Page 94 of A Love Most Fatal
I press her down onto the mattress and help her wiggle off her shorts before I pull her top up and latch onto her tits as soon as they’re in view. She groans, tugging at my hair until I feel pricks of pain in my scalp that light me aflame.
I bite her tits, up her chest, on her neck where I do leave hickeys beneath her collarbone and a light one on the base ofher throat, and she lets out the prettiest little moans grinding against my thigh while I do.
“Fuck me,” she breathes into my ear. “Now, no condom.”
The sound that comes out of me is inhuman, a man possessed. But I do as she says, making quick work of my clothes.
“Turn over,” I demand, and she listens. Her ass in the air, hands fisting her comforter, I am dumbstruck. I am paralyzed watching her wiggle beneath me until she lets out a moan, and I am spurred into action. She wants to be fucked, but I must lick her first, I am a starved man, parched, and I lap at her relentlessly as she squirms.
“Nate,” she moans, then more stern, “Now.”
I would toy with her longer if I had any control, but if she’ll have me, I’ll have forever to torment her, bring her to the edge and make her beg; today is not that day.
I kneel behind her on the bed, sheathing myself inside of her in two thrusts, making us both groan.
I want to cry, or come immediately, fill her up with it and watch as it drips out after. It’s caveman speak and probably not very feminist of me, but I want to fill her up and keep it there, I want to come across her chest, her back, her ass, and then I want her to ask for more. I’m dizzy thinking about it.
My hands grip her hips as I press into her again and again, the feeling of her hot cunt addicting around me and her moans making me delirious. I press harder, faster, until she’s moaning into her sheets, her face against the mattress while I hold up her hips and slam into her again and again.
She’s going to come, I think, and I see her hand snaking down to rub her clit to take her there.
“Yes, baby,” I say. “Make yourself come for me.”
She just moans louder, her pussy squeezing around me as I move faster. I keep muttering things, not holding back fromshowering her with praise and all the filthy thoughts that have been swimming through my head. I tell her she’s perfect, that she’s mine, that I don’t want her to even think about another man, not ever, that I want to hear her come and then I want to hear her come again.
And then she comes, moaning so loud I can only pray that Mary is still in the basement punishing a punching bag. The way Vanessa tightens around me sends me over the edge, all of me spilling into her as my thrusts get more erratic and entirely uncoordinated.
I try to catch my breath while she comes down, while I come down. We are both sweating, panting messes, and she’s potentially got bruises on her hips from where I was grabbing her.
I flip her on her back and enter her again, slower languid movements as my dick is growing flaccid. She watches me while I do, and I’m afraid to speak the words aloud but I want her to see them, in my eyes, in my touch. I lean to her ear and whisper them.
“I want to be the one. I love you,” I say, and then I say it ten more times, a chant against her ear. “Let me be the one. Please, please.”
When I pull away, she looks serious, assessing how serious I am, and whatever she finds makes her nod.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Yes.”
33
VANESSA
Willa loves affirmations,absolutely loves them. I regard them as optimistic attempts to gaslight yourself into getting through another day without confronting the horrors of this life, but she remains steadfast.
Her favorite is: “Everything always works out for me,” and she has me repeat it to her sometimes half a dozen times when I’m having a bad day.
As I drifted to sleep tonight, heavy limbs wrapped in Nate’s arms, his soft breath on my forehead, I was inclined to believe her. Things are often, in fact, working out for me.
But it was premature. We aren’t asleep for two hours before the cold, harsh hand of reality returns, and it clutches its hand around my neck. Because of course, why wouldn’t it?
Mary crashes into the room with Leo hot on her heels, flicking on the overhead light behind them. At first, I think they’re here to tell me I shouldn’t be sleeping with Nate and I almost tell them, “no it’s okay, we’re allowed to do that now,” but neither of them look fazed as I sit up in the bed. Nate tries to stuff a pillow over his face to block the light.
“We’ve got more bodies. It’s the Washington Street project,” Mary says. She’s already digging in my dresser and tossing blackitems of clothes at me, a long sleeve shirt, a pair of leggings. “Get up.”
She tosses sneakers on the comforter.
“What happened?” I ask, already moving, pulling my hair up, wrestling a bra over my head. “How many?”
“Seven that we know of. Leo sent Rafael to check after the first group of guys went down, and he said it was a bloodbath. Bodies, but no sign of who left them.”