Page 38 of Run Little Killer
"No!" I shake my head, digging my heels into the floor. "I don't need to relax, I need to go home."
"You need to shut the fuck up and walk," he spits, tone laced with venom as he fists my hair and forces me to keep moving.
"Shawn!" I shout, twisting in his grip with each step. "Ow, stop, you're hurting me!" I slap at his hands, my movements feeling more sluggish by the second.
His palm suddenly cracks across my cheek, my head snapping to the side as heat tingles over the offended skin and I stare at him wide-eyed.
"No. That's hurting you," he growls, reaching around me and pushing open his office door. "Don't make me do it again."
He shoves me inside and the room warps, a high-pitched hum crescendoing in my ears as he pushes me down. My back hits the floor, air whooshing from my lungs on impact. His body settles on top of mine and he roughly shoves a hand between us.
"No," I whimper as he rips my pants down, the metal clinking of his belt turning my blood cold. "Stop…" My voice cracks, lip quivering, tears welling in my eyes as I twist around trying to get him off of me.
"Stop!" I cry out again as he shifts between my thighs and a tear slides down my cheek. My pleas fall on deaf ears. Bile rises in my throat as I feel the head of his dick pressing against me and my throat burns as I scream, every last bit of air emptying itself from my lungs as he brutally forces himself inside.
Tears fall freely down my face as I lay there unmoving. I'm unwillingly frozen in place, his cock grating painfully against my dry insides over and over again. The feeling of shame twists my belly into knots as my body betrays me, wetness pooling between my legs.
"I knew you'd be a good fuck," Shawn pants into my ear, lips leaving a trail of slimy kisses on the side of my face. "You like it, you fucking tease. I see you showing up to work in these tight–ugh," he groans, "Tight pants and low cut tops, just begging, for me."
His words become muffled as I start to float away. My head lolls to the side, my eyes focusing on the bright stars sparkling against the dark sky outside the small window. Fresh tears blur my vision as conscious thought peels and detaches from my physical presence and I go completely numb.
My eyes fly open, Rhett's Deviant Devils t-shirt clinging to my sweat-coated skin as I jolt upright. My chest heaves as I snap my head from side to side, heart hammering against my ribs.
This isn't Easy Jay's, it's Shady Oaks.
Shawn's not here, he can't hurt me.
Drawing in a breath, I count to four. Then I hold for seven, exhaling with a sigh and slowly blowing out for six. I repeat the exercise again and again until my pulse slows and I feel in control.
There goes my theory that orgasms prevented nightmares– goodbye, Nobel Peace Prize. It would’ve been a great time doing all that research in the name of science.
I relax back against the headboard, eyes drifting to Rhett's sleeping form beside me. His blonde hair is disheveled, mouth parting with a soft snore every so often. He looks so...peaceful. Ironic, since he killed someone earlier, disposed of the body, and erased the evidence like a pro.
Who knew degreaser was so good at stripping blood from concrete?
None of that particularly bothered me, though. Rhett and Nix seemed concerned that witnessing a murder would rattle me, but it felt good to see karma collect her dues so quickly.The same kind I’m owed from Shawn and Natalie. Myhand trembles as I rake it through my hair, glancing toward Nix’s bed.
The pale moonlight peeks in from the gap in the curtains, illuminating the rumpled sheets.
No Nix.
My brow furrows as I push back the faded floral quilt and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, careful not to wake Rhett as I slide out of bed.
Maybe Nix is the one with a guilty conscience?
Nah, he was having way too much fun with the angle grinder.
I snicker to myself at that thought as I shuffle across the room, grabbing my plastic cup from earlier off the nightstand and ambling towards the bathroom for a drink of water.
My fingers barely brush against the door handle when it suddenly gives way, the overhead light flickering as the door swings open on a very naked Nix.
"Goddamn it," I whisper-shout, scowling up at him. "What are you doing?"
"Had to piss– want me to wake you next time so you can hold it for me?" he snipes, bracing a forearm against the doorframe. His muscles ripple and flex beneath his ink-wrapped skin, his body like living art.
Fuck. Why is he so hot?
"Move," I huff, rolling my eyes and pursing my lips, too distracted by his body to dish out a smart ass comeback. "I want a drink."
