Page 25 of Morsel

“You won’t freak out?” I ask. “You won’t?—”

“Stop being scared and tell me what you’d do to me,” she hisses.

My stomach roils as I try to think straight and concentrate on the good, on the fact that my dream girl is lying on the counter asking me to fuck her like she’s meat. I can’t squash the inner questions though.

She expects my obedience, doesn’t she?

Does she think I’m a little bitch?

Am I not man enough for her?

I shake my head. It’s not like that. Mona is simply frustrated with me, like I get irritated with the escorts. She doesn’t want me to perform; she wants reality.

I can tell her something easy, something she probably wants to hear. I can tell her I’d chase her, fuck her, then eat her until there’s nothing left.

I’ll do all of that one day. But right now, I’m starving, and it’s blurring my common sense.

My heart rate increases as I hold down her wrists. She licks her lips.

“I’d chain you to a bed,” I say in a low voice. I squeeze her wrists until her skin thins, and the coarse texture of her bone rubs against my fingertips. Then I bite her wrist. Her veins slide under my teeth, and she yelps, then pulls my head closer to her, desperate for more.

“I’ll feed you only vegetables and fruits and leaves,” I continue. “I’ll make sure you never move, so your meat will stay tender. You want your meat to melt in my mouth, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” she purrs.

The camera shutter clicks right as she moans. Energy fills me. If she’s taking pictures now, then this is what she wants.

“I’ll roast your abdomen,” I say. “But first, I’ll peel the skin from your leg and season you like a real leg of lamb.” I bite her inner thigh, and she flinches slightly. The camera clicks. I bare my teeth, embracing the predator inside of me, and a smile crawls over my lips. She’s not running away. She’s here. She’s listening to me.

“You’d taste so good, baby,” I whisper. “And without your leg, you won’t be able to run away from me.”

She shivers. “You’d do that to me?”

“Of course I will,” I murmur. I bend down to her thighs and bite again. “I’ll do everything I can to savor your meat.”

“Harder,” she rasps. “Bite me harder, Kent.”

Frustration buzzes to my jaws. Does she think I’m a pussy?

I bite down as hard as I can, and her skin finally gives way. A hint of a metallic liquid teases my tongue.

She cries, and I immediately lift from her. A tiny drop of blood pools on her skin, her thigh meat indented with my teeth. Was that hard enough? I want to howl. Am I still a scared little boy to you?

Then Mona’s bottom lips quiver, and those irritations fade, replaced by the panic. I went too far, didn’t I? This will be the act that pushes her over the edge, that forces her to leave me.

Then the shutter taps. I blink. She grins, encouraging me. Go on, her smile says. Keep telling me your desires.

If she’s well enough to keep taking pictures, then she likes my piercing bite.

I’m back in my predatorial form again. There are so many fleshy parts of her body. Her breasts. Her stomach. Those mouth-watering thighs. I can barely keep track of what I want first.

“I’d make you watch me eat you,” I say. “You’d become a part of me.”

“Kent, now—” she says. “I need you.”

She thrusts her pussy, practically bucking into my face. I growl, then push her hips until she’s lying flat, ready to be sliced open. I lick her slit. Her liquid need drips down her crevices, filled with sweetness and salt, and I grab my dick through my pants. I bite her beady clit, her hood sliding from the pressure of my teeth, each movement tenderizing that bundle of nerves. Then I trace my finger down her cunt.

I pinch her folds. “I’d slice off these pretty little lips. I’d eat them first.”

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