Page 12 of Vicious Hearts

And suddenly, his cock rams inside me to the hilt.

Every. Single. Fucking. Huge. Inch of him.

It hurts. Badly. Brutally. Except, that’s not all it does.

It also makes me come.

Instantly.

All the anticipation. All the anxiety preparing for this and coming here tonight. All the build-up, the atmosphere, the hedonism downstairs, and finally—finally—meeting my fantasies and my depraved kinks in the flesh, and seeing if they still make me weak in the knees when they’re happening for real and not just in my fantasies.

It all hits at once, just as the beautiful and sadistic psychopath I’m supposed to kill drives every inch of his hard, thick, huge cock deep inside of me.

I scream as I come harder than I’ve ever come before by amile. The waves keep coming, over and over and over, until they threaten to pull me under. My back arches off the wall, my hips grinding into him through the pain and the pleasure and the whirlwind of it all.

My heart is still racing. Every inch of my body is still on fire, electrified. Slowly, I open my eyes, only to shiver as they’re instantly swallowed by his venomous green ones.

“Good girl,” he growls quietly. His cock flexes powerfully inside of me, making me whimper as a fresh wave of pleasure ripples through my core.

Under the black and gold mask, his brow suddenly furrows.

“What were you reaching for?”

I blink. “What?”

Do it.

“You were reaching for something.”

My pulse skips. He’s still all the way inside of me, but he’s fully dressed, and I can see the glint of a switchblade at his hip.

Do it now. NOW.

His green eyes slowly narrow viciously. His hand drops from my wrists, moving to grip my hip tightly. The other hand stays wrapped around my throat, and when it starts to tighten slightly, I have a moment of clarity.

This isn’t about facing your deep, depraved darkness.

This is about Finn.

Do what you have to do. Now.

Cillian’s eyes thin to slits. “I asked you a fucking question.”

Go. Do it.

Fucking DO IT.

“What the fuck were you reaching f—”

“This.”

I’ve practiced pulling the clasp from my hair and flicking my wrist out a hundred times. Even so, doing it now, with the rush of all the endorphins still roaring through my system, it’s like I’m moving underwater or through molasses.

But I do it just the same.

My hand drops to the knot at the top of my head. My thumb flicks the clasp open, rolling it into my palm as my arm snaps out, flicking open the five-inch blade.

In one motion, with his hands still on my throat and gripping my ass—and with his cock still hard and buried balls-deep inside of me—I swing my arm down and bury the knife deep in his left side, right by his heart.

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