“Doesn’t matter. He’s seen you now, so he has to go.”
“If you touch a hair on that poor man’s head, I’ll hurt you, Kane.”
A ghost of a laugh slips from him. He’s still buried inside me, his cum seeping out now that he’s softening.
“You know, I kind of like it when you threaten me.”
“How so?” I ask, shifting away when he slips his fingers between my legs to rub my too-tender clit. I’m at the point where even the lightest touch hurts.
His breath is hot against the side of my neck as he splays his fingers around his cock, as if he wants to feel my pussy hold him. “Because you remind me of a Chihuahua who believes she’s a pit bull.”
I make an outraged sound, and he chuckles, nipping my neck with his teeth. “Take that back. I’m not a Chihuahua.”
“I’ll take it back if you let me strap weights to his ankles and throw him off a cliff.”
I shouldn’t find it hot when he talks like that, but when he slips his cock out and replaces it with his fingers, I moan as he fucks his cum back inside me.
“I should plug you so my cum stays in your pussy all day.”
I’m sore from his big cock. He’s not exactly gentle now, either, but the pinch of pain stirs my orgasm again, taking me by surprise. Is there no end to how many times I can come with this man? I’m like a music box he can wind up whenever he wants.
I just keep playing and playing, twirling like a dutiful ballerina.
“You’re clenching again.” He tsks. “Naughty girl.”
Just as I’m about to climax, he pulls out. The orgasm retreats, and my pussy pulses. I whirl around, but he’s already heading to the bathroom.
“You can’t just leave me like that.”
He enters the bathroom, turns on the shower, and leans against the doorframe.
I’m still breathless and convinced I have arrhythmia, given how fast my heart is beating.
“Agree to let me kill him, and I’ll make you come.”
I snort, shaking my head. He’s so unreasonable sometimes. “You’re not killing anyone.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“You’re so psychotic.”
He just shrugs, as if it’s a given, and disappears into the shower. I consider escaping while I still have the chance. If I hurry, I could be dressed and on my way home by the time he steps out, but steam is already pouring from the bathroom, and I am the owner of a pussy that happens to be very fond of that devil-blessed cock and those skilled fingers.
I eye my strewn clothes. The door. The window. How high is the fall? Is there a trellis I could climb? The gardener would definitely think I’m weird. One minute my pale ass would be squished against the glass, the next I’d be scrambling down the trellis in last night’s clothes, sans panties since they’re still damp.
Yeah. No. The window is out.
There are other options, but curiosity wins when the scent of Kane’s minty shampoo fills the air.
When I join him in the shower, he’s rinsing his hair, soapy suds running in rivulets down his front. A wolfish smile curls his lips as he flips his wet hair out of the way, then beckons me closer with a quirk of his finger.
“I’m not letting you kill an innocent man.”
“Oh, I’ll soon change your mind. Now come here.”
Don’t ask me how we end up back in his bed, wet and tangled in silk sheets. I briefly wonder if I should invest in a headstone, because by the looks of it, I’m never leaving Kane’s bed. Doomed to die here, impaled on his sword.
Gnomes. Milk. And now swords?
