Page 89 of Locke

But there was a gentleness in him—

I extinguished that thought right off the bat, determined not to embrace it.

“Take your shirt off,” he said next, letting my hand go.

He still didn’t give me any room as I shakily peeled my shirt off my body. He yanked it roughly out of my hands. I twisted my head to see what he was doing. He was twisting it around, until it looked like a solid piece of rope. Before I could even wrap my head around what he intended to do, the shirt-rope went around my head and settled tightly around my throat. I let out a shocked scream that died short when he tugged sharply on it, squeezing it around my throat. “Silence, woman,” he demanded.

“Please,” I whispered, terrified. “Please, Locke, don’t—”

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you, Kali,” he cut in, tightly. “I’m just letting you know who’s in control. That when I tell you to strip, you fucking strip. When I tell you to press your ass against my cock, you fucking do it, or this noose grows tighter.”

As if proving a point, he tugged on it once more, stealing a sudden breath from my lungs. I immediately bucked my ass out, pressing it against his hard length, appeasing him.

“Good girl,” he praised me then, and fuck me, I liked making him happy. “Now turn around, drop to your knees, and suck my cock.”

Before he could tug on that damn shirt around my throat, I dropped down to my knees immediately. I barely turned my body to face him when I felt the head of his cock demanding entrance to my mouth. I opened it, welcoming the taste of him in as he gripped my hair in a tight fist and fucked my mouth, his grunts loud, his grip in my hair so tight, it brought tears to my eyes.

Fuck, this was so dirty.

“All of it,” he demanded. “Fucking all of it, Kali, I want your walls down. Don’t fight it. Not this time. Just take me in.”

And I did.

I sensed his urgency, his need, like this was something he needed to happen that ran deeper than before. I surrendered wholly, until I was just a fucking mouth he was using to fuck, but I looked at him to see his pleasure, and I instantly regretted it.

His eyes collided with mine.

Our gazes locked.

And this wasn’t the impersonal man I thought I’d be facing.

This man was hurting so deeply, his eyes were gentle even while his cock felt angry in my mouth. The tears burning my eyes weren’t from the pain of his grip, or how deep he pushed himself down my throat, but for the hurt he was enduring.

One I was slowly beginning to understand, though I wildly resisted to protect my own emotions.

"Perfect little lion," he whispered. "Mine. All mine. Your claws, your lips, your disdain--I want it all."

He pulled out abruptly, our gaze his undoing, and he came all over my face, ropes of it coating me. Down my face, in my mouth, pooling around the forgotten shirt he’d used to strangle me.

“Come on,” he panted now. “Up, Kali, and let me take you home.”

I got up on wobbly legs and he helped me into my destroyed shirt that he used to wipe my face. I didn’t meet his eye, and I looked away when his fingers grazed my jaw in a doting way.

"Kali," he whispered, in that revering way.

I wanted to cry.

Hardly anymore words were exchanged when he led me back to his car, passing people on the street who gave us strange looks because they must have heard our little tryst. His pleasure had been loud, and I hated that they heard it because I wanted the sounds to myself to keep.

We were such a fucked-up duo.

Twenty-Nine

Kali

Confession

I’ve always wondered what sort of victim I’d be in a horror movie. I’ve watched enough old school horror movies and I know the trope: sorority girls were bitchy and bit the dust, vapid jocks followed, and minority people are pretty much fodder to the killer.

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