When he steps closer, the moonlight catches the silver blade. It looks like a medieval weapon, deathly sharp and harshly contoured.
“What is that?” My voice sounds faraway and just a little curious.
“The machete I used to kill your uncle.”
I swallow, raking my gaze over the phallic-shaped smooth wooden handle and the long, curved blade glistening with strips of moonlight.
My hands fist at my sides in an attempt to contain more of the violent energy coursing through my veins.
I lick my lips and Fiero’s slow, confident strides bring him into my space.
“You want closure, right?”
I glance up at him and nod.
He jerks his head toward the chair he tossed his jacket onto, and issues a blunt command. “Face that and bend over.”
My heart climbs up my throat but I do as he says. Fiero has only ever made me feel good—never bad. I trust he knows what he’s doing, and that whatever he has planned is going to bring me some kind of release.
The chair seat faces me so I lean forward, bracing my hands on the edge of the upholstered arms.
I hear Fiero’s footsteps but my brain doesn’t process them until he’s standing behind me, kicking my feet apart.
I gasp when he crawls between them, then turns to rest his back against the seat of the chair, his face level with my pussy.
My breaths come thick and fast—I have no idea what he’s about to do, but having his mouth hover so close to that intimate part of me is driving me crazy with need.
His lashes flick up, locking his gaze onto mine as he leans forward and licks haltingly over my clit.
Heat rolls right up my torso and my upper body buckles. I’m appalled at how turned on I am already. I’ve just been discussing my uncle’s brutal murderwith his murderer, and I’m so wet.
He does it again, even more slowly this time, then sucks my clit into his mouth, pulling gently on it before letting it slip free.
“Ohf-fuck,” I whisper, my teeth chattering with adrenaline.
A corner of his mouth curls and he does it again, sliding his tongue through my folds before circling the nub of nerve endings. He stares at me the whole time, watching my reactions closely.
Then he closes his eyes and curls his tongue into my entrance, rubbing my clit with his nose. He slowly fucks me with his tongue, and when he purrs into my flesh, the vibrations tickle my spine.
I begin to feel delirious with want. While I love the feeling of his tongue inside me, I need more. Shifting my hips a little, I gyrate on his face, swooning at the murmurs of approval he feeds my pussy.
I hear the tearing of a wrapper but I can’t see past his lowered lids and suckling lips.
The snap of rubber makes me stiffen. He senses it and pulls back, watching me. I glance down. He’s holding the machete beneath me, the rounded handle pointing up between my legs. My breaths shorten. What the hell is he going to do?
“This is theonlytime I plan to use a rubber on you,” he growls deep, then sheaths the handle with a condom.
My mouth falls open.
“Spread your legs,” he commands.
“Fiero…”
Part of me wants to gag, but another part—a part so apparently dark I didn’t know it could linger in my bones—wants to fuck the weapon that killed my abuser, to revel in the gruesome torture he experienced in his final minutes.
My gaze flicks nervously to Fiero.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
