Page 28 of Crawl
“Fuck. You,” she hisses, sputtering out each word. And still, she doesn’t tell me to go. She refuses to tell me to stop.
“Who do you hate more?” I laugh. “Is it me or you?”
“Shut up and let me come,” she cries.
“I don’t hate you,” I say. I keep riding her cunt, splitting her apart. “No. I fucking need you like you need me. I’ve been fucking myself every day and every night. The anger in your bright green eyes. Your slippery pussy. Your smooth, tight little ass. The purple lipstick, matching your face when I choke you. And damn it, the smell. When you’re wet or nervous, you smell like tangy peaches. Those tattoos on your stomach and pussy like you’re such a bad girl. Or the skeleton tattoos on your back like they mean something. Like they’reus.Because that’s all we are. It doesn’t matter who I am to you because we’re just bones. And I own you, Remedy.” My hips pulsate, my cock swelling bigger inside of her tight walls, her face contorting in pain. She’s breathless, waiting for me to finish her off. “Now you’re going to come on my dick while I choke you.”
Her eyes widen and I pull the chain, her cheeks flushing red. I press into her, rubbing my body against her clit, her pussy crushing me like it’s the last shot we have.
“Please,” she rasps out, the words barely audible. “Please. Please. Plea—”
“Who owns your pussy?” I bellow.
She doesn’t hesitate: “You do. You own my pussy!”
“Come for me,” I demand, my voice vibrating through her. “Come for me. Right fuckingnow.”
My dick hammers inside of her and when her cheeks turn purple, her velvet walls grasp around me, fighting back. Her nails scrape my back, the pain searing my body, making me let go of the chain for half of a second, but I don’t stop pounding into her cervix. I ram my dick harder and harder until she convulses around me like a feral animal, her moan primal and cathartic.
As the last spasms of her orgasm dull, I pull out. She sprawls out on the tile, her body drenched in sweat, her legs smothered with come. My back stings like hell; she probably cut me. But I hold my dick in my fist, fucking myself as she gains composure. Her tank top is still bunched above her tits, each bell of flesh hanging to the side, her brown nipples still perked and blushing. Her skirt is on her hips like a loose belt, covering that tattooed artwork. A faint purple line crosses her neck: a bruise from the choke chain, my necklace to her. A blood vessel stains her eye—it probably popped from straining against the choke chain—and it bleeds like a red firework into the whites of her eyes, matching the birthmarks in mine. It’ll take a few weeks to heal, but then it’ll disappear like it never existed. But still, my dick fills with blood, knowing that she won’t be able to hide that mark from anyone.
She tries to sit up, but she’s defeated. Exhaustion overwhelms her, and that makes me come. My dick throbs and I let each drop fall on her skin and clothes, marking her, claiming her with my come. Like drops of primer on the side of an empty paint can. Used up. Ready to be discarded.
And what a wild ride.
Her green eyes blink up at me, hazy and heavy. She’s tired, and seeing her like that makes me want to wake her up with my dick again. She’s beautiful.
A drop of sweat or blood trails down my back. I ignore it and kneel, brushing the hair out of her eyes, painting her with a drop of my come. I fix her clothes as best as I can, then scoop her into my arms. She resists me, pushing against my chest, but she quickly realizes that she can’t do anything, and gives up, resting in my arms. Her head finds its place against my chest, and I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat in there. If I have anything human left.
I lay her down on the mattress. She blinks up at me, but her eyes are already gone. She’s barely conscious.
“Why am I so tired?” she yawns.
“Have you forgotten your name yet?” I ask.
She blinks at me in confusion, but I remember every single word:I want you to make me come so hard I forget who I am.Finally, recognition flashes behind her pupils, and she laughs. Her smile burns inside of me, genuine amusement behind it that I haven’t seen or felt in a long time.
I excuse myself, then find the bag of screws and hinges, then grab the small toolbox I left inside of the hatch in her closet. I fix her door. I only messed with it enough so that she’d have to ask me for help, so it’s an easy fix. Then I check the handle on her refrigerator. Itisloose, but all it needs is some glue, so I fix it too.
When I return to her room, she’s already asleep. Her nostrils flare. I reach down, skimming my fingertips over the purple and red marks on her neck. A warmth circulates inside of me, knowing that I did this to her. That she survived it. That Ilether. I can’t explain my feelings for her. If I want what’s best for myself, I’ll kill her right now. After what we did, she won’t have much of a fight. It will be easy. And in some ways, it’s the right thing to do. Once she learns I’ve ruined her life, she’ll beg me to end her. They always do.
But I don’t want her to die yet. She can handle more than I expected, and it’s selfish of me, but I want her to live. To see how far she can go. To pry open each of her senses until she’s got nothing left. Like me.
I stroke her cheek, the softness of her skin filling me with dread. But my cock ignores that. Because in the end, all I want is her.
“You’re no good to me dead,” I say. “Not yet.”
I close the door, making sure her windows and doors are locked. Then I let her sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Remedy
The late afternoon light shines through the blinds, casting strips of shadows on the floor. The doorbell rings again and I wrap the black scarf around my neck; I’m not used to uninvited visitors. I squint into the front door’s peephole: shaggy, reddish-blond hair, a loose shirt, and jeans on a tall, slim frame. Detective Peter Samuels. My old high school friend.
I open the door. “It’s still weird seeing you in regular clothes.”
Peter scratches the scruff on his chin. His facial hair is longer than usual, like he wants to reject the image of being a cop. He bends down to give me a quick hug, and I pat his back in return.
