Page 24 of Mayfly

“I hope not,” I taunt, slack-jawed, and suddenly I’m spun around; my chest smashed against the wall with Jude’s nakedbody pressed against me. I can feel the wetness of his dick against my lower back, with mine squashed uncomfortably against the room’s grey wallpaper.

I want to mark it with stains that never come out.

Jude steps back, and I don’t move. He grabs at the collar of my shirt and peels it down my arms.

His fingers trace over some words scratched into my skin. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He leans down and licks the back of my shoulder. My neck.

He bites my ear and guides my hips back from the wall until I’m leaning forward against it on my forearms.

He reaches around to unzip my trousers and force them off my legs. “What the hell is this?”

Now my eyes are shooting open.

I’ve been too complacent.

“Why the fuck do you have a knife strapped to your calf?”

My mind races, and I blurt out, “It’s… I told you I understood.”

There's only a few more seconds of hesitation before his mouth is back on my neck.

Thank fuck for his gun.

I hate cops. They’ve done nothing but screw me over at every turn, but at least it’s a reasonable excuse.

Jude wraps his hand around my cock.

My head falls back against his shoulder.

There’s another brief hesitation before his fingertips drag back and forth along the top of my shaft. And I know he's feeling out the five letters that spell my entire existence.

B.I.T.C.H.

One of my less thought out plans.

Completely impulsive and entirely stupid.

So much could have gone wrong.

Counting my breaths and grounding myself did fuck all for me that night, all those years ago.

My first kill.

I’d enjoyed the feeling of metal slicing through flesh and cartilage a little too much.

They were already dead when I started stabbing. Every part of his body felt different. Each needed distinct amounts of pressure for the blade to fully sink in. I chipped at some bones. Sliced open his cheeks from mouth to temple. Dragged my knife down the middle of his chest and cracked open his ribs.

I was a monster, and he was Harry.

It was my therapy.

Fate had thrown me into bed with the Romanian mafia, and I was already their bitch.

Jude leans forward and hums in my ear; “You’re bigger than I thought you’d be, little Curren.”

“I’m not little.”

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