Page 15 of Wings of a Butterfly

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll give you one more chance to answer me correctly before your punishment begins. Now, will you ever run from me again?”

I can’t give in to him, even if I die trying. I work up all the saliva in my mouth and spit at his face. His face morphs into the most enraged person I’ve ever seen, and he runs at me. My adrenaline is soaring in anticipation and then I’m falling.

I’m struggling to breathe. Gasping. Every small inhale is like nails on a chalkboard. My legs are flailing around trying to find purchase. Anything to help me right now.

I can barely hear him when he spits out, “Wrong answer.”

My limbs slow their search, and the black surrounding my vision grows. No sound is coming from my mouth. This is the end for me. I’m dying, and it feels peaceful. I’m lying on my back floating in the water. The sky is so blue. Mom is calling my name. Mom! Mom!

And then I’m back, hacking and coughing. My lungs are on fire. Alex is lifting me up around my waist.

“We aren’t done yet.”

We aren’t done? What the fucking fuck? He sets my feet back on the chair, and I’m back in the position I was before struggling with my limbs to come back to lift and hold on to the rope around my neck.

“Now, let me ask you again.” He draws out slowly, “Will you try to leave me again?”

Tears are streaming down my face and my cries are hoarse. My will is nearly broken, and I break down. “No,” comes out in a whisper.

“Good,” he says gruffly as he strides toward me, and I brace myself for the fall.

Instead of kicking the chair out from under me again, he pulls my joggers down and lifts me up on his shoulders. I pull on the rope above me for support.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.” He runs his nose up my sleek slit, inhaling as he goes. “You smell good enough to eat.” This time he replaces the movement with his tongue, making me inhale sharply, leaving a burn in my throat.

He pushes his fingers inside of me as he sucks on my clit. I can’t help the way my body reacts to him. With my legs wrapped around his head, I pull him deeper, grinding myself against his face wanting more.

My moans come out hoarse and ragged. It hurts but I can’t stop. I feel hot all over. He pulls back and looks at me with my arousal dripping from his chin. “Why did you stop?” I’m pouting, wanting more. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Beg me, princess. Tell me your dirty pussy wants me to eat it.” He kisses my thigh before biting into me hard.

“Oh God, please. I’m your dirty little slut.”

“Better.”

Groaning in frustration as he rubs a finger down my middle. “I want you to eat me like I’m your last meal. I’m your filthy little cum slut, and I’m never leaving you again.”

“Mmmm,” he hums on my pussy. “That’s much better.” He puts two fingers in his mouth, wetting them, before his mouth is back on me.

One hand on the rope and one in his hair, I’m arching my back to get closer to him. I feel him massaging around my puckered hole before he plunges a finger inside. He moves around the rim with his finger, making my legs quake around him. He nibbles on my clit and sucks me in his mouth. I feel my orgasm as I clench around the air until he shoves his tongue into me. I’m coming underdone by his masterful mouth. He proceeds to set my feet back down on the chair, and I loop the rope from around my neck. Then he lifts me up in his arms and carries me upstairs to his room.

***

“No, but seriously though, how did you get this scar?” Lightly touching it with my fingertips, I don’t know if it’s my touch or the sincerity in my eyes, but I’m genuinely curious as to how this happened to him. I want to know what makes my monster tick. How did he become so fearful of people running away?

He grabs my hand and leans his cheek into it. “It happened when my last love left me. She wasn’t the right one for me. She didn’t want the same things I wanted. She wasn’t happy with how I acted and took matters into her own hands.” He tells me this, and I’m not sure if I should be scared at this admission of the last girl, the one before me or sympathy for what she did to him.

My mind’s racing with what could have happened. Maybe he was just really sad and tore up over her. Is that where he gets his insecurities from? I can understand that, and I feel for him in that regard. I think he can see it, too, because he leans in and brushes his lips gently over mine and pulls back when my stomach makes a loud growling sound.

I can’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. You’re hungry. Let me go make you something.” He’s cruel and then he’s so sweet. His mood changes faster than the weather in the south during winter and I have no idea how to take him.

He comes back with a plate piled high with food and a bouquet of blue flowers.

“You got me flowers. Where did you get these?”

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