to my head. “You don’t.”
I dive down, my tongue finding her Pairing mark like I’m called to it, my hands shoving her silk covering up to her waist, baring more of her to the cold air of the room. I bite across her chest, nibbling her collarbones, laving the flat of my tongue down the valley of her breasts, exposed in the deep V-neck cut of her strappy nightdress, the tip of my nose following the wet trail, when she slides the barrel down the length of my nose, over my lips, tapping it beneath my chin, forcing my head up.
“You really think I’m going to let you touch me when you smell likeher, Billy?” she snarls, lip curled. “You think I wouldeverlet you touch another woman and get away with it?”
A bolt of excitement rips through me, my heart thrumming like a purr. “You’re jealous?” I question, swallowing hard, Adam’s apple jumping in my throat. “Ofthat?” I can’t help but laugh, the gun digging into my chin, “Fucking hell, Nells, that’s what you think of me?”
“I don’t know you,” she says, her statement so deadly serious it turns the air to shattered glass between us, leaving both of us inhaling sharp splinters.
My laughter dries up instantly, her facial expression hard, both of our hearts pounding so fiercely I hear them like knocks from the inside of my own coffin.
Anger is an unstoppable creature, pulsing uncontrollably through my veins. It drags through me too easily, too quickly, like a blade through silk.
The only person in this life and the next that knows me is her, and she throws that shit in my face.
I don’t give a fuck about the gun, my hands bunch either side of her nightdress, yanking the fabric apart and tearing it down the middle. Penelope smacks me with the weapon, cracking the bottom of the magazine against my cheekbone, but I grab it, not giving a fuck if it goes off, her finger still on the trigger, and yank it from her hand, her knuckles cracking with the violence of it.
“Billy! Stop it!” she screams at me through gritted teeth, arching her back up off the floor, pushing her bared tits right up into my face, smacking at me with her clenched fists. “Billy!” her barred teeth gnashing together on my name, fury building behind her big eyes.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl at her, launching the gun away, tossing it over the back of the other sofa, hearing it skid across the floor towards the study.
Lifting my hips, I pin her chest with my right hand, fingers splayed, keeping her flush with the floor, rug beneath her. I shunt my way down her body, sitting on her knees, her fists still hitting me everywhere she can reach.
Penelope’s still saying my name, screaming it at me like I’m going to listen to anything she has to say.
Like it would matter anyway.
Fingers finding her pussy, wet between her thighs, I force her lips apart, difficult to do between her clamped thighs but not impossible, opening her up for me, pulling her too wide, painfully revealing all of her to me, pink and red and already weeping.
My breath is cold as I blow on her clit, swollen and twitching, “You want me to stop, Little Lamb?” I ask her quietly, my temple resting against the jut of her hipbone as I turn to look up at her. Dragging out my words as we lock eyes, my lips ghosting over her skin, “Just tell meno.”
And then I’m burying my face in her sweet cunt, shifting my knees to her inner thighs, shoving her legs away, forcing them apart. The heel of her foot kicking me in the base of the spine before flopping to the floor like a dead weight as I violently lash my tongue over the whole of her. From back hole to clit, my tongue rolling over my own fingers as I flatten it, making sure I taste as much of her as possible.
Her body lifts from the floor beneath the pressure of my hand, like I’m performing an exorcism, a strangled noise in her throat as my teeth pinch her clit, gently rolling it between them. I stretch her wider, a moan of pain and pleasure rumbling through her, a vibration I feel deep in my own chest cavity.
I suck on her clit, licking my way all over her, fast and then slow, up and then down, glossy pleasure leaking from her opening, I pull it into my mouth, hearing her moan, her head thrashing side to side as I suck her, force my tongue inside, curling the tip, feeling her clench around it as she comes, a suppressed scream echoing its way up her throat, escaping through bared teeth, like a prison trying to lock the sound inside.
Immediately, I’m moving down, licking over her arse, biting her cheeks, one then the other, leaving silky wet trails of mess all over her. I bite my way down to her thigh, tasting blood asmy teeth tear open the fresh wound, spitting stitches from the deepest part as I go, tearing them out.
I hear my name, both a prayer and a curse, fall from her lips, and I lift my eyes up onto hers. Her dark browns already looking back at me, her head lifted from the floor, chin tucked to her chest where I force her down, her hands over mine now, holding onto my fingers, one shackled around my wrist, both of them shaking.
When I look into her deep set eyes, a dark swirl of a too-long life already lived in too-little years, a lifetime of suffering, it feels like I’m kneeling before an altar I never should have found.
Pain flickers there like a votive flame, small and stubborn, holy in its suffering. But beneath it coils something raw and aching, the desire to be seen, to be chosen, to be bound to something that will not leave.
I will never leave you.
Her longing hums like a desperate prayer offered through cracked, bloodied lips, a plea for love disguised as devotion, as rebellion. I feel it calling to me, a tether of heat and craving, and though I know this kind of love does not save, not her, and most definitely not me. It sanctifies through ruin, and I find myself wanting to whisper the only vows I have left.
