Page 95 of Dead Love
In a quick movement, I yanked her up and grabbed her by the ass, hoisting her so that she wrapped around me. A breath caught in her throat and I pushed her against the window, banging into the glass. I pressed my mouth to hers, forcing her to feel the torture. That I wanted her, but I knew that she would never be mine. She couldn’t. She had told me that a flower would never grow if you hid it from the sunlight.
And I would always be forgotten in the shadows.
“Vincent,” she trembled out. Her skirt pooled around her hips and I pulled her panties to the side. I dragged my fingers over her slit and a shudder rolled through me as my hands drenched with her desire. I growled into her neck. I couldn’t do this to her. She didn’t deserve it. She deserved more. Better.
But I wanted her and if this was our last chance, then I didn’t fucking care. I wanted her to feel everything I had. I bit into her neck, digging in with my teeth. Her muscles snapped with tension underneath my canines, and she cried out. I carried her by her ass, making her wrap around me again, bringing her into the viewing room. There was no casket displayed on the bier, so I hoisted her hips onto it, then pushed her knees apart until she was spread before me. Her white cotton panties were soaked, see-through now that they were wet, and I ran my fingers over the fabric, the bumps of her hair, her swollen pink lips. I kneeled down, looking up at her. The light from the window in the ceiling cast a halo around her head, her eyes dark.
I pulled her panties swiftly off of her legs, then brought my mouth down, hungry, onto her beaded clit. I lapped and licked and tasted her, sucked in her fragrance, her primal need. She moaned loudly, calling to the empty chairs around us, as if each seat was full of ghostly followers ready to worship their queen.
Myqueen. My flower. My Kora.
I pressed a finger inside of her and she whimpered, grabbing the back of my head. My cock pulsed, desperate to be inside her, but I wanted her to understand what this was. Desire could consume you, ruin you, wreck you until you were nothing you thought you were, and she had done that to me, time and time again, until I was so broken that I couldn’t think straight. Throwing her in a grave, displaying her on a bier: everything was about her.Always her.I stole her from her bedroom, kept her in a basement, locked her away, because she controlled me. I grabbed her wrists with one hand, holding them behind her lower back, and then, on my knees, I continued to lick and finger her. She twitched in my grasp, eager for her pleasure, but I held her wrists tighter, lapping her up.
No, my queen,I thought.You don’t get to control this. You may control me. You may control my entire world, but I decide when you come. I decide how this ends.
I curled another finger inside, curving toward her center. I let go of her wrists but she kept them there, like a good girl. My good girl. I added another finger and she squirmed at the pressure, cringing at the width, and my cock twitched against my thigh, begging for release. But I pumped her harder, her juices running down her legs, drenching the bier. I brought my mouth down on her clit, flicking my tongue in circles around her, slowly, ever so slowly, until finally, her thighs quaked and she bucked—as if to say that this was too much, too much—but I shoved closer to her, pressing my fingers inside and sucking and licking deeper and deeper, until she erupted with a cry that was reckless, thrusting herself against me. My mouth was rapt with her clit, my fingers deep inside of her, enjoying every last second of her surrender, knowing that this would never last.
Once she had come down, her breathing still heavy, I stood back, admiring her. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes and lips wet, her pussy and legs tender and swollen, her makeup running. I shook my head in disgust. She was everything I wanted. Everything I could never have.
And no one would ever be worthy of Kora.
“You don’t miss me,” I said, hoping it hurt. Hoping it ripped her to shreds. Hoping that it tore her apart like it killed me. “You just like the way I make you feel. Sex will ruin you like that.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but she was too weak to speak.
“I know these feelings are new to you,” I said in a low voice, “But never mistake lust for loyalty. They aren’t the same, and they never will be.”
I stepped away, pretending to type a text on my phone, while inside my heart was racing, my body pulsing, my mind screaming:Stop her! Stop her now! Apologize, you damn idiot!But I stayed where I was, dismissing her completely.
Finally, her footsteps clattered forward, and in my peripherals, she straightened herself. Checked her hair. Wiped her mouth. Straightened her skirt.
“You wanted this too,” she said.
“I wanted to prove that you’re driven by hormones, flower,” I said, never lifting my eyes from my phone. “Nothing more.”
“I entered your painting into a contest.”
Finally, I stowed my phone and stared at her, blood pumping in my chest.
“What painting?”
“The one where I’m behind the window.”
“Do you think that means something to me?” I gave a subtle grin. “You’re nothing but a pretty face. Someone to paint.” I threw a hand in the direction of the door. “I’ll find another.”
“I thought—” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I thought that you would—”
“That by entering my art into some shitty contest, that everything would be okay?”
It might have been a nice gesture, but it did nothing for me. She just wanted me to be grateful. And I wasn’t. I wouldn’t let myself.
She clenched her jaw. “You care more about your art than you realize.”
“And you care far too much about what other people think,” I said. “Just like your mother.” I turned away. “Stop thinking about other people,” I let my tone come down to a mild, disinterested manner: “Stop obsessing over me.”
Start thinking about yourself.
“If I’m obsessed,” she said, her voice quivering, “then you areconsumedby me.”
