“So, now what?” she asks, biting her lower lip as her eyes flicker with anxiety.
“First, I’m going to dress your wounds. Then I’m going to eat your pussy.”
Chapter 5
FIONA
Iblink back at Hunter, my mouth gaping ever so slightly.
This is how he is, though. Blunt and to the point.
It’s actually better this way because I know what to expect from him. Then again, Madam Levy thought she knew what to expect, and she ended up getting Hellraiser’d.
I wonder how many people came before her, and when he’ll grow thirsty for another.
“Why go to the effort when you can do whatever you want to me?”
He shrugs. “The men I worked with enjoyed doing it to their…mates.”
“Mates?” I scoff.
“More than girlfriends and bigger than marriage. The guys I rolled with were committed to their women in ways you just didn’t see before the apocalypse. They did whatever it took to make their women happy, and that made them very happy.”
“Oh…before, when we did that, did you like it?”
He pauses, his eyes zoning out. Is he thinking up a lie to be polite? He doesn’t strike me as the polite type. Surely he can’t hate it if he’s deciding to do it again.
“You don’t have to do it,” I finally say. “Food and security matter a lot more to me than being made ‘very happy’.”
He pulls out the first aid kit again and gestures to a table with two chairs tucked underneath. “Take a seat.”
I comply and allow him to treat my wounds, bandaging the open cuts. Admittedly, it’s nice being cared for, even if it’s by a psychopath.
When he’s done treating me, I realize the position he’s in. Kneeling in front of me the way he had when he ate me out.
It suddenly dawns on me that this isn’t just new for him. It’s new for me too. I’ve had sex with dozens of men, as was required of me on Salem Street. But it was never pleasurable. I hated every minute of it. The only time I’ve felt gratification was when I was with Hunter.
Maybe with him, it could be different. I’m not naïve enough to think we could ever love each other. That feeling would be abstract to him. But maybe there could be more to our coupling than being told which position to get in so he could better shoot his load.
As he places his hands on my knees, I squeeze them shut.
He brings his eyes to mine, his brow lifting.
“Can we, um, on a bed?” My cheeks flush with heat, though I have no reason to be embarrassed.
His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, like he’s making a mental list of the pros and cons of bed fucking.
Which seems like a very Hunter thing to do.
“Sure.”
I follow him to a room tucked in a corner. There’s a bed in the center, a nightstand, and a dresser. The walls and surfaces are void of decor.
It looks even sadder than the apartment I was holed in, which had decorations on the wall and pictures of what was once a happy life.
Did they improve the quality of my sad existence? Not exactly, but it gave me a small amount of comfort, reminding me of better times.
Times I’ll never see again.
