He could have been sweet, sickly sweet like cinnamon. He could have been so many things. . .
So many things but the monster he’d become.
Harder and harder, I sucked, feeling him twitch and tremble. His grip softened, rubbing my hair instead of yanking on it painfully.
“That's right. Just like that. Just like that, baby.” He was close. Close to coming for me, and he wanted me to know how pleased that made him. “Good girl.”
The words echoed in the room, or maybe just inside my own head. The way the vowels dragged under the sensuality of his southern drawl had me tingling, inplaces I would never ever want to admit to.
My closed eyes sprung open, water droplets falling from my eyelashes like tears. . . tears of fucking joy.
I was fuming with myself, but I couldn't deny how the good girl comment affected me.
And neither could my body. My mouth worked harder, my lips pressing him in ways that had his breaths coming faster and faster.
He continued to play with my hair, his long fingers twirling around the length, keeping him focused as the faster breathing caused discomfort.
My thighs clamped together, trying to relieve the most recent ache he’d caused me. My heart raced; my eyes gazed up at him like he was not only my master but my God.
My whole world.
And all that could destroy it.
The hardest thing was not knowing my feelings when it came to Hell. Sure, I hated him. . . this version. But a different version of him lived in my memories—a version that wasn’t completely bad; there was a good side in there, one that could feel and care; he just didn’t know how to access it. And the promise of safety that version gave, replayed often. And then, living in the same body, was Woodrow, who I loved more than anything, and who I needed to survive the other sides of him.
The memory of him kept me alive on my darkest days. The loss of him, even now, when his image was right in front of my face, brought the most agonizing pain.
I couldn’t think of him. I shook him from my mind.
And now, while Hell stood silently, legs parted, praise for me falling from his lips, and shower water raining over his defined abs, he was just like my perfect reverie. Just like my Woodrow.
But I had to remember, he wasn't that person.
He was all bad now.
A thought that shouldn't have entered my comatose brain drifted in and stayed. And my brain sent the signal to my mouth to execute the action before my fears caught up to stop me.
Hell was twitching in my mouth, a ticking bomb about to go off at any given second.
I swirled my tongue around his prominent bell, watching his building orgasm as it distorted his pretty features.
I sucked, calling the cum from inside him. And then, just as he was about to erupt, I bit down. My teeth clamped into his sensitive skin. The barbells in his dick defended him as they surely caused damage to my teeth this time.
He screamed, agony filling the hot air.
A metallic taste filled my mouth. His blood leaked from my lips, making me look like a sadistic vampire, as it rushed down my chin and dropped to my breasts.
His scream silenced. I looked up hoping to see him close to passing out. Hoping for my chance to escape.
But that opportunity would never arise.
His stare, cold like his dead heart, secured itself to me. His fist in my hair grew tight again, pulling my head back to prevent me from hiding from the vengeance in his eyes.
His arm raised, his big hand clamped in a giant fist. A fist that got bigger and bigger. . . until I saw nothing but black.
I felt pain, lasting only for a second.
And then, I felt nothing as my body melted into a puddle on the floor.
