Page 58 of Morsel

A few more cuts. That’s all I need. It’s a few more cuts, and she won’t be able to move anymore. She’ll be completely at my mercy.

“Kent,” she whispers. “Why don’t we wait to have sex until we’re at your home later?”

She’s posing it as a question, and that means she’s finally giving me the respect I deserve, letting me decide, realizing I know what’s best for us. She’s probably worried about the windows, but this high up, away from the edge of the room, there’s a good chance the students can’t see anything. And it’s not like Mona is asking me to stop. Waiting and stopping are different. Even if she did ask me to stop, I’m not sure I would listen. It’s not up to her anymore.

Fear clouds Mona’s eyes, a storm washing over her dark pupils, and it’s like she’s finally seeing my true self for the first time. Me, the real me. The one that’s always been here, waiting for her to open her eyes.

Her breath lodges in her throat like a lump of unchewed food. I shove my dick inside of her, and her cunt clenches around me like a cocoon. I concentrate on that frightened expression; it fills me with hunger for more.

If I got to cut her—if I carved her meat with my own hands—she would squeeze me harder. Deeper. Tighter. Like a rabbit snatched in a wolf’s jaws, struggling to get away.

Her pussy walls close in on me, so fucking tight, so full of fear, it’s invigorating.

“Would you hunt me?” she whispers. Her eyes are wide, and she asks the question like it’ll give her power again.

“Hunt you, baby?” I ask. “I already have you.”

As my dick impales her, I imagine it’s not my dick, but a bone and keratin horn, goring her like a fighting bull. It slices through her pussy, her uterus, her intestines. If the horn was big enough, it could impale her from her ass to her esophagus.

I twist her nipples, and she cries, her sweet moan filling my ears with love. With need. With hunger. Like the scent of barbecued flesh on the wind.

This is too much though. I can’t kill her. It’s just dirty talk, I tell myself. It’s a fantasy. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing?—

But it’s not nothing. It’s not like the sex workers or my shy ex-girlfriends. Mona isn’t like those stupid cunts. She knows what I’m capable of. With Mona, it’s something, like I’m only another fingertip away from my dreams.

“I’ll fuck you and kill you slowly, little morsel,” I groan, my dick pulsing, so close to orgasm, the crown of my cock dribbles with pre-cum. “All you have to do is ask.”

A knock bangs into the door. “Who is it?” she yelps.

An angry male voice shouts, his voice muffled by the door.

“Tell him to go away,” I order in a low voice.

“Come in,” she squeaks, her voice eerily weak. “Come in! Come in!”

I roll my eyes and ready myself for whatever comes next. She’s not listening to me. I’ll have to change that. I’ll teach her a lesson in obedience if I have to. I know what’s best for both of us, especially when it comes to her meat.

It’s the only way we can make this work.

Chapter 22

The office doors swing open, and that pony-tailed idiot walks in, his eyes like saucers as he takes in our bodies in the midst of sex.

Artemis draws his head back sharply. “What the fuck are you doing?” Mona jumps off the desk, and Artemis lifts his arms, his eyes bulging from his head. “You’re fucking her while she’s at work? When she’s in a wheelchair? When she’s clearly hurt?”

“What we do is none of your business,” I snarl.

“Mona, tell him to get out,” he yells.

“Kent,” Mona says. Her voice is pleading, right on the edge of begging me, and for once, it’s not a performance. She keeps her eyes on the ground, deferring to Artemis.

Irritation simmers under my skin. He has ripped the control I had over Mona away from me, when I was so close to holding it in my hands. It’s fucking bullshit. If she had dumped him after that threesome—if she had listened to me—we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

I hate how this feels.

A situation like this takes more time though. I can’t be hasty with how I carve my meat. If I want Mona to be mine until the day she dies, I have to respect her words. And if she wants to listen to Artemis right now, then I have to too.

“You don’t have your car,” I say. “We drove my van, remember?”

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