Andre throws his opponent against the black railing of a set of cast-iron steps leading up to some kind of loft. The man drops to the floor but is scrambling up when Andre comes after him and tackles him to the ground. They wrestle viciously. I can’t tell what’s happening. Then there’s a sickening crack and the long-haired man goes limp in Andre’s hold. His head flops to the side.
Andre shoves the body away and gets up. His chest is heaving. His fists are clenched. His expression is no longer empty. His furious gaze cuts across the room to me and he comes stalking my way.
There’s my monster.
I stand up. I back away from the island. I feel electric with the adrenaline roaring through my body. My cock is completely hard.
I back up until my bare ass hits the counter behind me.
“Did you think they were going to save you from me?” my monster snarls as he reaches the edge of the kitchen.
I bolt.
Andre roars in fury and charges after me. I race across the living room, hunting for an escape. There’s a gym area in a back corner of the huge space, but it’s a dead end. I jump over a bench and race back into the open as Andre’s footsteps pound behind me.
I jump over the dead body with the broken neck and reach the cast iron staircase. My bare feet slap the steps as I take them two at a time, but Andre is right behind me. He’ll catch me before I reach the loft, and all I glimpse up there is a bed anyway.
I launch myself over the railing. I sail through the air, and it’s exhilarating. Terrifying, yes, but that’s the point. My existence has narrowed to this. Everything else, everything but me and Andre, has vanished.
My feet hit the floor. My knees bend to take the impact. My hands briefly skim the floor, then I spring up. The difficulty is my stiff cock, bobbing, swinging, hurting, but even that thrills me.
Andre’s heavier weight and louder boots slam to the floor as he follows me over the railing.
For a moment, I feel unstoppable. I’m so light and free. I feel completely wild. I’m thoughtless with it—and that’s how he catches me. Because the prey flees, but the predator plans.
As I make another lap, I think that I’ve led him around the apartment. I think I’m well ahead when I plant my foot on the coffee table and spring to the couch. I’m already launching myself over the back of it when I realize that my monster has outsmarted me. He’s there, waiting, and it’s too late for me to change course.
I scream as he snatches me from flight.
My momentum is too much even for his heavier body. We crash to the floor. I’m jarred by the impact, though Andre takes most of it.
I flail as he wrestles me down. I shriek and buck against him. I claw at the floor with a different kind of freedom, a darker freedom, than I felt in my flight. I can fight him, resist, keep trying, and it will still happen. I feel that dark promise in the weight of his body behind mine and hard ridge of his cock against my ass.
He gets me in a fierce hold. It’s one-handed because his other is working at his zipper. I’m free enough that I could hit and scratch, but I’m not that kind of prey. I only want to struggle—and I do, terrified and thrilled by his power over me, terrified and thrilled that he’s going to fuck me here on the floor, three feet from the pool of blood spreading from the body of the first man who died here tonight. The face is turned away from me, a dead hand limp in the blood.
I yell when Andre shoves my legs apart. He reaches between them and grabs my swollen balls, tugging them back in clear threat. It freezes me. It makes my dick twitch and leak even as my heart gallops.
Keeping hold of my balls, Andre draws back from me and rises to his knees, tugging me up to mine. Face on the floor, I start whimpering as I realize there’s no lube.
But then I hear a familiar crinkle and tearing sound, followed by the sloppy squelch of Andre slicking his cock. My heart soars—with relief, yes, but also with elation. He’s had lube with him this whole time. He knew he was going to fuck me at some point.
His slick cockhead pushes between my cheeks and presses against my hole. Slow but relentless, he penetrates me. I grunt and cry out and claw at the floor as he forces my body to open, to take him. When he’s all the way inside, he leans over me. Hereaches around my hip and grabs my hard cock in his slick grip. His other hand reaches up to cover my mouth.
I tremble in his hold as my body adjusts. I gasp against his hand. My breath puffs harshly through my nose. All the while, I’m staring at the dead man and the pool of blood, and my cock is throbbing in Andre’s hand.
“You like that?” he snarls. “You like that these men died for you? Or do you like that I killed them for you?”
His hand remains over my mouth. He doesn’t want an answer. I couldn’t give him one anyway. I’m not thinking right now. I don’t even know if I’m human. I don’t really want to be. I just want to feel every primal second of this.
I think Andre knows that. I think he wants that too because he doesn’t speak again. He just starts fucking me with a hot, ruthless bestiality.
Everything is too intense, my body too primed. It doesn’t take long for me to come. I clench on Andre’s cock as I orgasm, spilling on the floor, on myself, on him. And he just just keeps fucking me. He gets rough. He twists and contorts me until it hurts. His hand is off my mouth now. He lets me moan and cry as he breaks me open.
It’s another level of freedom. It’s the freedom to open a locked part of myself that very rarely gets released. It’s such a deep, dark part of me that it’s painful and strange to feel it, but it’s beautiful too.
My second orgasm is so hard and deep that it feels like I’m dying. Andre smashes my head to the floor and grips me tightly as he roars and starts flooding me with his hot cum. He grunts roughly and strains as his cock kicks inside me, deepening my orgasm even further, milking me even when I think I have nothing left. I moan and gasp and convulse under him. I’m not even sure if I’m still coming or not.
Andre pitches forward, catching himself on one hand. I brace myself because I know what’s going to happen—and it does.
