Page 4 of Reckless Hearts

“Remember your safeword?” he rasps, his voice deep and deliciously dark. I’m certain this is Wes. Thismustbe Wes. I attempt a nod, though his hold on me makes it hard. “Good girl.”

But what if it isn’t? It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice, and I can only imagine how he sounds talking dirty to me after months of digital foreplay. He’s much taller and broader than I initially thought; he could probably kill me without even trying. I clench my thighs at the thought. I shouldn’t be this turned on after being blindsided, yet here we are. We’ve all concluded that fear gets me off.

I’m desperate to turn around, but my thoughts turn to mush when he loosens his grip, his gloved hand sliding off my mouth and down to the apex of my thighs. A pathetic whimper escapes my throat when the leather makes contact with the thin lace fabric of my thong.

“Shh...” he purrs, sending a sheet of goosebumps across my spine. “Don’t scream, dead girl. Be a good little victim for me.”He pushes my thong aside, and my legs buckle as he slides a finger along my slit. “Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

I suck in a breath as my eyes roll back. His fingers feel so good that I almost forget about the unexpected guest.

“Who was that?” I manage to utter, breathy and strained.

“Who? It's just us, baby.”

Baby.

He says it with such conviction that I almost believe him. But this is just two people meeting for the first time after months of online flirting, meant for a single night of play. If he truly believes it’s just us here, then either I’m hallucinating or someone is watching us.

“No, there was another...” The words die on my tongue when he plunges two fingers inside me, my mouth gaping at the intrusion, my breath violently leaving my lungs. “Oh, fuck.”

I press my hips against his rigid cock, my pussy throbbing as his fingertips stretch apart inside me.

“Eager little slut, aren’t you?” he hums. “Does it make you wet knowing how hard I am for you?” The feel of his arousal digging into my back makes me weak, almost tipping me over the edge. His words weaken my resolve, chipping away at my defences as I feel myself surrendering completely. It’s embarrassing how close I am to coming already.

As if he can read my thoughts, he withdraws, leaving me reeling from the sudden loss, and holds his hand in front of my face. Glistening strings spread between his fingers as he scissors them apart. Then, without warning, he shoves them into my mouth, his thick fingers gliding over my taste buds as I suck my arousal from the soft leather. The earthy, almost sweet flavors mix as I swirl my tongue around them.

He hums, pushing them deeper into my throat. “Such a good girl for me. How about you show me what else that prettymouth can do?” He snatches the candlestick from my hand. “Or perhaps you want me to fuck you with this?”

I have no comeback, not when my mouth is full of leather and spit and my own juices. I’m still reeling from his fingers being inside me, and the total mindfuck of the other masked person. But mostly because he’s right, I’m desperate to be filled, and the thought of him fucking me with an antique candlestick makes my pussy ache with need.

Loosening his grip, he withdraws his fingers and guides me into the second bedroom, a smaller, brighter version of the other, alight with candles.

“On your knees, baby,” he says, pointing to a deep green ottoman by the window. “Over there.”

I kneel with my hands splayed on the windowsill, peering out into the quiet darkness below. It's eerie, like the tense calm before a jump scare in a movie. The only sound is the faint thrum of bass reverberating through the floorboards. As I glance up, Wes's masked reflection looms behind me, dark and dominant.

“You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?” he says, his torturous voice making my pussy ache. “Let’s fix that. I want to make a mess of you. Keep watching that window, baby.”

Bending to his knees behind me, he dips his head between my legs. His warm breath fans my pussy, making me shiver as his tongue sweeps along my slit.

“Oh, my god,” I rasp, already struggling for air as I dig my nails into the wood.

“God ain’t here, baby. Just your friendly neighbourhood serial killer.” Something cold and hard glides across my skin, hooking under the fabric of my thong. My body tenses at the familiar feel of a blade against my flesh, the thought of him slicing my skin both exciting and terrifying. He fists my underwear in the dip above my ass and snaps it off. “Much better.” I imagine him tilting his head to admire his handiwork, but the sharp smackof his palm against my pussy jolts me back to reality, making me gasp. “Tonight, this cunt belongs to me, to use as I please.”Smack. I suck in a breath, revelling in the sting. “And it’s too damn pretty, too damnmine,to hide. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be questioning everything.”

I brace myself against the windowsill, my hips pushed back as Wes presses down on me. I spread my knees wider, feeling his head dip between my legs. I throw my head back, closing my eyes and arching my back in desperation as he laps at my slit—hard, firm, and almost cruel—before he sucks my clit between his teeth, eliciting a wild, almost feral moan from deep within.

“Mm, so wet for me,” he says, holding something cold, hard, and sharp at my entrance. “Keep still. Unless you want me to slice right through your perfect little cunt.”

My first instinct is to turn around and snatch the knife from his grasp, but I’m frozen, scared to move or even breathe in case he cuts me. A ridiculous thought, given my history.

“Just relax,” he coos. “I could wreck this delicate, perfect pussy so damn easily. Imagine my knife going deeper and deeper. Imagine how good it would feel to fuck the cold, hard steel as it slices through your insides, killing you in a slow, achingly beautiful kind of way.”

My breathing escalates, a confusing mix of fear and arousal.

He presses the knife against my skin, the cold edge sending a shiver through me. Slowly, he nudges the blade deeper, the pressure increasing until I feel the sharpness threatening to slice my skin. Each inch feels deliberate, a tantalising dance between pain and pleasure. I can’t help but clench around it, my body responding to the gradual intrusion.

“Need to call red?” he asks, his voice low and probing.

I swallow, the mix of fear and arousal making my voice tremble. “No.”

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