Page 17 of Her Name in Red
“Well?” she whispers, her fingers dancing along my skin. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
I don't hesitate. My hand slides around to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her dark waves. I pull her toward me, watching her eyes for any sign of resistance. There's none, just amusement and hunger.
Just as our lips are about to meet, she places a finger between our mouths. “Ah ah,” she chides, her eyes dancing with wicked mischief.
I freeze, confusion washing over me. She pushes me back slightly, just enough that I can see her whole face again. Then, with deliberate slowness, she hitches up her skirt, inch by torturous inch. The fishnet stockings underneath cling to her pale thighs, creating a pattern of shadows and skin that makes my mouth go dry.
“Kiss me here,” she says, voice like smoke, as she caresses her inner thigh with one bloodstained finger. The contrast of crimson against the black fishnet and pale skin is hypnotic.
I quirk an eyebrow, something hot and dangerous unfurling in my chest. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly drop to my knees before her, feeling the gritty pavement bite into my skin. The pain grounds me, reminds me that this is real. I'm really kneeling in an alley next to a dead man, about to put my mouth on a killer.
The concrete is rough beneath my knees, scattered with small pieces of broken glass and gravel that dig into my skin. I barely notice, but I’m definitely going to need a tetanus booster shot after this.
Trailing my hand along the outside of her leg, the texture of the fishnet scrapes against my palm. It's rough against my calloused fingers, each diamond-shaped opening leaving little marks in her flesh.
Her skirt is hiked up now, bunched around her waist, revealing a scrap of black lace that barely qualifies as underwear. The sight of it makes my mouth water. Through the delicate pattern, I can just make out the outline of her pussy, a shadow behind the lace that promises warmth and wetness.
I look up at her from my position on my knees, and fuck if it isn't the most religious moment of my goddamn life. Maren stands above me like some pagan goddess of death, her face half-shadowed in the dim alley light, blood drying on her skin in abstract patterns. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, watching me with a clinical detachment that somehow makes this hotter, more dangerous.
“You look good down there,” she says, voice like gravel wrapped in silk. “Like you belong.”
“Maybe I do,” I murmur against her skin, not taking my eyes off hers.
I lean forward, pressing my lips to her inner thigh, just above the knee. Her skin is cool from the night air but warms quickly under my mouth. I taste salt and blood. Instead of revulsion, I feel a surge of hunger so intense it borders on violence.
My next kiss lands higher, closer to where her thigh meets her hip. The scent of her hits me then, making my cock throb painfully against the confines of my shorts. I've never wanted to fuck someone with my tongue as badly as I do right now. The need to taste her, to consume her, to make her come apart is overwhelming, drowning out everything else.
“Lower,” she commands, her voice steady despite the slight tremor I feel in her thigh.
I obey without hesitation, moving my mouth to the crease where thigh meets pelvis. I'm so close to her center now that I can feel the heat radiating from her. My hands slide around to cup her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold her steady.
I drag my lips across her inner thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin I can reach through the fishnet. The texture of the stockings against my tongue is strange—synthetic and rough—but beneath it, her skin is velvet soft.
Her breathing changes slightly, becoming shallower as I work my way higher. The fishnet creates a pattern against my mouth, little diamonds of heat and flesh that I can't help but suck between my lips. I pull the delicate material with my teeth, letting it snap back against her skin, and she makes a soft noise that shoots straight to my dick.
“Good,” she murmurs, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. “Now bite me.”
The command sends a jolt through me. I graze my teeth against her inner thigh, testing, seeing how hard she wants it. Her fingers tighten in my hair, guiding me, controlling me. I bite down harder, feeling her flesh yield between my teeth. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave marks. My marks.
She hisses, a sharp intake of breath that could be pain or pleasure or both. When I pull back slightly, I can see the perfect imprint of my teeth on her skin, the flesh already reddening, blood rushing to the surface. The sight of it makes me dizzy with want.
“Again,” she demands, her voice rougher now. “Higher.”
I move to a spot closer to her center, where her thigh is even softer, more sensitive. This time I don't hesitate, sinking my teeth into her flesh with enough force to make her gasp. The sound goes straight to my cock, making it throb against the confines of my shorts. I'm so hard it hurts, and we've barely begun.
“Good boy,” she purrs, and the praise makes something in my chest swell and crack open. I've never been anyone's good boy. Never wanted to be. But hearing it from her lips makesme want to earn it, to be worthy of whatever fucked-up thing is happening between us.
I alternate between gentle kisses and sharp bites, working my way higher with each one. The fishnet is torn in places now from my teeth, little ladders running up her thighs that expose more of her pale skin. I lick at a particularly vivid bite mark, soothing the sting with my tongue.
I'm so close to her pussy now that I can almost taste her through the thin lace. Just a little higher, a little to the right, and I could press my mouth against her core. The thought makes me whimper, a sound I didn't even know I could make.
My lips brush against the edge of her underwear, tongue darting out to taste the skin where the lace meets flesh. I'm so lost in the sensation that I barely register the tightening of her fingers in my hair until she's yanking my head back, hard enough to make my eyes water.
“Be a good boy,” she hisses, her eyes glittering in the dim light, “and don't do something I didn't tell you to do.”
The pain from her grip shoots straight down my spine and settles in my groin, making my cock twitch. I stare up at her, panting, my lips wet and swollen from kissing her thighs.
I whimper like a fucking dog denied a treat, the sound so pathetic I'd be embarrassed if I had any shame left. But shame is the furthest thing from my mind right now.
