And I played it better.
40
Cal
I feel like a puppy that pissed on the carpet. It's a strange feeling, knowing that I messed up and just waiting for her to call me on it. I watched her kill without batting an eyelash, watched me torture her enemies with a straight face and a strong stomach, and now I know exactly what she's capable of. I slept next to her for weeks without expecting she was going to attempt to murder me since she showed no interest in escape.
All this time, I was sleeping next to a killer.
Maybe she wasn't a full-on murderer before, but she was plotting this. Maybe even from the moment her eyes fluttered open to find out what new hell awaited her. Maybe earlier. Regardless, she was meticulous and methodical. She planned the entire thing, and she played me like a fucking piano, stroking all the right keys to produce a symphony of carnage.
I'm still in awe of her, watching her sleep beside me like a perfect fucking angel, like she didn't just become a serial killer in a single night. Her body count now surpasses mine.
The bad news is that I had to call my father to ask for his help.
Despite the level of planning she must have done researching how to kill and curating her cheekily titledA Killer Playlist, she didn't put much thought into how we would clean up the mess. I guess she expected that as the more experienced between the two of us, that I'd have a plan of action for that. But we sort of rushed into things headfirst. I couldn't exactly load five bodies into my father's jet... not without hacking them into pieces.
The dismemberment we'd already done had been plenty for me. I think my balls will forever shrivel a little when she touches them, remembering how she'dtugged Browen's so tight he screamed even before she crudely carved half of his testicles away.
The good news is that my father is a man who is used to asking no questions because he is used to avoiding them. He simply asked me to tell him the coordinates and then pretend the call never happened.
His cleaners are taking care of the cars, too. They're just going to make everything disappear so that the world forgets they ever existed. Of course, their crimes will somehow be unearthed again so that those who dare to ask too many questions will simply come to the conclusion that they must have run before they could be caught.
She's been asleep for hours, curled peacefully against me as if she isn't a fucking nightmare all her own. She's my dream, though.
Not my little doll.
Not my toy.
A fucking queen.
The sun has risen and fallen again, sinking into the sky outside. I've watched the light fade the last few hours, knowing that night was falling again, and yet I haven't moved. How can I when she's so entirely at peace? If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was faking it. She's gotten good at that.
I decide to test the theory, craning my neck so that I can press my lips to hers. She tastes sweet and minty, the lip balm she wore to bed making her taste faintly of vanilla.
Her lips barely move beneath mine, manipulated whichever way I make them go, not kissing me back.
I push her gently onto her back, the sheer nightgown she's wearing riding up her thigh as she stirs just a little, getting more comfortable in the spot I just moved her to.
I wait for her to settle again before slipping my boxers down my thighs and letting them drop to the floor. I'm on top of her in an instant, her soft skin warm beneath mine as I lower my mouth to her pussy. Her only reaction to my tongue stroking her slit is a small little moan, a sound like approval.
She gave me permission a little while ago to do this... to fuck her while she's sleeping. I didn't intend to do it so soon after the realization that I'm no better than the rest of the men who hurt her, but this isn't going to hurt.
This isn't about me or my pleasure. This is about cherishing her, worshipping the temple that was little more than a tomb when I first got her. She was so empty, so hardened, so numb.
She isn't numb anymore, and it seems necessary to worship her as such.
Sucking her clit into my mouth, I moan.
My beast is thoroughly fucking exhausted, not present anywhere inside of me as my eyes roll back, savoring the sweetness of her pussy. I think he's suffered the same adrenaline crash she did.
After she killed Jenko, making him witness all his friends die before him, she launched herself at me, and I was powerless to resist her.
I was also powerless to resist her in the shower as we washed the last traces of blood off of us, in the kitchen while our frozen pizza cooked, and again right here in this bed before she fell asleep in my arms.
I'm similarly as powerless now, and for once, I don't crave that power. My beast and hers rampaged, wore themselves out, and now we've been left to suffer the after-effects alone, together.
My cock stirs as she does, jumping at the prospect of her waking to watch me love her.
