Page 31 of The Ripper

Her white dress, the same one that had been the star of my many fantasies, the same one that ended up shredded in all of them, was slightly stained with blood and some of it had spilled onto her skin, down her neck and into her cleavage. I was struggling not to think about how much I wanted to rip her dress off and see her wearing nothing but my blood.

Fuck, the simple thought sent a shock straight to my crotch, and I gritted my teeth as I scraped my nails over my jeans, then swallowed down the fist-sized lump in my throat, wanting to punch my dick for joining the conversation at such an inappropriate time.

~ It’s reacting to your thoughts, so maybe you should punch your head.

I reached my hand out to push back some of the long blonde hair that fell over her face, allowing my index finger to brush over her cheek after tucking the strand behind her ear.

~ How bad would it be if I pushed just a smidge of that blood into her mouth so she would carry my DNA inside her for a while?

~ Ok, you need to shut it, psycho.

I bit my fist as I caressed her petal-soft skin, a little cold to the touch, probably from the shock, and I shook my head and stopped touching her. Not that I didn’t want to keep doing it, but because I felt unworthy of these intimate stolen touches.

~ Oh, get down from that moral high horse, you have no business being on it.

I gritted my teeth and started the engine when Klaus sent me a confirmation text, then drove back to my apartment like a fucking saint. I wasn’t a law-abiding driver, but I didn’t want to startle her if I hit a bump or something, so I stuck to the speed limit.

Carrying her to my apartment proved to be an excruciatingly agonizing task because I had to feel her warmth seeping through my clothes and listen to her soft, sleepy whimpers.

Having Arella so close to me drove me feral with need; it turned me into an animal who wanted a bite out of her, and I had to lock that need up and throw away the key, because just a bite would never suffice.

Ignoring those animalistic urges seemed to be an impossible task, because as I gently laid her down on my bed, I cursed at how good she looked on my sheets. It was as if she belonged there, almost as if she needed to be shackled to it so she would never leave.

Pain shot up my arm when I remembered that I had a gunshot wound to tend to, but before I could care for myself, I had to care for her, because I couldn’t let her wake up covered in blood, could I?

I went to my dresser and pulled out a black T-shirt, not that I owned any other colors, then went to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth to clean her up with.

Very slowly, I removed her dress and gulped audibly when I realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra, flooring the brakes on my sick fantasies when I saw the contrast between her pale flesh and my sheets. Fuck, how I wanted to bruise her with my teeth, to stain part of her black so she could blend into my darkness.

I swallowed the dryness in my throat as I imagined marking her, then did everything in my power to not look at her.

Anywhere but her.

The fucking wall, the fucking nightstand, the fucking hideous red lava lamp that Klaus gifted me as a, and I quote, “housewarming gift”.

“Shit,” I looked at the wall as I started to carefully wipe the blood from her neck and chest.

This was torture at its finest, since I didn’t even have the voice to keep me distracted, because somehow the fucker decided it was time for a nap.

My finger accidentally brushed her nipple as I cleaned the swell of her breast, and I mentally slapped myself as I tried not to imagine all the nasty, disgraceful things I wanted to do to her.

I tried to think about the opposite of things that sparked arousal, like swamps, sewers, cinnamon, public bathrooms, all while forcing my eyes to stay fixed on the wall above her head. But when I finished, and I took the T-shirt in my hand, my gaze accidentally fell on her again, and I froze, then looked away, then back at her.

“You are going to be the death of me,” I whispered to her sleeping self as my eyes lingered on the small smudge of blood left on her collarbone. “But if I must die, I hope to die for you.”

Fuck it, I already broke every rule, what was one forbidden look going to change?

And look I did.

I allowed myself to watch her, unapologetically. I took in the way her lips parted with her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest and the way her full breasts slightly bobbed with the movement. Licking my lips, I raised my hand and hovered my fingers above the dip of her stomach, following the path of every curve, circling her navel, going down and over her mound.

So fucking tempting.

I wondered what it would feel like to cup her over the material of her white cotton panties.

It looked like it would be a handful, and in my twisted brain, I imagined she would be so wet that her underwear would stick to her flesh. It would be messy, and she would beg me not to stop.

~ She would probably bite your head off.

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