Page 2 of Razors & Ruin
“Many did. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He sits back, and I realize he’s shirtless, his muscles flexing beneath his skin. “So, what’s the deal? You came to stare at the murderer?”
I shudder involuntarily. God help me. My pussy clenches, a trickle of juice running down my inner thigh.
“I wanted you to know I believe you.” I step closer. “I think what you said in court was true. The barber’s wife was your lover; her baby was yours, and the barber knew it. Right?”
“He only had to look at little Johanna to know the truth,” Currer says. “She looked just like me. Same dark eyes. He came to my shop, ready to tear me limb from limb, and his wife followed, begging him not to do it.”
“Did you love her?” I ask. It’s masochistic of me to ask, but I have to know.
“I did not.” Currer’s eyes flick over my body. “Nevertheless, she did not deserve to die at her husband’s hands. And she was no longer his to touch. She was mine.”
I sit on the floor and lean back on my hands, my knees drawn up. “I think you were amazing,” I say. “Killing a man, witnesses bedamned. It’s so raw. People can be too controlled and reasonable sometimes, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” He leans forward. “A question. I’ve been in this room for three days; this is the first time I’ve been without the cuffs. Why did good ol’ Charlie Boy remove my shackles?”
“I paid him to do it.”
He stares at me, his inky eyes reflecting tiny points of light. “Why?”
I find myself unable to speak, poleaxed by his attention. I slide my feet through the dust, parting my legs, and he draws a sharp breath.
“Well, well, well.” He sits on the edge of the bed, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen. Today.”
“Happy birthday.”
I’m lost, my fear and arousal churning as I stare into his endless eyes. “Mr. Brook. Currer.” I open my legs wider, and he groans, reaching for his growing erection. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the day you were arrested,” I say. “I want some of you for myself before they send you away.”
He beckons me with a curled finger. “Come here and kneel.”
Currer
Yeah, she’s young. But when will I feel a woman’s warmth again?
She crawls toward me, the dim light catching her eyes, and I see she’s got some genuine spirit. Must have to come down to this dump in the middle of the night, spread her legs, and show me her snatch.
“Now then, treacle,” I say, holding up my hand. “You stop right there.”
I stand and lower my prison-issue trousers. My cock stands proud, thick and hard, and I grab it at the base.
“You think that’ll fit in your little cunt?” I ask, smirking. “How many have you had?”
“None.” Her voice quivers as she rises onto her knees. “Are they all this size?”
I grab a handful of her hair. “How the fuck should I know? But you’d better get it good and wet unless you want to be a sore girl tomorrow.”
She opens her mouth, and I waste no time in shoving my dick straight down her throat. Her muscles constrict as she gags, and I pull out, tugging her hair back so I can look at her as she coughs.
“Come on now, you can do better than that. Tell me how your pussy feels.”
“It’s wet. I’m so hot for you. You’ve no idea how much?—”
I interrupt her with another thrust into her mouth, my slick head sliding over her tongue. She can’t get away, and as I hold her in place, she relaxes, opening her throat so I can get a rhythm going.
“That’s it, treacle. You’re a good little learner.” I withdraw and slap her face with my shaft. “Spit on it and work it with your hand.”
She obeys immediately, hawking a gob of saliva onto me and spreading it along my throbbing length. I groan as she gathers pace, my pulse pounding in the vein beneath her palm.