Page 28 of Morsel

When it comes to her, she’d never make it to the pit. And I wouldn’t have any leftovers.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says. “I guess I was trying to figure out why you don’t go after what you want.”

I grit my teeth. Scare me? I wasn’t scared. I was just…resisting the urges. For fuck’s sake, I was trying to protect her! I’m close to crossing a line I may not be able to come back from. I don’t want to scare her.

I can’t say that though.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” I say quietly. “I freaked out. You were just trying to indulge me.”

“And get a good picture,” she says with amusement. “I want to thank you for taking me and my project seriously. It’s refreshing to meet someone who isn’t so resistant, you know?”

Her words dance in my brain. Did she just thank me?

I left her in the kitchen, and yet, for some reason, she appreciates me.

She’s right; I do take her seriously. So fucking seriously that I know there’s real danger in our relationship. Mona is willing to cut herself for her art, for me, and if we keep doing this, I don’t know where it will end.

I’m not a cannibal. I just have these ideas in my head, and Mona does too. We’re both adults. We can make our own informed decisions.

And I can stop again like I did tonight. Even if she wants me to eat her, I don’t have to go all the way.

I broaden my chest. “No, really. Thank you for including me.”

She takes my hand in hers. Her small, dainty fingers envelop me in their coldness. It must be too chilly for her out here. That can’t be good for her muscles. For her meat.

A shudder rolls through my body.

Mona tilts her head. “I want you to meet my friend and teach him how to be like us.” Hopeful curiosity blooms across her face. “We’ll show him how to create true art.”

The mobile home lights gleam in her eyes, surrounded by the dark makeup. Tension wraps around my gut, my head buzzing with cautious thoughts. Having another man with us ruins the intimacy of our roleplaying. He’ll be a voyeur. A person casting judgment. A barrier to destroy.

And the idea of destroying her friend fills me with vibrating energy. Would Mona like seeing me prove to her friend I’m the alpha of our small trio?

“Will your friend be participating?” I ask.

“Not if there’s no purpose for him.” She squeezes my fingers. “We’ll take it easy though. Just sex and roleplay. We’ll teach him, and you can demonstrate how beautiful taking my flesh can be. Can you do that for me, Kent?”

Nerves braid their way into my thoughts. I don’t want to share her; at the same time, I want to do this for her, like she cut herself for me. I want Mona to need me. To rely on me. To not have any choice but to be mine. My lover. My flesh. My meat.

My spine tingles. It’s not a choice. I have to do this for her.

“Okay,” I say.

“You’re so good to me,” she says.

And the rest of the night fades into a blur.

I get to see her again. She even invited me this time.

Mona wants me.

Chapter 11

Mona texts me her address, unaware that I already have it, then sends me an exact time to show up at her place.

Two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks pass. The urge to know what she’s doing crawls under my skin like slugs slithering along wet cement and exposed to stomping feet. I consider sneaking into her house again. I don’t though. Respect is earned. I want her to trust me. Even more than that, I want her to need me like I need her, and you don’t get something like that without developing a craving first.

Instead, I appease my own cravings by savoring the last tampon from her trash can. I cut it into quarter-inch pieces. I lick the dried red bits from my fingers, and I suck her menstrual blood a little more each day. I even heat one of the chunks in the microwave to pretend like the blood is from her thigh again, then I smooth out the warmed fibers on a cracker. It’s decadently satisfying, like brie and blood pudding sausage.

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