Page 71 of Hunting Pretty

Three, four, five more times.

He tortured me, teased me, hurled curses at me when I refused.

Until his gloves dripped with my juices.

Until my head lolled over the pillow, my hands numb from tugging at the ropes that bound them.

Until I was drenched in sweat.

And so was he.

“P-please…” I begged.

But I no longer knew what I was begging for.

For him to stop?

For him to fuck me?

For him to make me come.

He punched his fist into the pillow at the side of my head.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you make me fucking crazy.”

He plunged the handle inside me again.

I was already crying, sobbing at the thought that he would stop again.

But this time he didn’t.

The thumb of his other hand found my clit, working it in tiny circles, and he fucked me with such savagery that I shuddered to think what he would do to me if he lost control.

My orgasm roared through me. My back arched off the bed like I had been electrocuted. And I screamed as if I was dying.

Perhaps a part of me was. The decent and normal part.

My vision flashed white. Every nerve from head to toe erupted like firecrackers before my body went limp.

I sagged onto the sheets, spent and numb.

I shuddered when he pulled the handle from my dripping wet pussy.

Fresh tears swelled in my eyes when he sucked the glistening handle clean of my cum.

He let out a low groan. “So fucking sweet.”

What had I let him do to me?

He flipped the blade over in his hand again and lashed out.

My hands fell to the pillow above my head as the ropes holding them to the bed fell apart.

He held the knife to my throat, letting me feel the cold sharpness of it.

“This,” he promised, “isn’t over.”

He pulled back the knife as he stood and walked to the balcony door.

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