Page 233 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

She moans into my palm, clenching around me, already close.

She said she’s never come during sex.

That ends now.

I want to give her as many as she can take.

But not here.

Not like this.

I want to worship her.

Tell her the truth.

That I’ve been her shadow.

That I’ve loved her in silence.

But not yet.

So for now—I hold her tighter.

Like just thinking about telling her might make her vanish.

Might cost me everything.

I whisper filth into her ear—how she clenches every time I call her mine.

She moans louder, tightens so hard I see stars.

“You love it,” I pant. “You love when I fuck you like this. Use you. Make you my sweet little whore.”

She’s gone again—legs shaking, body convulsing, crying out behind my hand.

“I—” she gasps. “I can’t?—”

“Yes you can,” I growl, thrusting harder, rubbing her clit. “One more. Give it to me, Lollipop. Come for me again.”

And she does.

She screams into my palm, body going rigid as she rides it.

That’s it.

My control snaps.

I bury myself deep and come so hard I see white.

I groan—low, guttural—my mouth on her neck, collapsing into her, coming in long, shaking pulses.

She whimpers, still quivering when I slide out.

Already missing her. Already needing more.

I turn her around and kiss her.

Everything I can’t say passes through our lips.

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