Page 130 of Executing Malice
I take his hand and let him guide us through the attractions. He stops to win me a stuffed bear the color ofbutterscotch and the size of a toddler. Refusing to walk around clutching the thing, I make him run it to the car.
“Oh! Candy apples. Want one?” he teases, smirking down at me.
I eye the display with a great amount of contemplation.
“No,” I sigh heavily and face him. “It’s not the same without the razorblade and biohazard.” I get a poke in the side for my cheek. “Speaking of biohazard. I want my jar back.”
“You threw it away.”
I gasp with outrage. “I did not.”
“You said it was creepy, and you didn’t want it.”
I stare up into his face. “Did you throw it away?”
“If I did?”
I stab him in the chest with my index finger. “You will make me another one.”
My hand is captured. “Make your own.”
Eyes hot coals in the murky dusk, he draws my middle finger between his lips, across the velvet heat of his tongue.
“Dante,” I croak, throat dry.
He sucks once before freeing me. “I’ll cum in whatever you want.”
I swallow audibly, trying to resist the image of him chained up in my bed, cock erect and waiting for me to milk him.I would ride him until he’s close before letting him empty ... wherever I want.
“We should—”
My attempts to keep moving, to keep from letting my brain forget where we are and jump him is halted by the hand he fists in my hair. Holding me prisoner. Holding me to him with his mouth inches over mine.
“I want your ass, Leila. And I want you to fight me like you hate me as I take it. I want my skin under your nails, my blood in your mouth...”
“Stop,” I beg, pussy throbbing with such desperate agony I have to squeeze my thighs together.
He licks my lip. Smirks when I open willingly. “I want you scared and bloody as I force you to the ground and take what’s mine.”
Fuck ...fuck!
“Come on, little whore. We still have a whole night of torture before you get your gift.”
Torture is a tame depiction of his cruelty. He is a demon sent from hell to torment me until I break. He’s a sadist setting every nerve on fire. And it doesn’t matter where we are.
Standing in line for a ride, his hands are at my waist. His cock rocking hot against the small of my back. His arms encircle my waist. His fingers brush my nipples on their way up to stroke my cheek.
At the top of the Ferris wheel, his fingers slip under my skirt, knuckles deep in my channel while we hang at the very top, over the heads of every person I know.
Grabbing food, I’m dragged into his lap, legs wide under the table, pussy open for the fingers rubbing slow, teasing circles from opening to clit and back.
But it’s only when the crowd thins, all the children gone and only the adults and random teenagers strolling through the attraction that his games escalate. Become brazen and rough.
Like dragging me between two games, forcing me to my knees and making me suck his cock while he grips a fistful of my hair. The yank of being jerked to the ground tears my knees, but I make no complaint as he uses my throat to empty down.
“Swallow, little whore,” he pants, keeping my head forced back so I struggle to follow his command.
My knees sting. Blood smears my kneecaps, but I keep it to myself as we do a round of the booths. Most of the people from Jefferson have already packed up their goods and gone home for the night, leaving their stands dark and empty, perfect for when Dante shoves me face first against the back of one. His big hands drag my panties to my knees. My feet are kicked wide, stretching the fabric as he bends me over and slams his cock home.
