Page 28 of Karma

I want to gain some control—I don’t like feeling this out of it—so I take some back.

“Let me,” I tell him, leaning up on my knees.

I put his cock between my breasts and wrap my free arm around my chest to pull them together. His cock glistens with my drool, disappearing and reappearing between the soft mounds of flesh.

“Karma,” he whispers as he drops his head back.

“Come on my chest,” I groan, feeling an uncomfortable ache between my legs at the sight between us. I fuck him until silky white beads shoot from him and coat my skin. When I releasemy breasts and sit up, the beads spread and drip down the curves of my nipples.

“You look fucking sexy with your tits covered in my come.” Knox releases a satisfied exhale as his cock springs back against his bare abdomen. He strips off his shirt and uses it to wipe me clean. He leans forward and captures my mouth with his. “Good fucking girl.”

I inwardly preen under his praise, but I’m careful to keep a look of indifference on my face. My body may react to him, but I have to be smart here. He’s still one of them, and I still don’t know if I can trust him.

Wet hair clings to my neck and forehead as bloody water travels down my body. Allister’s shower head is so much better than mine, and I relax into the warmth as the water washes away the red.

I put my hand to the glued gash in my side. Mark fucking stabbed me. Allister wanted me to go to a hospital, but I absolutely can’t. Exodus is deeply ingrained in this town. Probably this state. If I walk into a hospital, I won’t be walking out. She finally caved and listened when I told her to use super glue. It’s what I used for many of my injuries when I got my friendly initiation into the Exodus a decade ago.

I didn’t die then, and I won’t die this time, but I made sure Allister thought I would. It was the only way I could get her mouth on me. And besides, I actually could have died.

At least I’d have gone to hell with her perfect mouth and fantastic tits on my dick.

I drop my head back against the wall and let that image play in my mind like a beautiful fucking movie. Her full lips around my dick were heavenly, but what she did next was something beyond that. Celestial. She doesn’t have big tits, but it didn’t matter as she wrapped her arm around her body and squeezed them together so that her perfect, round mounds encased my cock.

I don’t think I’ve had a woman please me in that way before, which makes me sound pathetic, but even fucking the backs of her fucking knees would have made me come like no other person I’ve ever been with.

Because it’s her.

Thinking about my come dripping over her breasts and casting a glossy sheen over her nipples makes me want to get off again. I groan, wrapping my hand around my aching dick as my hand strokes past my piercings. I remember the way she looked covered in my pleasure, and it’s all I need to send me over the edge.

I come against her shower wall, and it blends with the porcelain before washing away. I move my dick aside and examine my balls. The two holes have scabbed over now and, thankfully, she missed my actual testicles.

It doesn’t make sense to obsess over someone who nailed my scrotum to the floor, but there’s something about her. She’s so strong, despite being battered down by someone else.

She reminds me of a circus animal—a lion, tiger, or elephant. Beasts that could rip a man apart if they wanted to, but they don’t. They sit there, hold back their strength, and listen to thecommands of some asshole. They take harsh whips and cruel words until they’re forced to obey. But they never lose the power to kill. They’re never tame. They’re merely controlled.

Until they aren’t.

A scream pierces the air and makes its way to the bathroom, and I can’t help but wonder what terrible torture she’s delivering to the man who changed her life so drastically. The man who made her kidnap and torture me.

I smile at the sound as it comes again. It’s a beautiful melody that I hated to hear at my hands. But at her hands, even my own screams sound like a musical masterpiece.

Needing to bear witness to her song, I hurry out of the shower and dress.

His screams are music to my ears. They play over the screams of my father—the man this asshole tortured to death. My hammer comes down again and pushes a nail through his other hand. The nail head ends up flush with his skin as it locks him to the wall. He screams again, his mouth invisible behind that horrifying gold giraffe mask. One of the last things my father saw.

Besides me trying—and failing—to save him.

“Do you remember him?” I ask.

“Who?” the man screams, spit hurtling from his mouth.

“You nailed his hands, just like this.” I slam the hammer against the nail one more time, pinching his muscle and flesh between drywall and metal.

“I didn’t do shit!” he yells.

I turn, walk out of the room, and grab the picture of my father from the nightstand. When I’m back in the spare bedroom, I push the photo into his face. A photo of a time when my father was smiling and happy beside me. I was happy too. Before everything happened.

“Does he look familiar?” I ask.

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