Page 253 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

The next thrust is deeper. Then deeper still.

He groans, dragging the sound out like it’s torn from somewhere primal.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby.” he breathes, petting my hair. “Be my filthy fucking girl and look at me while you suck my cock.”

He slides in again, each thrust dragging more praise and command.

“Slide your hand down your pants,” he growls.

I don’t.

A flicker of rebellion that I can hold onto.

But she’s dying.

He was ready for my protest. He grips the back of my head, pushing himself deep into my throat. I can’t breathe.

My eyes water and I gag.

“Fucking do it.” He grunts. “Slide those fingers along that sweet cunt of yours and I’ll let you breathe.”

My hand trembles as I slip it past my waistband.

I almost sob at the contact on my wanting center.

He slides out, letting me breathe before moving back in.

“Touch yourself, Sunshine. Don’t you dare lie again,” he says, voice ragged.

I slide my fingers through my panties and shudder.

It’s shameful how wet I am.

“Show them to me,” he demands.

I lift my hand, fingers glistening.

Proof.

He smiles. Dark. Hungry. Devouring.

Like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He hauls me up and throws me over his shoulder.

“Put me down.”

I bang on his back and kick until his palm smacks my ass—hard.

“Be still.”

He carries me back to the barn, sets me down against the car that brought us here.

I move on instinct and knee him. Hard.

The sound—half grunt, half growl—is so satisfying I almost smile.

I run.

---