Page 36 of Razors & Ruin

“Oh, treacle, let’s not get started on what you deserve.” He surprises me by leaning over my body and kissing me passionately, his lips hot and tasting of copper and sex. “You want me inside you?”

“God, yes!”

“God won’t give you what you need, my love. Begme.”

“Give it to me, please.” I tilt my hips, grazing the base of his cock with my slit, and he snarls. “I’m begging. You like it? You like to make little Nellie whine and mewl for your fucking?”

Sweeney needs no further encouragement, and he crawls over me, pushing my legs up as he moves. I slump back onto the chair as he bottoms out hard, the freezing steel of his blade still jammed up against my clit.

“Let’s not cut you down there,” he breathes into my ear. “Not today.” He stills his body and draws the razor up between us, the sharp edge nicking and fraying my blouse, the buttons popping loose. “What about here?”

He swipes at my nipple, catching it just underneath, and I grit my teeth as a teardrop of blood swells at the site of the delicate puncture, no bigger than a needle prick. It feels like molten lava as it runs down the swell of my tit, mixing with the drying blood of our unfortunate friend on the floor.

“You’re a sacrifice,” Sweeney whispers, pulling back his hips. The corded muscles of his back flex beneath my palms. “Aren’t you treacle? It’s just like you said—there’s nothing you won’t do.”

He lowers his lips to my bleeding peak, and I groan, the agony giving way to an insistent tug of relief, my nerve endings seized and misfiring as they meander from pleasure to pain.

My pussy is stretched to beyond what I thought possible—where my man found more girth, I’ll never know—and yet more blood seems to swell forth, engorging him further as he moves in and out of my spasming cunt.

“Perfection,” Sweeney says, rolling his body as he tries to find more space, “You've got me so hard. I may never get out of your pussy alive, my pet, but there are worse ways to go.”

He withdraws almost entirely before plunging back inside, and I yelp, my clit pounding against his shaft as he grinds.

I’m going to come. I’m pasted head-to-toe in the blood of a stranger, with Sweeney so relentlessly hard and alive as he ravages my softness. It’s more than I can take.

He’s sick.I’msick. We can be exactly as cursed as we are, always, forever, and I’ll be delighted. Saint Peter can stick his redemption up his big pearly gate as long as I’ve got my Mr. T.

And no one else can make him feel like I can.No way.

Sweeney feels me clamping down on his cock and grips my throat again. “Eyes on mine, Nellie,” he hisses. “Right now, love. Look at me while you come, there's my good little slut.”

I cry out into his mouth as he crushes me with a kiss. He gives an almost death-like moan of anguished release as he unloads intome, his weight forcing the air from my lungs as he collapses onto my quivering body.

He killed a man, then fucked me like something genuinely feral. It was an exchange, a deal; he had to complete the circuit. To slash a throat is freedom, a joyous release. A masturbatory act, almost, and as such, not enough.

To Sweeney Todd, the base desires to kill and fuck walk hand-in-hand, and I’m the only one—the only fucking person—who understands and accepts that.

His head rests on my chest, and I run my hand through his hair.

“You’re a lucky man,” I whisper.

“Of course,” he replies, lifting his head to look at me. “A lady after my own heart, Mrs. L, and a perfect fit all around.”

There’s not much to do to improve our appearance. We’re both drenched in blood from head to toe, the room looks as bad as it smells, and the dead fucker on the floor is starting to stiffen up.

“We need to move him,” I say.

“There might be more.” Sweeney rearranges his clothes and regards the corpse ruefully. “Scumbags I have to despatch, that is.”

“So they’ll be stacking up like sides of fucking beef? Whatever happened to courting the discerning wealthy?”

Sweeney picks up his razor and wipes it on a towel, polishing it to a sheen before putting it in its wallet. “I’m not fussy. Not everyone who comes through here can be the upper crust.”

I’m staring at the heap of dead man when the penny drops.

Don’t worry what goes in ‘em, sweetpea.

It don’t matter what fills the crust as long as someone’ll pay to swallow it.

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