Page 111 of Bound to a Killer
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his face tense, neck straining as he fights against himself not to move.
The pressure is so intense, so monumental, that I don’t think I can handle it. I jerk, the walls of my pussy clenching tight when I feel his touch return to my clit, drawing lazy circles over it.
His broad shoulders shudder before his large hands grope my backside, encouraging me to move up and down, takingcontrol of the pace. I feel so full and stretched, dragging an equal surge of molten heat between the both of us as the throbbing climbs to a peak again.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groans into my neck, his breath hot and ragged as his fingers dig into my hips. I start to move again, slow at first, still adjusting to the stretch, the burn, the way he fills me so deep that it nearly steals my breath.
His jaw goes slack as I rock down harder, chasing the quickly growing surge building deep inside me. The pressure knots low and tight, and before I know it, another series of long, pulsing waves assaults my sex.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as I come back down, clinging to him. His movements overtake mine, jerking up into me, rough and desperate.
It doesn’t take long before he loses precision, his grip bruising my hips, guiding me through it. “Ah…fuck,” he groans, his voice cracking. He slams me down onto him for a final time and holds me there, bucking up into me. A hoarse moan rips through his throat, followed by hot spurts of cum spilling deep inside me.
Moments later, the tremors ease from his limbs as he wraps his arms around me, pressing tender kisses into my damp hairline, both of us slick with our exertion. “God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his voice heavy and choppy.
My ear rests against his chest, soaking up the quiet vibration of his voice while he murmurs praise and continues kissing me. I sink deeper into his solid warmth, eyes growing heavy, lulled by the steady thrum of his heart, its rhythm drumming me into a slow, sedated calm.
I just lost my virginity.
I can’t help the small smile pulling my lips as we settle into each other, his fingers drifting into my hair and threading through the strands.
Right now, nothing else matters besides this moment. Not the sadness. Not the questions I’ll have to face later. Just this. Wrapped in his arms, loved and cherished. Whatever tomorrow brings can wait. Tonight, I’m safe in his arms.
33
ARIA
The door to the café clatters shut behind me as I step into the scorching near-summer sun, a hand raised to block out the glare while I scan the lot for my silver Camry. My other hand tugs at the loose neckline of my top, trying to stir some breeze beneath the fabric, still sticky from the heat and last night’s sweat.
I’ve been sulking through most of the day, running on very little sleep and even less clarity. The high of our reunion has already worn off, dissolving into something heavier. Something that seeps under my skin and lodges in the back of my throat, distracting me as I try to carry on like everything is fine.
It's the slow, sinking realization that no matter how far I run, my problems will always find a way to catch up to me.
Last night blindsided me. One minute I was doodling in bed, the next I was stumbling out the door with nothing but my phone, panic shoving me forward before I could think. I hadn’t grabbed a thing—no backpack, no wallet.
Not even my work apron. Becca had already scolded me about that before sending me home early again, clearly fed up this time.
I’m skating on thin ice, and I really can’t afford to lose this job. I still have that hundred-dollar ticket to pay off. And I need to survive the summer somehow, at least until I figure out what to do instead once Clara leaves for Columbia in the fall.
For now, I have a roof over my head and a shared wardrobe with Clara. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m driving without a license. It’s illegal and wildly stupid. I’m left with no other choice but to go back home, if only to avoid Becca’s inevitable glare when I have to ask for a new apron and time off to replace my ID at the DMV.
Nerves twist in my stomach as I finally slide into the driver’s seat, jabbing the keys into the ignition. The fuel gauge rises to full. It’s a small relief, but not enough to dull the sting of what I found when I stepped into the café earlier—just a sticky note on the counter, no sign of him anywhere.
I guess I shouldn’t have expected him to hang around all day before my shift started, but the emptiness still sinks heavier than expected.
It’s probably for the best. As far as he knows, I’m still going straight to Clara’s after this, just like we discussed this morning when he dropped me off at Hillside. By then, Clara was already flooding my phone with urgent texts, panicked from the scare I’d given her the night before.
I ease out of the cramped little nook I was parked in, chest tight as I yank down the sun visor to shield myself from the harsh light slashing through the windshield.
The air inside still holds his scent, woodsy and masculine, clinging to the coffee-stained fabric seats and drifting through the thick heat, where dust motes shimmer across the dashboard. I inhale it deeply, letting the reminder that he isn’t far settle the unease stirring in my chest.
He’d be furious if he knew I was going back there without telling him, especially after he offered to come inside with methis morning, so I could change and clean up before school. But I couldn’t let him. I didn’t want to.
Shame held me back, gripping me tight by the throat, constricting my air at just the thought of him witnessing anything that went on in that house. I couldn’t bear to face the judgment I’d see in his eyes if he ever heard how Steven spoke to us, his vile, unhinged tirades, or my mom’s pathetic sobs as she trailed after him like she was tethered to a leash. Worst of all, I was scared he’d pity me when he realized just how far my mother’s leash extended, how I’d let it tighten around me instead of cutting myself loose, something I should’ve done long ago.
So instead of going back like he suggested, I chose to sit in the passenger seat of his car, plucking leaves from my hair and smoothing out the wrinkles in my ivory top so I didn’t resemble a week-old, crumpled tissue on the way to school.
The ache between my thighs flares as I shift in the driver’s seat, still fiddling with the rearview mirror until I catch my reflection, cheeks tinged pink with leftover heat. My panties are slightly crusted with the mess of our release, the faint scent of chlorine clinging to the hidden fabric, evidence of everything we did that I’ve yet to share in greater detail with Clara. I promised I’d divulge more later tonight.
