Oh,fucking shit.I’ve had fantasies from some of the books I’ve read, but I never actually thought anything like this could happen to me. I can’t think of it now either—I have to remind myself that I’m hungry tolive.That I’m doing this to keep myself alive.
I groan and take him to the back of my throat again, not caring that I’m making little gagging sounds. My lungs feel like they’re on fire and I can’t draw a deep enough breath… but maybe that’s okay too. Maybe it would be better to die with the feel of his thick cock on my tongue than from whatever he has planned for me.
Maybe it would actually be kind of nice.
I roll my eyes up to him again as his fingers smooth through my curls, pulling the hair from my face so he can see the way my lashes are sticking together, wet with tears. I can only half makeout his face. He’s so blurry above me, haloed in the firelight and…
Oh, ohfuck.I’m liking this.
I’m liking this more than I should, and I don’t know if I can explain it away as simple survival instincts trying to keep me alive, or if some part of my brain isbroken. Maybe that’s it—maybe that’s why I’d stayed with someone as shitty as Trevor, who treated me worse during sex than a man whokilled an entire room of people.
Maybe it’s all those books I have on my kindle about guys falling in love with serial killers.
Whatever it is, I let out another low moan and feel it vibrate all the way down to my toes. My fingers open and close again on my thigh, nails digging into my pants in an attempt to ground myself.
I can’t, though. The only thing I can feel is his cock spilling down my throat, over and over again, until I’m pretty sure I’m going to be hoarse. Maybe he won’t want to kill me if I can’t scream? The only thing I can feel is the weight of him above me, and the feel of his fingers twisting in my hair and guiding me down the length of his dick.
He’s flexing his hips now, driving himself at the pace I set to the back of my throat. It’s brutal, but he keeps his hand tangled in my hair so my head doesn’t snap back with the thrusts. He holds me steady as he fucks my mouth like I’m just here to help him get off after working out his tension with an ax.
It’s…
Fuck, I kind of feel like I’m floating. I’m not sure if I’m having an out-of-body experience, or if the stress of what just happened is finally getting to me and I’m snapping… but I feel myself completely give over to what’s happening. My head tilts back even more and I drop my jaw, opening myself to him completely.
If I’m going to die, this is an okay way to go.
If I’m going to die, at least the person who plans on killing me is currently looking down at me with eyes that blaze like fire and an expression to match—that look is burning right through me.
It’s burning me alive.
And I could drift in it and just let go. Better than the snow outside. Better than freezing. Better than the last few years I’ve spent with Trevor making sure I know exactly what a piece of shit he thinks I am. My hand on his hip spasms, my slender arm sliding around him to pull him closer, urging him on. I can do this.
I can still do this.
I can follow my plan… the plan…
Whatever the fuck the plan was, and I’ll remember it as soon as he stops cutting off the oxygen to my brain with the way he’s thrusting down my throat like he wants to fuck straight through me.
His hips pick up, and I can hear the way his breath chases the rhythm he’s setting in soft, growling pants.
The hand that isn’t in my hair drops, wrapping around my neck and giving a gentle squeeze like he’s trying to feel himself there. “Swallow every fucking drop. I want to feel my load sliding down your throat.”
His fingers in my hair spasm, tangle, yank me flush against him so my nose is buried against his pelvis again, and I can’t even taste it when the first splash of heat hits. There’s a moment where I think he is going to kill me like this, that he’s going to suffocate me.
I don’t even fight it. I just groan low in my chest and swallow the best I can around his length until he finally pulls back so I can breathe. The space lets me bob my head again, sucking him through the rest of his orgasm. I can taste it now, bitter and salty on my tongue, flooding my mouth with the flavor of him.
I catch what I can, letting the rest dribble across my lips to join the saliva soaking my chin. I’m an absolute mess and I know it as I pull back, drifting my hazy gaze up to him as I stick my tongue out so he can see the cum pooled there. I close my mouth and make a show of swallowing, enraptured by the way he watches me obey his command.
I had a plan, right? I was supposed to give him such a good orgasm that he’d forget about killing me… I was supposed to wait until he fell asleep and sneak out.
I was supposed to do a lot of things… but I’m suddenlyveryaware that the room smells like blood and my lips and throat are aching from the way he fucked my mouth. The snow is falling outside in sheets of white so thick I can’t even make out the trees… and I’m pretty sure I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my entire life from giving akillerhead.
No. Absolutely not. That’s not why I’m turned on. It’s all panic and nerves. It doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with the way he looks with flushed cheeks in the firelight.
This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t part of the plan at all.
5
STREETER
