Page 12 of Madness Blooms
“What the hell are you doing?!” I hiss in a loud whisper.
His brows raise playfully. “I want to help you relax,” he says coolly, his words oozing promise. “But it may require some trust on your part.”
It takes me a moment to piece together his implication—and I blush madly and look around the auditorium meekly. The people far in the back had either walked out or were too busy sucking face to pay any attention to anything else. “You expect me to trust you to do …” I gesture to my clothed pussy. “That,” I finish.
He nods nonchalantly, as if what he’s suggesting is no big deal, like he’s casually selecting a cut of meat at a butcher shop.
Ugh. What a terrible analogy.
“Are you not interested at all?” he asks, leaning in closer. In the darkness, his gray eyes practically glitter with mischief. “I promise it’ll be fun.”
We stare at each other, the silence between us thickening into a hot tension.
I sigh, relenting; the thought of his tongue running up and down my pussy makes me slick with need. “Fine. But how are we gonna …” I point to my jeans.
“I’ll help you shimmy out of them,” he says. “After that, spread your legs and close your eyes. I’ll take care of you, Grace.”
We may be moving too fast, but rational thought is thrown out the window as I unbutton and unzip my jeans. After wriggling my hips and somehow avoiding kicking Luke in the face, I drape my jeans over the back of his seat. He then puts a finger to his lips, signaling for me to be quiet.
“Close your eyes and try not to make a sound,” he instructs.
I quake in anticipation, shutting my eyes as Luke settles comfortably between my legs. He runs his finger up and down my slit through my panties, making me gasp. He chuckles at my reaction and presses the gusset against my sex, causing me to gush with arousal. I bite my lip to stifle a moan.
“You okay?” he asks, his hands grasping my thighs.
I can’t help but shudder. “Yes,” I answer, breathless. “Please … don’t stop.”
He smirks wickedly. I hiss as he presses the bruises left behind from the attack; to my surprise, it sends sparks of pleasure to my core. Maybe I’m more of a masochist than I thought. Pushing aside my panties, he licks a long stripe along my slit. I gasp, my insides burning with arousal. As a woman in the movie screams, Luke’s tongue swirls against my clit in time with her grisly murder.
“F-fuck,” I whimper as he nibbles on the bud. Electricity coils in my stomach, begging for delicious release. “You’re really good. I can’t …”
As I trail off, he hikes my legs up and eats me out more vigorously. I wrench my eyes open to watch the crimson spatter on the screen. It’s like sweet torture, with the blood and gore in high resolution coupled with the heat that pools in my core. It’s been so long since I felt so free, so unchained. I writhe in my seat, a scream threatening to break free. My body tenses, every single one of my muscles squeezing violently as I come to the sight of Jason hacking somebody up.
I screw my eyes shut—and all I can see isred.
After Luke finishes feasting on my pussy, he makes a show of licking his lips and grinning at me. “Wanna go to a bar and have a drink?”
I’m sure I look dazed as I reply, “After that? You bet your ass.”
Chapter
Six
HIM
It’s a bit too early in the day to drink, but Bunny accepted my invitation.
Admittedly, ambushing her after an orgasm was opportunistic. But she insisted we go out drinking early, claiming she had to work the next day and that it would be better this way. She also confessed to being a total lightweight—information that I filed away for later—who needs time to get the alcohol out of her system.
After all, you wouldn’t want to get drunk with a serial killer on the loose.
After I devoured her, Bunny ran into the bathroom to clean herself up. When we got into the car, she still looked flustered, her hair mussed and face flushed. I suggested we go to the Bottle Grounds bar—which is probably the most creatively named business in this Podunk town. And then came Bunny’s mouth, blurting out details about her constitution that were better left unsaid to someone she barely knew.
The girl lacks a strong survival instinct. She didn’t even question why the newcomer knew so much about Ashburn. I’m not sure what I expected, really.
To efficiently stalk my targets, I had previously canvassed the area extensively, cataloging most of the town’s hotspots. Scott Robinson, for example, tended to ‘hang out’ at the roller rink when not preaching lies and ringing doorbells to spread his fictional gospel with hollow words and shitty pamphlets. It was where he preferred to prey on his victims, where he sought lives to ruin.
Hand in hand, we step inside Bottle Grounds, a rustic place that straddles the line between a dive bar and a proper establishment. The ceiling fans spin lazily, their white blades discolored from years of tobacco use, and I shudder at the thought of the decades-old stains embedded in the carpet. Old show posters for punk bands stick on the walls like a sad reminder of Ashburn’s relevancy.