Page 50 of Dead Love
I leaned down, staring at her closed eyes underneath the plastic wrap as I shoved my tongue down her throat, and the sound she made was a mix of a moan and cry so mournful that she took my breath away with it. My face pressed against her nostrils, my mouth completely closed over hers, sucking the life out of her, but I didn’t care. I fucked myself, tonguing her throat, and when she wriggled for escape, I pulled back, gave her a second to breathe, long enough to mount her face, shoving my cock into her throat. She gurgled, but her throat constricted around the head of my cock, and the pleasure ran through me in waves. My eyes rolled back into my head.
“That’s it, flower,” I said, my voice harsh and hoarse. “Show me what a fucking slut you are for me. Always ready for me. My little worm. My good girl. My flower.” I moved my hips, pumping her mouth back and forth, and she moaned. When I held back, letting the head of my cock graze the tip of her lips, she lifted her head, trying to buck herself forward so that she could taste me. I laughed at her; she was so damn pathetic, so desperate for my come, and I knew that every fiber inside of me was exactly like her, driven by my insane carnal need to have her. To degrade someone so precious. To show her what it meant to be alive, to be completely stripped of everything you thought you were, until you were nothing. When nothing could stop you from what you wanted.
She gave a sad little cry, and that was all I needed to fuck her mouth, using her face hole until I came, deep in her throat. With each twitch of my cock, I pushed further inside her throat, the ridges of her esophagus tight, making her swallow all of me.
As soon as the high was gone, I could barely feel my body. I needed to get out of there. I needed to end all of this.
But when my eyes rested on her, relief swelled through me. I cut the cable ties then pulled her into my arms, holding her close, letting sleep overpower me.
CHAPTER17
Kora
I fellasleep on the floor, tucked in Vincent’s arms, both of us completely spent. Plastic wrap laid in tangles on the ground like the skin of a snake, our bodies wet with sweat and lust. I was too tired to question what we were doing; all I knew was that it felt good to be in his arms, and then, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I was by myself again. My throat was scratchy, swollen, and sore. A pleasurable warmth crowded my belly, reminding me of what he had done. I pulled the blanket over my shoulders. I was now lying on the leather couch, inside of a heavy, comforting blanket that smelled like Vincent, a new one that hadn’t been there before.
Vincent wasn’t with me, right then, but he had thought of me.
When he opened the door later, my heart jumped into my throat. Our eyes met, and I smiled—I must have still looked like a mess; I hadn’t even washed my face yet—but he stopped in his tracks. His jaw was loose, prickled with stubble, and his eyelids were stuck on me. I blushed.
Finally, he continued down the stairs, and when he reached me, he nodded up toward the door.
“Catie says she’ll watch you,” he said. I quirked my head to the side. “I’ve got some errands to run, but you can stay with her.”
Unconsciously, I rubbed my arm, the tracking device a flat ridge under the skin, and Vincent’s eyes lowered there too, then flicked back up to me.
“Do you want to, or not?” he asked, an edge of frustration lingering in his voice. I nodded. I showered, dressed, and ate, then Vincent walked me over to Quiet Meadows. Catie’s hair was clipped into poofy buns on the top of her head.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said to Catie. It wasn’t lost on me; she was babysitting me. But like Nyla, for some reason, I had a feeling that Catie wouldn’t make it feel like that.
“Of course,” she said.
Vincent turned to Catie. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Then he disappeared down the hallway.
“You want to watch television or something?” Catie asked. “It’s going to be a long day. I’ve got an appointment in an hour, otherwise, I’d be watching with you.”
“I’m fine with whatever.”
We watched the opening ten minutes of different shows until we found one we both liked. Once we settled into it, Catie hovered over paperwork, and I pretended to be happy that I was out of the basement. I mean, Iwashappy, but it reminded me of my situation. I wasn’t supposed to like any of this. I was supposed to be investigating Vincent. Whatever that meant.
Halfway into a new episode, footsteps pounded in the entrance lobby. Catie peeked down the corridor, then her face flushed red, her jaw tight. “Stay in here,” she whispered. But having lived with an overprotective mother and a curiosity streak wider than a valley, I pressed open the door slowly. Andrew stood in the hallway, his thumbs in his belt loops. The two of them spoke.
Relief swelled through me, followed by an overwhelming sense of terror. I didn’t know what to do. So I stood there waiting, ripping holes into my pants. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
Finally, Catie went to another room to get something, and I raced down the hallway.
“Andrew,” I said. I threw my arms around him, and he patted my back. But it wasn’t comforting. It felt off.
“How are you, Miss Kora?” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
I peered into his blue eyes, trying to find the safety I needed. He stroked my back, giving me reassurance. “Take me home,” I said. “We don’t need to make a scene. We can leave now—”
“I came to check on you, darling. Make sure you’re alright.”
“Check on me?” Did that mean he was leaving?
“You find anything out about Erickson?”
