With my free hand, I clamp down just above his elbow, grinning like something that’s worn a thousand faces but has never forgotten the smile beneath them.
His breath hitches … and with a savage aching joy, I rip the limb free with a wet snap.
Jameson screams.
Finally.
I straddle his chest, rolling my shoulders as I lift the bloodied limb to my mouth.
“Eyes on me, Jamey,” I purr, the rasp in my throat making the threat unmistakable.
And Jameson? He obeys.
He watches as I sink my teeth into his flesh.
He watches as I peel muscle from bone.
He watches as I consume him, piece by bloody piece.
And when I finish, when there’s nothing left of his arm but torn skin and dripping marrow, I lick the blood from my fingers and grin.
“Jesus Christ,” I hum, scraping my teeth along his other forearm, savoring his heat and the salt on his skin.
“You must have been a very naughty boy, Jamey. Sweetest flesh I’ve tasted in a long time.”
Jameson is gasping now, eyes wide, a wet, pathetic whimper slipping past his lips.
Excellent. Let him feel small.
I lean in slowly, the pressure building until his ribs crack beneath me with a beautiful, resonant sound.
With my empty hand, I grab his chin and tilt his head.
“Look me in the eye while your bones crunch between my teeth.”
I bite down on the stripped bone, the crack reverberating like music through my skull. The taste of hot blood and marrow coat my tongue, while my shadows ripple with pleasure.
When the coward tries to turn away, I force his head back.
“No, no. Don’t look away. You came here to hunt monsters. And you found one.”
I smirk, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“If I were the kind of monster you are, this is the part where I’d shove my cock down your throat.”
I lean closer, my voice dropping into a deep, echoing growl.
“But I’m not a rapist, Jameson. You are.”
The meat twitches as he sobs, thick and gasping like he still believes he deserves breath. His body trembles violently, blood steaming where it hits the cold.
My shadows slither over him, curling in delight, teasing at the open wounds.What a delicious little hypocrite, one seems to whisper against his skin.
Pleasure drags my eyes half-shut as I lean down to whisper, “Let’s see if the other arm tastes just as sweet.”
By the time I finish his second arm, the drugs have worn off completely, and his broken screams echo through the trees.
“That’s it, mate.” My voice is soft, almost loving. “You owe me your screams, your pain, and your tears for what you did to her.”
