“Fine!” she chirps, exactly like a cute little cricket that I definitely don’t want to dismember right now. “I have Tums in my nightstand. Night, Dad!”
“Goodnight,” says her dad at last. “If it’s coming in sharp waves like that, I bet it’s gas. So just fart it out, pumpkin.” I’m back to silently laughing into her folds as he concludes, “Make sure to wake me if you don’t feel better quickly. Got it?”
“Got it, Dad,” moans Piper.
I can still sense him right beside her while I give her three more quick thrusts and suck her clit so hard I bring her over the top, her arousal spraying my face. I swallow every last drop, and barely wait for the door to close before I pop my head up to kiss the very red nose of my own little cricket.
“Pumpkin,” I chuckle in her ear.
She glares at me with what she probably imagines is a vicious expression, but it only makes me laugh harder. “What’s wrong with you?” she hisses. “You made me come in front of my dad!”
“I can do a lot worse,” I breathe, and I feel her shiver under me, but then she bats me away, half-pushing, half-smacking my shoulder.
At once, I trap the offending hand in mine, all humor gone from my eyes. She seems to sense my changing mood, because she shivers again, but she still keeps her glaring eyes fixed determinedly on mine. I can’t help but begrudgingly admire her bravery, or maybe it’s just stupidity. Doesn’t she know what I’mcapable of?
Doesn’t she realize how close she’s come to death at my hands, and how frequently? Does she sense that she’s safe now, or did she never believe she wasn’t?
I can’t tell, as I stare into her fierce eyes, one of them blue, the other one green, but what Icantell is that she realizes my eyes are capable of a lot more fierceness than hers, because she drops her gaze suddenly, cowering back.
“I can do a lot worse,” I growl, and this time, there’s no teasing to my words, only threat. “Never raise a hand on me again. Got it?”
The last remnants of bravery melt as she nods hurriedly. But when I still don’t let go of her hand, she blurts out, “You’re hurting me, Quill. You’re hurting my wrist.”
I train my eyes down toward the wrist that’s imprisoned in my hand. Iamsqueezing hard.
“Good,” I grunt, and squeeze it even harder for a moment before letting it go.
At once she yanks it away, rubbing it furiously with her other hand, and I see the first signs of bruising form. I reallyshouldfeel remorse, as her body trembles under mine. But instead, all I see are the parts of her that aren’t bruised, and I’m already thinking about how to change that.
Okay. Easy now.Overcoming the urge to kill Piper Day is a good first step. But disfiguring her isn’t much better.
I need to find some other way to possess my cricket without destroying her in the process.
“Are you going to leave now?” she asks stiffly, her tense body still partially trapped under mine.
I stare at her differently-colored eyes, made foggy by the glasses that somehow haven’t fallen off during any of this. At the cute little splotch that remains on her upturned nose. At the hand she’s currently using to rub the hurt out of her wrist. At hertiny breasts, so small I’m not sure they even qualify as breasts, but they don’t need to qualify as anything because they’re mine.
“I don’t think so,” I say, and lay my head down on her chest, keeping her firmly pinned under me. I drift a hand toward her arm and begin to draw circles on her skin, listening to her heart beating fast and hard. Right now, I’m feeling exactly like a lion might just before he goes in for the kill.
It’s an intoxicating sound, the heartbeat of your prey, when you know you’ve got it cornered and helpless. When you know it has no choice but to submit.
Then the lion goes for the jugular of the deer, and the heartbeat slows down, growing fainter as its lifeforce drains from its body in the ultimate sign of defeat.
As I lay there, drawing circles on her arm, I hear her heartbeat slow down. Maybe she knows, just as the deer does, that she’s mine, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She’s my very own helpless deer.
“I want you to stay, Quill,” comes her breathy voice.
But then, deer don’t usually beg lions to stick around, do they?
Maybe she’s not a deer, after all. Or maybe I’m the one who’s not a lion.
Whatever the case is, I find myself drifting off, my head cushioned on her non-existent breasts, as she brings a hesitant hand over my head, stroking my hair as gently as I’m stroking her arm.
My cock is impossibly, painfully hard as I shut my eyes.
I still have no remorse, but it almost feels like a form of penance to suffer in her arms as we fall asleep together, our bodies so close I can’t tell where hers ends and mine begins.
21
