Even I know how fucked up this whole scene is. Here I am, slamming my hips against her with every thrust, biting and nipping at her lips just shy of forty-eight hours after she was raped. Brutally so.
It’s not normal, not in our world. Then again, I’ve only ever pretended to be like everyone else. Feeling like myself is reserved for hunting and…for fucking Berkleigh, it would seem.
Between my grunts and her throaty moans, the sounds floating around my ears only spur me on to grind against her clit and make her scream. Scream her pleasure or scream my name, I don’t really give a fuck, the only thing that matters is knowing it’s thanks to me.
“Give it to me, Berkleigh. Be a good girl and come all over my bloody dick.” Because that’s what it’s all about. I want the most intimate parts of her to coat my own.
Movement in my periphery has my head snapping up and my eyes focusing at the entrance of her office. There, standing like she’s seen demons decimating their latest kill, is a woman about the age of what my mother would be if she were still alive. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide and darting between me and Berkleigh. Fingers curled in a tight grip over her purse, she takes a tentative step back until the corner of my lip curls and my grunts turn into a growl of possession.
Just like in the animal kingdom, her instincts serve her well when faced with a dangerous predator. Within seconds, she’s running out of that door before Berkleigh can even discern the woman’s presence. In fact, my Sweet Bee is so lost in the hard fucking I’m giving her that she does exactly what I tell her to do and comes all over my dick with a long, almost guttural scream as her cunt squeezes every drop out of my own orgasm.
It’s perfect in the same way a well calculated stab to the kidney can incapacitate a victim and leave them bleeding out without anyone noticing a damn thing.
Berkleigh is my perfect kill, and I can’t wait to see hers.
“Don’t move.” I pin her with a look that tells her she better fucking listen. When her lips turn into a goofy, cum drunk grin, I give her a sharp nod and head for the in-office bathroom, where I wet a hand towel with warm water. Not caring that I’m naked and my dick is glistening with a delicious mixture of cum and blood, I make my way back to Berkleigh and clean her up. I don’t bother doing the same thing to myself, the feel of her sheathing my skin is my own fucked up version of a hunting trophy.
“Where are we going?”
I glance over at Berkleigh as she sits in the passenger side of my truck looking relaxed and comfortable. My grin is immediate as I return my gaze to the road ahead. Getting a hard fuck from me is better than going to the chiropractor, that’s for fucking sure.
“You ask too many questions.” I’ll never tell her that I don’t mind it. She already has enough control over me as is.
“I’ve asked a total of one.” Contrary to our usual push and pull, her bratty response holds no bite to it. Still, I can’t help but push every single one of her buttons.
"That's one too many.” I don’t need to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes at my clap back, but that’s all right. She’s about to start her metamorphosis from the hungry caterpillar looking for a way to fill that lonely gap inside her chest, to the titanium-armored butterfly whose wings could slice open a carcass.
Turning into one of three open parking spaces in front of the Nutty Grind—Blue Hills Grove’s fancy coffee shop where Berkleigh gets her daily dose of sugar with a hint of coffee—I turn off the engine and narrow my eyes at my neighbor.
“Don’t fucking move.” I wait until I get physical confirmation that she’s ready to listen to simple instructions. Knowing Berkleigh, she’s capable, on a whim, of deciding she can walk home in an effort to feel independent and strong or some shit. She’s both of those things, as the last few days have shown, but I need her to stay in the fucking truck so I can take her to my favorite place in the world.
“Yeah, because walking around town in slippers is exactly what I need. The rumors will start with me losing my mind and trashing my office, to me literally losing my brain and turning into a flesh-eating zombie. I’m good, I’ll stay here.” As she speaks, she looks at me with a playful smile on her face and I can’t help the need to taste her again.
Spoiler alert, psychopaths have little impulse control unless we’re actively trying to push them down. Sitting in this truck with Berkleigh’s blood and cum still coating my dick and the taste of her on my tongue is like a physical wall between me and my impulse controls. In other words, I have none and give zero fucks about it.
My hand flies out and my fingers wrap around her throat hard enough to get her attention, but not enough to cause her too much pain. I pull her to me, meeting her halfway, and my dick goes instantly hard at how pliant and willing she is to bend to my silent demands. Her mouth opens, her tongue dances with mine, and her moans fill the cab of my truck as I bruise her very soul with just that one kiss. I know this because it’s exactly how I feel. Like my lungs have been waiting the past twenty years for her breath to fill them.
It’s a bunch of bullshit, that’s what that is. I don’t do these kinds of feelings. It’s impossible for me tohavefucking feelings like this, it’s what I’ve been told practically my entire life.
I must be mirroring her emotions.
One of my therapists talked about MTS—mirror touch synesthesia—but she didn’t describe it quite this way. It has to be this, though, there’s no other logical explanation for the heat in my chest and the overwhelming need to stay right where I am, with my mouth fused to her mouth and my lips feeding from her lips.
Fuck. Maybe I just need more coffee.
The effort it takes to pull away from her actually pisses me off. My hand, the traitorous bastard, doesn’t move, though. It stays right there, wrapped around her throat as I take in her kiss-swollen wet lips and pinkened cheeks with brazen intensity. She’s affected by my dominance and, contrary to most people in my life, there isn’t an ounce of fear swimming in her dilated blue eyes. What a fucking turn on.
“Act like a brat, Sweet Bee, and I’ll punish you like one. Stay fucking put. Understand?” The way I stress the word “sweet” makes it sound like its complete opposite.
To my surprise, she nods, her stare wavering as she glances down at my lips then back up at my eyes.
“I won’t move an inch.” Her little pink tongue darts out to lick her lips like the simple act of looking at me makes her mouth dry out with lust.
Without thought, my own tongue takes a long sweep across my lips, only comforting me in my theory that all of these…feelings…are an illusion.
“Good girl.” Because I can’t control it, I pull her in for a quick, barely-there-yet-hard kiss before I open the truck door and jog to the shop. As I walk inside, I look over my shoulder to check on her. No, that can’t be right. I’m not checking on her, I’m just making sure she’s following my instructions.
“Hey, Tanner. How you doing today?” As easy as it is to feel comfortable around Berkleigh, to actually be myself when I’m around her, it’s near torture pretending to smile and be nice to old high school friends—a term I use lightly.
