Page 81 of Razors & Ruin

“I don’t know what compelled you to call on me in my cell all those years ago,” I say, shoving deeper, “but I’m glad you did.”

I pull out of her mouth, a trail of saliva spattering her cheek, and she laughs, gazing up at me adoringly.

“To tell you the truth, I was a screwed-up young psycho. You were sexy as fuck, I was horny. Then I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” I reply as she swallows my length again. “Although your pussyisparadise, your arsehole is manna from heaven—I don’t know. I’ll have to rail all of them repeatedly, and even then, I can’t promise I’ll be able to pick a favorite.”

Nellie’s hand is inside her bloomers, frigging her clit like a madwoman. I reach below her waistband and shove her hand away, and she groans, letting her teeth graze my surging cock.

“You better not fucking think about it.”

I slap her cunt with the flat of my palm, and she leaps like I’ve scalded her, skewering her throat on my length to a depth hitherto unknown.

“Cunting Christ!” I cry. “More of that, my pretty whore!”

I spank her again, her swollen clit pulsing as the blow lands, and she squeals, my cockhead crashing into her soft palate.

My climax erupts from deep in my abdomen, and I ravaged her clit with my rough fingertips, hurling her over the edge.

Heat and wetness flow from her as she unravels, and she cries out, gargling my come as it pumps down her throat.

I pull free of her tight throat and sit, my back against the counter, trying to get my body under control.

“That was unexpected,” she says, her voice raspy. “Good job the shutters are closed!”

“I don’t care.” I help her to her feet and swoop to kiss the back of her hand. “Let them see how freaks like us do it.”

Nellie is astonished when I show her the spoils.

The Beadle was the kind of over-confident prick to carry all his keys on one ring. Some of them were even labeled, presumably as a neighborly favor to any burglar who happened to try their hand.

It was a piece of piss to let myself in, raid the place, and pack up his belongings. I did it carefully, making it look like the dirty swine had legged it in the dead of night.

“Cor,” Nellie says, picking up a solid silver paperweight from the bundle. “We’d get a few bob for this and no mistake.”

She rummages deeper. “Fuck me sideways, look at this dress!”

“The Beadle was married in his younger years,” I say. “His wife ran away with his close friend, or so I heard. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving come-stain.”

Nellie’s eyes glow with adoration. She loves it when I’m crass, which is just as well.

“Anyway, he tended to hang onto things, so you, my pet, will find all manner of trinkets in there. I also liberated a pile of cash from underneath his mattress and, just for fun, pissed in his bed.”

Her nimble fingers move quickly as she fingers through bundles of notes.

“There’ssomuch money here, Sweeney. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. Shame you couldn’t have swung by the Wetherby gaff while you were at it; if one of Beatrix’s dresses fit me, theyallwould.”

I love her so fucking much.

Her voice is still strained, and her neck is livid with marks, each one a moment when she surrendered her life to me.

That’s the cold bones of the matter; she knows I could have killed her, could kill her afresh every time I put my hands on her body.

Dig beneath the veneer of social discourse, and we’re all playing the same game.

A man can take a woman’s neck in his hand and snap it like a sapling, but he does not because he loves her. She accepts the risk with implicit faith because she loveshim.

A man trusts a woman with his heart; in return, she trusts him with her life. Nellie and I just play harder than most, that’s all.

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