Page 95 of Turn That River Red

“I wouldn’t just kill him,” Ambrose pants. “You need to know that. I’d take my time. Torture him. Cut off chunks of his thigh meat, fry it in some butter, eat it in front of him.”

This is terrible. Nightmarish. My thighs are drenched.

“I’d let you have a few bites, if you wanted.”

I collapse down on my elbows, squeezing the bedsheet up into my fists. Ambrose never slows, his thrusts so sharp and deep that my whole body shakes with them.

“But that’s not all I’d do,” he continues. “I’d peel the skin of his face away and expose all the nerves there. He’d be in absolute agony. And you, my pretty little human, you’d be getting off to it. I’d make sure he knows.”

I buck back against Ambrose, matching his thrusts with my own. Fire burns up through my core. I know I should stop this. I tell myself it’s not even true, what he’s saying—about me getting off to it. But I still don’t want to stop.

Maybe Ambrose isn’t the only devil here.

“I might break a few fingers,” he says. “Hold him underwater until he starts breathing it in. I don’t know. It would depend on my mood.”

The heat flushes even hotter. I know that if I were to snake my hand down between my legs and touch myself, I would unravel instantly for him.

Ambrose falls on top of me again, still rolling his hips up against me as he pushes away damp strands of my hair to kiss and lick at the back of my neck. “I told you I didn’t let Raulsuffer,” he murmurs, “and I didn’t lie. His death was easy. Almost instantaneous.”

I whimper, tears brimming along my lashes. I don’t want to think about Raul dying, but these tears aren’t sorrow. They’re pleasure.

“Gunner’s won’t be.”

I groan around the panties, my body jolting. One touch to my clit. One touch and I would die in this all-consuming hellfire.

“None of them will have an easy death,” Ambrose says, slowing his strokes until they’re almost torturous. “Any man who touched you when you didn’t want it will beg for the release of death. Do you understand that, Mercy? Do you understand that’s what it means to stay with me?”

“Yes!” I scream around the panties, tears streaming down my cheeks. The pressure in my belly is unbearable, and I thrust my hips back against Ambrose, desperate for my own release. For my own death. Not death of body but death of spirit and soul.

Because I know that’s what I’m doing here. I’m selling my soul to the devil.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Ambrose whispers, kissing the top of my shoulders. “You’re so fucking wet from this. Do you know that, humanita?”

I sob around the panties and try to reach down between my belly and the bed. Ambrose grabs my wrist.

“Not yet,” he snarls into my ear. “You don’t get to come until I’ve tasted you.” He presses his mouth against my shoulder again. It’s not exactly a kiss. And instinctively, I know what he’s going to do. I know what he wants to taste. Because I know what kind of meat he keeps in his freezer.

“Last chance, baby,” he breathes, shoving my wrist away. His voice is ragged. “I’m going to take a big bite of your sweet fleshwhile I pump your womb full of my seed. This is your last chance to stop me.”

My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. Every nerve in my body is screaming for release. And all I do is tuck my hands underneath me, as far from the panties in my mouth as I can get them.

Ambrose lets out a dark, shuddery breath. Braces his hands on my waist. I squeeze my teary eyes shut.

My shoulder blooms with agony. I scream and buck up against him, but he’s too strong, and he pins me down against the bed, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper into my flesh. The pain is exquisite, as exquisite as the fire coursing between my legs,

Suddenly, all that tension tilts and spills. I didn’t need him to touch my clit. All I needed was for him to devour me.

I scream around the panties, bucking and jerking against the mattress, the orgasm searing through my body. I’m distantly aware that he’s still biting me, that he’s tearing and chewing and dragging my flesh away. Distantly aware that blood runs hot down my arm. But I don’t feel it anymore.

All I feel is pleasure. It feels like the end of the world. It feels like God.

I collapse face down on the pillow, pulses of heat still racing through my core. Ambrose licks my shoulder, his tongue warm and soft against the pain of the wound. “You’re delicious,” he pants between licks. “You’re sublime. I want to eat every fucking inch of you.”

Then he jerks me up so we’re both kneeling on the bed, my back pressed against his chest. I can’t move. I’m boneless, still quivering with aftershocks. Ambrose reaches around and gently pries the panties out of my mouth, and I suck down a lungful of air and slump back against him, staring first at the wall and then down at the bed, where my blood stains the sheets.

My shoulder howls with pain.

“It hurts,” I say softly. “Where you?—”

---