Page 183 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

My walls clench, another orgasm coiling hot and fast just from looking.

He hooks both hands under my knees and drags me down the bed, the sheets rasping against my skin.

I gasp, legs falling open, baring myself completely—and for once, I don’t care how desperate it looks.

I need him.

“Such a whore,” he murmurs, still stroking, gaze locked on mine. “You’re gonna take your reward like a good little slut, aren’t you?”

I whimper, hypnotized by the pump of his hand.

I want to feel that inside me.

“Hands over your head,” he commands, voice rougher now. He takes the vibrator and turns it off.

I obey, placing my hands on the pillow, heart pounding.

For a second, I think he’s just going to watch me.

Then his hand slides between my legs—two fingers circling my clit, slick and slow.

I moan, back arching.

“Let me make you feel good.”

He trails lower, thrusting deep, his thumb ruthless on my clit.

I close my eyes, letting pleasure drown everything else.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.”

Dirty, filthy things pour from his mouth, rasping low. I clench around his fingers, cheeks burning.

He tells me how good I look like this.

How he’s going to ruin me so no one else will ever be enough.

The orgasm builds fast—cresting violently until I can barely breathe.

I cry out, body convulsing around him.

He doesn’t stop.

His fingers work me relentlessly, dragging a second climax almost immediately—sharper, more brutal.

“Fuck, Sunshine,” he groans, voice thick, almost desperate.

He grips his cock tighter, aiming it toward me. When he comes, it’s hot and heavy, mingling with the arousal coating his fingers. It tips me over again so hard I sit up without meaning to, bracing one trembling hand behind me as my hips rock forward, desperate as I come with him.

“Yes!” I gasp. “Please, more.”

I grab his wrist, thrusting against his hand as I ride the waves until there’s nothing left but wreckage.

Something raw and electric buzzing in the space between us.

Slowly, he lifts the bottom of his mask.

I watch, transfixed, as he licks his palm—slick with both of us—then draws soaked fingers between his lips, groaning deep in his throat.

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