Page 12 of White Wings of Desire

When my legs relax, and my grip on him loosens, he pulls his hand free. I whimper as his fingers slip out of me with a wet sound. He backs off and kneels between my spread legs; he lifts his hand and pulls a string of my clear liquid, connecting my soaking wet core to his hand. Through heavy eyelids I watch him as he brings his gloved hand, completely covered in my arousal, closer to his face and runs his tongue over his fingers, grunting in approval at the taste of me.

"You're delicious, Baby," he says, and his tongue darts out of his mouth and licks his lips clean. My heart leaps in my chest, violently beating against my ribcage, and my body feels like it's on fire.

I shriek when his long fingers wrap around my thighs and he drags me across the bed, lifts my hips, and pushes one of the hideous, decorative pillows under my hips to keep me at an angle. He bends forward, and hovers over me, supporting his weight with one hand next to my head. His other hand is between us, holding his cock in place, pushing the head between my wet folds, putting pressure on my opening. I close my eyes and catch my lower lip between my teeth. My stomach flutters with excitement. As he thrusts into me, I let out a soft moan. He’s big, and the stretch of his girth stings but feels good. For the first few inches, he goes slow and gentle. But then he thrusts all the way into me with one deep, powerful stroke. I moan out loud, and my entire body shakes as he hits my limit, my body not allowing him any further.

His weight comes crashing down on me, his arm rams into the mattress next to my head, and the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings in my ear. My eyes fly open in confusion and horror, his face right in front of mine, a devilish grin decorating his handsome features. I tilt my head to where his arm had crashed into the bed. He is holding a knife, which is now stuck in the mattress next to me. Where did he get that knife? I turn my head to the other side of the bed, his suit jacket now within reach. He must have moved it closer when I was distracted, and the knife was probably in one of the pockets.

I wince at the sensation of the cold metal of the blade pressing against my chin, gently nudging my face back to look at him. "Never take your eyes off of me," he says in a seductive yet threatening tone. My stomach drops, and the words get stuck in my throat, and all I can do is nod my head in response. "Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles and leans closer, his lips brushing against mine.

"No." I manage to say in a barely audible whisper, but it seems to be enough to satisfy him. His lips twitch against mine, forming a smirk, as he runs the sharp side of the blade across my cheek.

"So beautiful, My Little Dove." He sucks my lower lip between his teeth, nibbling at the soft flesh. His free hand grabs my leg and pushes it up, bringing it to rest on his shoulder. I let out a soft moan as he eases out of me, slowly, only to slam back into me with force. He doesn't start out slow; his pace is violent from the very beginning. I grip the sheets below me, my knuckles turning white as I hold on for dear life. Due to his powerful rhythm penetrating my insides, all the sounds that escape my mouth are embarrassingly high-pitched, but I don't care; it feels too good to care. With each thrust, as he settles inside me, his chest vibrates with his moans.

His hand, holding the knife, slips into the narrow space between us and rests on my pubic bone. The cold metal brushes against my heated skin. A mixture of fear, excitement, and pleasure builds up in my core. His thumb finds my clit and presses down on the small bundle of nerves, setting my whole body on fire. I cry out as another orgasm rushes through me, my body trembling, my muscles tense, and I arch my back off the bed.

His movements slow, his violent thrusts easing into soft, gentle strokes that feel like salvation. "I need you to do something for me," he whispers, his voice low, and his breath tickles my skin. My brain is still clouded from the orgasm, but I nod without giving his request a second thought. He reaches for my right hand, and my eyes fly wide when he forces the knife into my palm, his fingers curling around mine to make sure I hold on tight.

"Wha—" I want to ask, but I get my answer before I even say the word. He puts more distance between us, guiding my hand and bringing the knife to his throat, pressing the dull back of the blade against the small wound. This sick bastard wants me to hold him at knifepoint?

"Can you do this for me?" he asks, his voice hoarse as he presses down on the dull end. He moans, and I feel the vibration through the knife, rippling through me. I nod my head, although I feel uneasy about this whole thing. But something inside me is screaming at me to follow his demands.

He supports himself with one arm next to my head and the other grips my thigh tight, threatening to bruise my skin. He closes his eyes, and his tongue flicks out of his mouth, the tip stuck between his lips as if he’s concentrating. He leans against the blade, applying more pressure. I try to hold the knife as steady as I can against his weight. At first, his thrusts remain slow and steady, testing my ability to hold the knife. But with each thrust, his strokes become more experimental until he falls back into his violent rhythm.

I keep my focus on him, trying to keep the knife steady, but he keeps hitting that one magical spot inside me, sending shock waves through my entire body. My moans come out in short, erratic gasps. I press the knife harder against his throat, breaking the existing cut, causing more blood to trickle down the blade, dripping onto my chest in warm crimson droplets that burn against my skin.

It is becoming too much for me; every muscle twitches from overstimulation. My hold on the knife loosens, the blade almost slipping from my fingers. As if he could feel my strength fading, his fingers curl around mine, and he takes the knife from me, tossing it aside.

"Bad girl, imagine what would have happened if you dropped the knife," he says, his tone serious and angry. He is right. If I had let go of the knife, I would have hurt myself. But why does he care?

"I'm sorry," I say between moans.

He straightens and wraps his hands around my waist, his fingers exploring my skin, setting my already heated skin on fire as they work their way up past my breasts, spreading his blood over my collarbone until he wraps his long fingers around my throat.

My eyes instantly snap wide open. "You better be sorry, because if someone's going to hurt you," he says and the corner of his lip curls into a devilish grin. "It's me."

I gasp as he begins to squeeze, cutting off my blood flow while he continues his relentless assault. Panic begins to spread through my body, a knot forms in my stomach, and nausea crawls up my throat. I clutch at his arms with trembling fingers, digging my nails into his skin, but no matter how hard I scratch, he won't let go. My vision begins to blur as tears fill my eyes. Despite the fear and panic raging through my veins, my body responds with pleasure. His movements begin to falter, his hips stuttering against mine until he finally comes to a halt, buried deep inside me. A strangled moan leaves my throat, and my muscles contract in yet another violent orgasm. Overly sensitive, I can feel every throb of his cock inside me, pouring himself into me.

"Look at you, milking me so eagerly," he says, his chest rising as he breathes heavily. I can't hold back the sobs, tears running down my cheeks, and my grip on his arms loosens as my control begins to slip away.

Then, he finally lets go of my neck, and I gasp for air. My whole body is trembling, the room around me spinning as my blood rushes back to my brain. He lowers himself onto me, his face now close to mine, planting soft kisses on my damp cheeks in a comforting gesture.

"We're far from done." He lowers his tone dangerously before planting a fleeting kiss on my lips. "I have to take advantage of such an eager cum slut." He smirks.

I lose all sense of time and don't know how long we continue doing this. Since he choked me, my body feels weightless, and the overwhelming pleasure has turned into pain. Tears run down my cheeks, and my body is limp in his arms. At this point, he’s simply using me for his own entertainment, manhandling me in whatever way he needs. He knows what he's doing, and even though I'm at my breaking point, I love it. I love the way he uses me. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, and my body is losing the battle to stay awake; slowly, everything is going dark.

My whole body throbs with pain and my muscles scream in misery. My skin feels sticky and grimy, like I’m coated in a thick layer of filth. I open my eyes, the room I'm in is dimly lit, everything is blurry, and I can't make out my surroundings. When I try to push myself up, a wave of pain shoots through my entire body, making it a challenge to sit with the burning ache in my abdomen. Slowly but surely, my vision clears; I look around and recognize the hotel room. The memories flood back into my head. I was at Mr. King's daughter's wedding, the White Dove Killer chased me. We had sex. My heartbeat quickens, and my eyes widen as they dart around the room, looking for him. But he isn’t here; I’m alone. I notice his clothes are scattered around the room, which means he hasn’t left yet. Then where is he? And why am I still alive?

I look down and find myself neatly tucked in bed. Pushing the blanket off myself, I freeze at the sight of my body. I'm covered in sweat, blood, and cum. Not just a little, a lot. I swallow the lump in my throat.

The familiar sound of a shower running reaches my ears, and my eyes snap to the door leading to the bathroom. He’s in there, taking a shower. This is probably my last and only chance to get out of here.

I swing my legs off the bed and flinch in pain as I push myself up. My cunt is on fire, burning and sore. When I manage to stand up straight, I feel something warm dripping out of me, the sticky liquid running down my inner thigh. Fuck. I look down and see a thick clot of cum running down my skin. That fucking bastard, I curse him in my head. No matter how uncomfortable it makes me feel, I can't waste time worrying about it now. I have to get out of here.

I tiptoe through the room, gathering my belongings. Skipping my underwear, I slip on my dress. I grab his suit jacket and slip into the long sleeves to give myself more coverage before I hurry to the door with quick but quiet steps. On the way, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and freeze. My hair is a mess, and my face and make-up are completely smudged, with heavy tear stains on my cheeks. Huge bruises decorate my throat from when he choked me. I swallow the lump creeping up my throat. I have to get out of here.

Now.

Chapter 12

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