Page 68 of Angels In The Dark

I take her nipple between my fingers and slowly twist until she whines out a yes, making my own core throb in anticipation. I can sense her hesitation, but she’s overwhelmed by the sensation of me stroking her body.

“I pulled out his teeth one by one,” I murmur into her ear. “I watched him gag on his own blood. I cut out his tongue and watched him die slowly.”

My hands move down her body to caress all of her curves as my recounting spills from my lips. I take my time to explore every bend in her body. Over her shirt my fingers explore the swell of her breast, the curve of her stomach, and journey towards where I crave to touch her.

By the way she squirms in my hold, I can tell this is turning her on. She wants this. She wants me. She wants my violence and my anger, but also my adoration.

“I wanted him to suffer as much as I did. I wanted him to feel as desperate for air as I did. Because I couldn’t breathe after he took you.”

My teeth scrape along the tender spot where her neck meets her collarbone.

“Jay,” she pleads.

My lips journey up her neck to her ear, where I nip gently. My hands continue to play with her.

“All I ever want is to take care of you. I would give everything for you. Do anything for you. Not because you can’t, but because I can.”

The way my hands lightly trail along her body allows me to feel every movement she makes. She’s nearly shaking in my arms. Her body wants and craves me.

“I always need you, but I’ve never been sure you need me. And suddenly, you did. You know what I thought about as his blood drained from his body?” At the mention of my violent desires, her hips rock up, begging for my touch.

I can’t help but place kisses along her neck and hair. I need to touch her, feel her. I need the reminder she’s here in my arms. And I am never letting her go.

“How good you would look with his blood on your lips. How beautiful you would be covered in the crimson evidence of his suffering. Every scream he uttered, every time he gagged while desperately trying to breathe, I imagined you were beside me. I wished I could walk up to you as we waited for him to die and kiss you breathless.”

I do just that.

The kiss is frightful and urgent. Our tongues twist with each other, seeking the connection we so missed. Our passion is desperate and destructive. As we kiss, she squirms, and when I come up for air, I can see her rubbing her thighs together, seeking the friction she craves.

Reaching under her, I grasp her by the thighs and lift her. Her knees pull apart, and her feet land softly outside of my own.

Though still fully clothed, she is on complete display for me.

“Do you like this, baby doll? Do you like when I handle you like my plaything? When I tell you all of my dark and depraved secrets?”

The way she responds to my fingers lightly trailing up and down her body gives me my answer.

I shift her so her back is flush with my chest. I stroke lightly against her inner thighs, slowly caressing firmly enough to feel beneath the fabric of her sweatpants. She is still fully dressed, yet her body responds as though it were her delicate skin under my fingertips.

I love teasing her like this. Feeling how restless and desperate I make her. Touching her makes her wild. My hands trace every part of her body. My lips kiss every inch of skin they can reach. I spend my time rediscovering every inch of her.

But part of the fun is holding her off. Every time she tenses up, I stop right on the edge. Whenever she begins to beg, I slow down even further. She tries to draw her legs back together, but I am right there to pull them apart and forcefully keep them open.

I want her to unravel for me. Not for what any set of hands can do for her, but for me.

Me.

The mirror on the dresser gives me a perfect view of everything. Her eyes are shut, and she is arching back with her head leaned back over my shoulder. Everything in her body is taut and tense, waiting for a release that won’t come easily.

“Do you need to come, baby doll?”

Her first tear makes me ask, and her response doesn’t disappoint.

“YES! Fuck. Please!” Each word is separated with a panting breath. “I need to come. Please, Jay. I need you to touch me.”

“Oh, but I have been.” I chuckle.

“You know what I fucking mean.” Her frustration only fuels my desire for her.