Page 31 of The Fire Went Wild

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHARLOTTE

I’m having a decent sex dream. My ex-girlfriend Maddie, the one who loved to eat pussy, has her head buried between my thighs. But it’s not really Maddie, the way people are never themselves in dreams. She has long black hair instead of her trademark brown pixie cut. And we’re in Jaxon’s creepy-ass parlor, his taxidermied offerings or whatever the fuck they are watching as she eats me closer and closer to orgasm.

But then I slam awake?—

And it’s not a fucking dream.

I’m in that ancient, uncomfortable bed with a chain around my ankle and Jaxon’s head between my legs, his glossy black hair peeking up between my thighs.

I’m also in the midst of the best orgasm I’ve had in months.

Waves of pleasure pulse through my body, and I arch up into Jaxon’s shockingly eager mouth as he presses my thighs wide like he’s trying to dive inside me. And for a split second, I justlethim—let him swipe his thick tongue along my slit, let him make me come. It feels too damn good.

But then the reality of the situation slams through me:

I was asleep, I didn’t give him permission, and he’s a goddamn psychopath.

“What the fuck?” Suddenly, I’m acting on some deep-rooted instinct, like something snapped open inside me and is now telling me what to do. Without thinking, I kick my left leg up so I can grab the chain and loop it around Jaxon’s neck, all in one movement like I’ve trained for this my whole life. I have no idea where this coordination came from. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the orgasm.

I can’tbelieveJaxon made me come like that.

Jaxon whips his head up as soon as the chain is around his neck, eyes wide and feverish, mouth wet with my desire. He stares at me for a second, stricken, and I can feel the same expression on my face.

Then the instinct flares up again, along with an annoyingly sharp pain behind my eye. I ignore the latter and lean into the former, yanking so hard on the chain that the metal digs into the skin of Jaxon’s throat.

He makes a strangled, rasping noise and slides away from me, grabbing at the chain like he doesn’t believe it’s there. I roll out from under him and cling to the chain with every ounce of my strength—and I’m surprised by how much there is.

It helps, too, that Jaxon is thrown off-balance, too. He doesn’t even really try to fight back, just watches at me, his skin turning an uncomfortable shade of red.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” I shout, pulling tighter on the chain. I fantasized about killing him like this more than once. Unlocking myself. Escaping. I can’t believe it’s actually going to happen. I also can’t believe my head is pounding with the start of a migraine. What the fuck is in this house that’s making me sick?

Jaxon keeps watching me, his eyes bulging and shiny with tears, his lips red and swollen.

Then he grins.

“You creepy asshole,” I growl, my arm muscles straining. We’re in a weird position, our legs tangled up on the bed together. Jaxon makes a noise like he’s trying to say something, drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth. He still doesn’t fight back, even though I keep expecting him to launch himself out at me or yank the chain away. It seems impossible that I’m stronger than him.

But he doesn’t, and I don’t question it. This is my one chance to escape and by god, I’m going to take it.

I wrap the chain around my wrist to get more leverage. Jaxon chokes and wheezes, his eyes bulging. The whites are turning pink. And he’s turning a sickly blue color, like a bruise.

But he’s still grinning. In fact, his grin widens.

That’s when I realize that he has his hand down the front of his jeans.

The motherfucker’s touching himself. I’m strangling him, the chain’s metal links digging painfully into his skin, and he’s using the last of his strength to stroke his cock. What’s more, he keeps eye contact with me the whole time, his grin going wider and wider.

It should be gross.

It’s not.

I act like it is, though. “You sick fuck!” I shriek, pulling harder, desperately ignoring the little quiver of heat between my thighs and the burst of pain behind my eye. Jaxon makes a sound that might very well be a moan and rolls his bloodshot eyes upward, thrusting into his hand. His pants have slid down enough that I can see the flash of his cockhead, swollen red like his lips.

My clit throbs, but I tell myself it didn’t.

“Come on,” I mutter, my muscles aching and my migraine a fire searing through my brain. But if this is what I need to do to escape, then I’m going to do it. “Comeon.”

---