Page 107 of The Truths that Deceive

I shoot a text to Jones. “I’ll get some things delivered, but it’ll take a couple of hours.”

The place is one floor, open-plan kitchen, dining and living area, with a partition that leads to a bedroom, bathroom, and a study area.

She puts a hand on the leather sofa and kicks off her heels.Then she slides her dress off, revealing that sweet flesh to me. The pale blue of her lace panties is deeper blue where her desire has soaked them, and her nipples poke through the bra’s delicate lace.

I want to feast, but I make myself wait, drinking her in, from those lush fucking tits down over her taut stomach to the very top edge of her tattoo.

“Trying to buy your freedom?”

“Maybe I want a last meal.”

I growl low because her over-the-top statement is a lightning bolt to my elemental bones. The twisted freak in me loves her reminder of the danger, the inevitable end where she winds up in the hands of the authorities, ones that when they choose, have no real checks and balances.

Do I want her to fucking suffer? No. But her talk, damn… it heightens the moment and makes my dick throb and push against my pants a little more. Thicker, harder, my cock wants release. Needs it.

“You know what I think?”

“What, Smith?”

“That you’re wearing too many fucking clothes.”

I reach into my jacket’s inner pocket, and I pull out a switchblade. I walk up to her and in front of her face, close enough that she can feel the whisper of the blade as it disturbs the air, I flick it open.

My Calista doesn’t even flinch.

And my prick aches.

I slice up through the center of the bra. Then I cut the strap on each shoulder, and I step back as it falls to the floor.

“Spread your legs.”

I strip off my jacket and toss it, not caring where it lands. Then I come in close once again.

With a light stroke, I run the blade down her breast plate,down over her stomach, and then between her legs, turning it so the blade’s flat as I hold it there, pressed light against her pussy.

Her breathing starts to come in pants and her eyes are bright, feverish. “Word?”

“Fuck you.”

I dip my head, running my lips along her throat, stopping here and there for a taste, a lick, wanting the salt and that particular sweetness of her skin. She moans.

I drop my hand, moving the knife through the air. She’s too wet to let it glide over the panties. “Give me your mouth.”

“Make me.”

I grab her hair with my free hand and yank her head back so her lips are mine for the taking. She’s ready for me to plunder, so I tease. Tiny sips along her lips, sliding my tongue in to flirt, and then, still holding her, I lift my head, and look down at the tremors of her stomach. I bring the blade up against her skin and along the line of her panties, I run it, scratching her.

She yelps. I press in, just a bit and the moan is loud. Orgasmic. I let her go and drop it so I can lick and suck her blood, the few drops I drew. I thumb her pulsing clit and the orgasm hits harder. But I don’t let her have it all, I pull away.

With a vicious slice, back edge of the blade against her skin, I slice through one side of her panties and then the other, pulling them free.

I lick her, suck her clit, and bite her. She shrieks as a whole-body spasm passes through her.

“Monster.”

“You love it,” I say, getting up, still holding the knife. I point it at her. “On your knees.”

She does that and without asking, without waiting to be told, she frees me, and I let her greedily suck me into that divine and magical mouth of hers. My body jerks, balls high,and the ache is threatening to turn into an unstoppable urge to find release, so I push her away, knocking her off-balance. She tumbles to the floorboards.

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