Page 49 of The Hand that Frays

His hand finds my clit, a sign that he’s getting close to coming inside me.

The idea of him coming always makes my orgasmquicken, and I feel it doing so at the mental image of him stifling a cry into my neck while the patrons behind us are none the wiser. My pussy aches around him, my belly burning.

“Such a pretty little slut, letting me fuck you at the movies. Letting me fill this filthy cunt with my cock in public.”

That nearly gets a moan out of me, but the thought of not coming draws it back down my throat as my eyes roll back in my head.

“Goddamn you, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, and it’s what breaks the dam.

I choke my moan down as my eyes fly open, and my mouth gapes behind Neo’s hand. He clamps it tighter as he feels me convulsing around him.

“Good girl, stupid love. Good fucking girl,” he praises, and I buck on his cock harder.

“Get on your knees. That pretty little mouth looks good enough to fuck tonight,” he tells me.

I slide down his body to the floor, turning around and grasping him in my hand.

He smells and tastes like me as I suck him hard and fast, not giving him a chance to acclimate to the feel of my mouth in the slightest.

His hands come down as he leans back in the chair, letting his head fall back as he fists my hair and thrusts up, nearly gagging me.

His charged drives into my mouth are haphazard and sloppy soon, and when his mouth drops open and his demented eyes find mine through the flickering movie behind us, I know he’s there.

“Right there, stupid girl. Don’t stop,” he whispers, and then he shatters.

Watching a madman come apart at the seams is like watching the most beautiful sunset after a stormy day.

Even if another storm is gathering, you bask in the tranquility's beauty, if only momentarily.

I swallow every ounce of cum down, licking my lips when he’s finished.

He tugs me back into his lap, in the position I was first in, and tugs my panties back over my center.

There’s this moment that spreads between us.

Where we don’t know what’s happening on the screen or even surrounding us, but we’re together, we’re happy, and we’re both thoroughly fucked, so we don’t care.

There’s a plasticity about it.

Like no one or nothing can touch us.

Not even death.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NEO

I’m on Carl before he can reach his desk phone, pressing against his back as my blade sinks into his throat.

“That won’t help you now,” I snarl, my lips dusting over his ear.

Pushing against my blade, he slides his hand over his desk as Lyla clicks on the small desk lamp. His cell phone dangles from her hand as she swivels in his chair, her feet perched atop all the evidence we’ve compiled and laid on the top of the desk.

“Looking for this?” she asks.

There’s usually instability in her eyes that I’m fucking addicted to, but not today.

Something about the Hatt’s case has woken a portion of my stupid girl I thought I’d never see again.

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