Page 3 of Can't Stop
She grins and tells me to take the next left.
Like her puppet, I oblige. I take the turn, and railroad tracks appear further down a stretch of asphalt that looks like it hasn’t seen a pothole repair since its inception. Trees crowd the tracks on both sides, but the lack of growth around the metal ties suggests that trains pass through here regularly. I pull the car to a stop, tucking it off the street and in some brush.
“We can finally play with this!” she says as she pulls something from her bag.
I was wondering when Raul would make an appearance. She stole him from an oddities expo we passed through in Atlanta. It’s a possum head attached to a butt plug, and I think it’s supposed to be decorative only. That won’t stop Rayna from cramming it into her ass and forcing me to look at Raul’s glassy death glare while I pound her pussy.
“Must we?” I ask as I unfasten my seatbelt.
“We must.”
She climbs out of the car with Raul in hand, and I follow her because I can’t help myself. No matter what weird shit she wants to get into, my obsession with her forces me to be her unwilling accomplice. Well, maybe not so much unwilling as unenthused. I’m always willing to fuck her senseless, even when her strange accessories are involved.
And they usually are.
I follow her down the tracks to where there’s a slight bend. I already know where this is going. We won’t be able to see the train coming from a distance in either direction, but we’ll damn sure hear it and feel the rumble in the tracks.
“Wait!” Rayna holds up a finger and rushes back to the car. When she joins me again, she holds Raul in one hand and Van Gogh in the other.
I open my mouth to ask why, but then I remember who I’m about to fuck on these train tracks. She sets her janky squirrel on one of the rails so he can watch, I guess. Who fucking cares at this point? My brain has officially become commandeered by the prospect of being inside her.
Within seconds, she’s on me. A soft moan leaves her lips as her mouth melds with mine. I glance down the tracks as she fingers the hem of my shirt and tries to lift it over my head.
I pull away from the kiss. “Maybe we should leave our clothes on. If we need to get away quickly, it’s probably best if we’re mostly dressed.”
She grumbles and gives up, going for my mouth again.
I can’t tear my gaze away from the way the tracks disappear in the distance, though. It doesn’t even look like a train could come from such a small place, but it’s all an optical illusion. A train will definitely come from that direction. Or head in that direction. Either way, we’re directly in its path.
Oh, fuck it.
I reach down and rip off Rayna’s shirt. She isn’t wearing a bra, though she rarely does. I love catching glimpses of her hardened nipples beneath her shirt, especially when my bones gives zero fucks if anyone sees. There is something unbelievably contagious about her reckless nature.
Fear holds me back, but Rayna has a way of setting me free.
“Changed your mind, huh?” she says as her breasts soak up the sunshine. “I can’t be the only one.”
She reaches to remove my shirt, and I let her. If we give the train conductor an eyeful before he drags our innards from here to the next station, so be it. She slips off her shoes, and I drop my hands to her jeans, unbuttoning and snatching them down so she can pull them off.
Her hand drops to my back pocket, where she draws my favorite knife from the depths. She smirks at me as she flips open the blade, sticks out her tongue, and drags the strip of silver down the quivering muscle. The skin separates slightly, and dark crimson fills the channel, dripping past her full lower lip when it overflows the wound.
My erection is immediate, and I’m surprised I didn’t come in my pants.
She swipes her bleeding tongue over her lips before sucking it back in and looking up at me. I grip her head between two very frustrated hands and inhale every ounce of her lusty, metallic perfume as we kiss. Droplets of blood fall onto my bare chest and warm the skin. They roll down my abdomen and settle against my navel.
With another sadistic smirk, she pulls away and sits on the rail. She spreads her pretty thighs, purses her lips, leans forward, and spits bloody saliva onto her pussy.
“Oh, bones,” I growl. She knows my favorite flavor.
She drags her hand through the blood staining her damp skin. “Eat me, Dalton.”
I dive to my knees, crawl to her, and send my tongue through her slit. Never mind the gravel digging into my flesh. Her back arches as I devour her. Rocks and metal stab my kneecaps, but I don’t care. I couldn’t be paid to care as I eat her as if this could be the last thing I taste. And it could be.
Her moans are music to my ears as she breathes them out. She opens her mouth again and lets the bloody line of spit slip down her chest. I only stop eating her to watch the crimson roll over the hardened hill of her nipple and stay there, hovering like some sacred liquid. And it is sacred. I lift my head to capture her flesh and suck the blood from her skin.
My hands fly to the front of my pants, and I rip open my jeans. I tug her off the rail so her ass drops between the tracks, and I wrap her legs around me. I need her. I need her more than I need my next breath as I lick and bite the sweat from her skin.
“Fuck me,” she pleads, needing me as much as I need her.
