Page 9 of Dead Woman Walking

What is he doing? He isn’t going to do anything to me?

But then his hands grip the fishnets at my crotch and pull them apart. A gasp escapes my throat as the fabric rips apart like nothing. He leans down until his thick hair is brushing my face again, and his finger caresses the soft spots of my thigh.

My breath hitches as I glance down. The knife is now pressed against the side of my outer thighs as he holds me with a slight grip.

His fingers move further up until they brush over mybarepussy. A groan chokes out of his throat.I guess he didn’t expect me to be still without panties.His index finds and plays with my clit, making my thigh twitch with pleasure.Oh, he knows where the clit is.

My eyes close, head dropping back against the mirror. The tip of his blade touches my chin, making me look up at him.

Our eyes lock as he flips the blade so that it now faces him and moves it lower and lower.

What is he doing?I hiss at the touch of the cold metal handle as it pushes through my wet folds. But he doesn’t enter me, just moves the tip around. Only then can I hear how wet I am for him.

His eyes never leave mine, but mine drop over his long body. The sweater hides his upper half, but looking down at where my core sits, I can see the outline of his throbbing dick. My hand reaches out for his hips, and when he doesn’t stop me, I lift his shirt slightly. Now I can see further up his hips and whereitends. His dick extends past his waistband, giving me a full view of his large mushroom tip.

A gasp escapes my lips as a surge of pleasure rushes through me.

Brahms is bigger than the sad excuse that is Oliver’s dick.

Instead of his monster of a cock, he starts to push the smooth cold handle of the knife into me.

I gasp, almost jolting.I didn’t think he was actually going to do it.

He doesn’t stop, pushing it in and out to get all of my juices coated on it. Heat rushes to my pussy, wetting the knife handle more. My eyes look up at him through my eyelashes. His dark eyes are on my face, watching me. His free hand shifts and that index finger finds my clit again.

Suddenly I don’t care about the knife being dangerously inside of me. Somehow, the danger makes me wetter and more excited. Like fuck, he might cut me, but hopefully his tongue will be there to make it feel better.

“Oh fuck,” I moan, head rolling back. My veins, my body, and my head are all on fire. My fingers grip the sink until they are damn near white. “Please don’t stop.”

I am begging a serial killer.He could take that knife out of me and slice my fucking throat, and here I am begging him.

He lets out a grunted breath.

My eyes open, dropping to his cock. It is twitching, and while he fucks me with the handle, the blade is dangerously close to his shaft, pressing into his thigh. A wave of pleasure rushes through me.

He likes this. Sick fuck.

I reach forward, careful not to move my hips. I touch his hip, feeling the toned muscle clench under my fingers. I wait, watching his face and for him to stop me.

But he doesn’t.

I push up his sweater, seeing the clenched abs and scars that cover his lower stomach.

Did he do this, or did someone else? I instantly want to know.

My fingers brush one of the ivory scars before running my finger over the leaking tip that pokes from his waistband.

He fucking growls, stepping closer and fucking the knife into me faster.

My calves hook around his hips, pulling him a bit closer. My fingers push his pants down, so I can wrap my hand around him.

His dick throbs and a moan chokes from his throat.

I pull back, watching the split second of fear wash over his eyes. Smirking, I lean forward to spit right in the center of my palm. Then I slide my palm over his tip and down his shaft.

His eyes close and he inhales deeply.

My core tightens around his knife, making it hard to pump into me. I note that my fingers barely touch each other when wrapped around him.

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