Page 35 of Hitch
“Not enough, is it, Hitch?” he says. “You want my big dick so far inside of you that I gut you from the inside out.”
I don’t stop myself this time. I nod like a greedy little slut, hating myself for the words that come out next: “Yes, just please. Fuck me.”
He rips open his jeans, and his cock plunges inside of me. He spreads me wide, pressing the knife against my throat as he moves his hips. The tip of his dick hits my cervix, his skin riding against my clit, keeping me on the edge, but as soon as the blade digs slightly deeper into my throat and a drop of blood forms, the orgasm shoots through me, and my body convulses.
“So easy,” he says, his voice hoarse and full of lust. “So fucking easy. Goddamn. You’re hotter than hell, Hitch.”
He pulls out, drenching my stomach and pussy in his come. The deranged expression on his face—twisted and animalistic—makes me ache all over again. I wipe his come from his cock, my stomach, and my pussy, then bring it to my lips and lick off as much as I can. Like I’ll never be satiated. Likethiswill never be enough.
A hunger fills his eyes as he watches me. Then, as we both breathe quietly, reality sits in.
While my words may have been filled with frustration, there was nothing but desire when I licked up his come. And we both know it.
I licked up the come of a killer.
He offers me a hand. I study his palm for a second, wondering if this is a mistake. Can I accept help, even a small offer like this, from a killer? Later, I’ll see what I have on the hidden camera, and figure out what to do from there. I’m not conspiring with a killer if I turn him in, right? I’m just trying to survive.
I take his hand, and we both straighten ourselves, and he points to the attached master bathroom. I glance at the mirror—though the cuts on the top of my breasts are superficial, barely deep enough to bleed—the one on my neck is slightly deeper, and will probably leave a scar.
He didn’t slit my throat, but he took me right to that edge and made me come. Keeping me safe in these fucked up fantasies. And it’s so wrong, but deep down, I know that doing it with a potential killer makes it even better.
And I hate myself for it. Who has these kinds of desires? There has to be somethingwrongwith me.
But I calm myself with the justification of it all. It’s for a good cause. I’mgoingto turn him in to the police.
I use a clean white towel to rinse off the excess blood, then grab another, bringing it to Duane. He bows his head in thanks. There isn’t much blood or come on him, and what’s there has already dried, but he wipes it up anyway.
We stand there in silence. I pick up my purse, careful not to cover the camera lens. If Duanehadnoticed it, he would’ve said something by now. I can take the footage to the policeright now,and if they ask about the sex, I can lie and tell them that I did it to survive. That I was afraid that if I didn’t do what he wanted, Duane would hurt me.
But I could never lie like that. Not when I know the truth. I wanted every second of it. I’m just as guilty as he is when it comes to our fucked up sex.
“Go on,” Duane says, gesturing toward the stairs. “Get out of here.” I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can say anything: “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
I’m about to ask what he’s talking about, but I don’t want to know. My fingers twitch, and instead, I say the unthinkable—
“When will I see you again?”
The vein in his jaw twitches, like those words are as unexpected for him as they are for me. I don’t know why I asked, but it’s like the desperation to be near him welled up inside of me, threatening to break loose, and I had to say something to confirm that we’re okay, even if I’m recording his crimes.
“Soon. I promise,” he says.
Relief floods my veins. I stare a moment longer, trying to figure out why I’m glad that I’ll get to see him soon.
But I’ll never understand my answer. So I go to the stairs and finally find a way out of his house.
Chapter12
Duane
I standin the divided window as she drives down that dark road back to the main highway.
I want to be used,she had said.
I lick the handle of the knife, her succulent scent still lingering on the surface. She tastes like paradise, and goddamn, there’s something about that woman that makes me yearn to conquer more of her soul.
That look in her dark brown eyes. The hunger, need, and greed mixed into one fucked up vision of lust. Knowing that she has to give in to her desires. That she wants me, even if she knows she shouldn’t.
Once her car disappears, I go to my desk and flick through the crumpled napkins, comparing the different inked notes. It’s not quite her handwriting—the curves are similar, but there are extra dots, like the pen was bleeding too much ink—and with how I’ve been carrying them in my wallet, the words are beginning to fade.
