Page 56 of Property of Necro
The hair on my arms stand on end.
My heart thunders against my breastbone as my own arousal dampens my inner thighs. Fuck. This shouldn’t be hot, but is.
The muscles in his neck turn into thick cords as hedrops his head back, and whatever world of pleasure he’s currently swimming in seems to flow into something I’ve never witnessed before but am insanely jealous of.
Then.
His hand goes limp, and a wrecked, soul-splintering moan explodes from his lips. Cum rockets out of his angry cock and bathes the front of my shirt, my neck, and my thighs in thick ropes.
I don’t know why I don’t pull away, but my mind acts on its own accord when I jack him through it, wanting to make it good.
I feel it. His pleasure. It pulses through the heat of his silken shaft and soaks into me.
I get high on it.
On him.
On the power.
On his body.
When Coffin floats back down to earth, he carefully detaches my fingers from around his member and falls onto his ass. “Damn.” He breathes, turning to prop his back against the island beside me. He rests his hand on my bare knee like he can actually stand to be around me for more than a minute.
I want to ask if he’s okay.
But I don’t.
We sit in silence, shoulders touching, the thick scent of sex hanging in the air.
It’s peaceful.
It feels good.
Sorta.
This is the best I’ve felt in what feels like days. Even if Ihave a mild headache thanks to the chokeslam, which we all know I didn’t deserve. He can’t seem to help himself when it comes to hurting women. At least he didn’t use a knife this time. That’s a plus.
Blowing out a breath, Coffin drums his fingertips on my kneecap. The tip of his pinkie is missing from the nail down. I wonder how he lost it.
I gently trace the scarred tip, not sure how much feeling he has there. “What happened?” I whisper, not wanting to break our protected bubble where we don’t currently want to throttle each other.
“A fight,” is his vague answer.
“Is that all?”
“I shouldn’t be sayin’ any of this, but since you jacked all my brains outta my cock, I suppose, I can… whatever. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
“You know how the story goes. It’s a tale as old as time—tragic childhood. Dad died young. Mom left at birth. Same shit, different day. Only there were these old cunts from church who promised Dad they’d care for me when he passed.”
“What’d he die from?” I whisper, hungry to hear more.
“Cancer.”
My heart aches for him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Coffin waves me off. “Eh. That was a long time ago. Another life. He went fast. I don’t remember much.”
