Our kiss overflows with passion, lust spilling over the edge of every move of our lips, his tongue sweeping across mine, stealing my breath and my senses.
When he pulls back, he steps away from the bed. “Undress.”
Breathless, I do as he asks. I pull off my T-shirt and toss it aside before unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down. Guy watches me with a feral kind of hunger that frightens me and makes me wet, my underwear damp just from that look. Once I’m just in my underwear, he reaches back for the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it off, revealing solid abs and a broad, muscular chest. I admire the hair tinged with silver, his huge, flexing biceps and thick veins running up his forearms.
He pushes down his jeans and underwear, and I draw ina small breath at the sight of his thick, solid cock. It’s long, precum shining at the tip, and I go to walk forward, desperate to drop to my knees to taste him.
“Do not move.”
I freeze in place, the roughness of his tone making my pussy ache. My lungs deflate as he takes slow, confident steps toward me, until I’m tipping my head back to look up at him. He’s more than a foot taller than me, but I’ve never really felt that until this very moment. It’s terrifying, alluring, and I wonder what he’ll do to me.
“Can you follow orders, Monty?” he asks, and I nod slowly. “Good. Take off your underwear, sit on the bed, and spread yourself open. I want to see the holes I’m about to fuck.”
Holy fucking shit.
I’ve fantasized about this moment, came over it more than once, but I never dreamed he’d be like this. It’s like he’s transformed, as if his anger over me killing Richard has released him from a cage.
I do as he asks. I peel off my underwear and bra, and his jaw tightens when his eyes lock onto my hard nipples. Climbing onto the bed, I lie down and bend my knees, bringing my ankles to my behind.
And I spread myself open.
“Fuck,” he growls lowly, and he kneels before me. He runs his large palm up my inner thigh, his attention fixed on my pussy. “Are you on birth control?” I nod. “Are you going to let me fill this pussy and ass?”
I think I whimper. “Yes.”
He lets out a breath between his teeth as he admires me, still spread open, my juices leaking onto the sheets.
“Get on your hands and knees, chest against the bed. Use your hands to keep yourself open.”
Usually, if a man was so demanding, I’d push back. I’d be the one making commands, getting on top, having him beg to walk in my shadow. But there’s something about Guy’s presence—he’s so utterly consuming, while somehow making me feel totally safe.
I do as he asks, and when I feel his tongue lick me from pussy to ass, I moan into the bedding.
“I told you once I could arrest you and take you in,” he says, his breath hot on my back. I pull in a sharp breath as the first cuff snaps around my wrist, then the second. I’m totally exposed, vulnerable. “Imagine if I did it to you now.”
Excitement shoots through me and I hate it. The thrill of getting caught is so atypical of a serial killer—taking risks that would be my eventual downfall was something I prided myself on never doing. But over the years, I’ve slipped into profiled patterns. Keeping trophies is one of them.
Guy is the other.
“Imagine if they found you like this.” Another swipe of his tongue, and I whimper. “Cuffed and dripping for me.”
“Guy—”
He spanks me so hard I cry out. “Yes?”
“Please …”
“Please what?” He closes his mouth over my pussy, his face pressed into my ass, and I cry out. He flicks his tongue across my clit, wonderful sensations spreading through my body as he teases me.
He’s gone again, and I pant into the bed. “Please, I need to come.” My eyes roll back as he sinks his fingers into my pussy, twisting and curling them. “Oh fuck?—”
“Look at this wet, tight cunt,” he says, and my fucking God, I could come from him talking. He adds another finger, stretching me. “Do you think you can take my cock?”
“Yes.”
Another spank, a turn of his fingers. “Say you’re a killer.”
My pussy clenches. “I’m a killer.”
