Page 97 of Fracture

I swallow hard, and nod. “Yes.” I lift my hand to remove the mask, but Stella stops me with a slow shake of her head.

“How did you kill him?” Her amber eyes move over the black mask. “I want to know what you did.”

I shift on my feet, and shrug the jacket off my shoulders. “We took him from his house, from his driveway, and drove him out on my grandfather’s property, out into the woods to an old barn.” I take a deep breath, sweating under the mask. “I cut his throat.”

Stella watches me with detached neutrality, not a hint of shock to be seen in her face. “Is that all?”

“Stella, I don’t want to burden you with this.”

Her hand traces up my chest, the touch of her fingers setting me on edge. I want to seize her in my arms and throw her down on the ground right now. I want to bury myself in her sweetness and promise her with my body and my soul that I won’t stop until they’re all dead, and all gone.

“I was burdened with all this for eleven years, Dylan.” Her eyes meet mine again, burning into me. “Just tell me he suffered. Tell me he begged for mercy. Tell me he died in pain, afraid.” The cool tone in her voice sends a jolt of lust into my stomach.

“He did.” I lean over her, brushing my mouth against her skin through the fabric of the mask. “I killed him for you,guera. Just like he deserved.”

She shivers, and leans against me. “Thank you.” She exhales softly against me. “Where’s Levi?”

“Cleaning up.”

“Mmm.” Her voice hums in her throat, and her arms wrap around my waist, drawing me close. She doesn’t even care that I’m covered in blood and sweat, that I’m staining her pristine white dress. And suddenly I’m overcome with the need to stain every part of her, to sully all this perfection, this mask she’s been forced to wear her whole life. I want to tear it down and smash it to pieces.

I pick her up, my hands moving up her thighs as they wrap around my waist. “Such a good girl,” I purr against her neck. “Never wearing panties, so I can toy this pussy whenever I want.”

Her head falls back on a moan, my fingers digging into her perfect ass as I carry her to the pool table. I lay her down, and she lies back, watching as I push her dress up around her hips. I hitch one of her legs up over my shoulder, pressing my face against her ankle, her scent wafting through the mask.

I gaze down at her, at perfect, accomplished Stella Langford, her white dress stained with the blood of the man who violated her, who took what wasn’t his to take, who took what she wanted to giveme.I meet her eyes and see the same desire that’s clawing its way through my bloodstream right now, the same need and urgency.

My life, my heaven, laid out before me with her dress around her waist and her pussy on display for me, pink and swollen and aching to be fucked. It’s so fucked up, and so wrong, and yet so incredibly right to take my cock in my blood-stained hand, running the blunt head through her slickness, hearing her pant and moan and beg.

“Fuck, I love it when you beg for me,guera,” I say, pressing just the tip of me into her heat. “You have no idea what it does to me.”

Her back bows, her arms flung above her head. “Please, Dylan, please. I need more.”

“My needy girl.” I push in a little further, gritting my teeth as I try to maintain my restraint, letting her take me in slowly. “You needpapito take care of this greedy pussy? Fill it up with my cum?”

She bites her lip and nods, her eyes squeezed shut.

I withdraw my cock and slap her pussy, her eyes flying open instantly, her hips bucking against the table as she cries out. I should remind her of her safe word, but the fluttering of her lashes and the moan that reverberates deep in her throat as I lower my mouth to her pussy and kiss her smooth skin are so fucking sweet.

“I need those eyes on me,guera,” I murmur against her skin. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,papi.”

“Such a good girl.” I straighten back up, lifting both her legs so her feet are locked behind my neck. “What's your safe word?”

Her lips curl into a smile as her eyes meet mine. “Martini.” Her mouth opens in a short gasp as I press the tip of my cock inside her, and she’s even hotter than she was a moment ago. Her legs tense against my body as I sink right into her.

“So tight for me like this,” I murmur, raising a hand to the mask, but Stella shakes her head again.

“No, leave the mask on.” Her eyes flash with shy desire. “I like it.”

I growl against her leg, running a hand down to her smooth thigh as I thrust into her. It seems fitting, that this masked face was the last thing Iverson saw before he died like the pig that he was, and now I’m fucking the woman he violated. It's sick that I even think of it, it’s a whole other level of fucked up, but the satisfaction I feel knowing his body is being eaten away by acid while Stella is here and alive, skin flushed and sweet, needy moans escaping her lips - it’s twisted but it feels like justice. A small chunk of it, but one that means everything to me.

She’s mine. She’s ours.

Her eyes obediently stay on me, her lashes fluttering gently as I continue to slide in and out of her. She’s so hot, getting wetter with every thrust of my cock. Her back arches, lifting her off the table and pressing her hips down so she’s even tighter around me.

“Dylan,” she mewls, her hand reaching out to find mine, guiding me down to her. I brace my other hand against the table, and she directs me to hold her throat. “Please.”

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