Page 47 of Caution Tape

How would it feel to have a mouthful of dirt? Why is it that I know exactly what it would feel like? Somehow, I can taste it on my tongue. I can feel the way it alters my breathing, tiny clumps of dirt clogging my nostrils and packing down my throat.

Yeah.

Being buried alive would be a hell of a way to go.

I’ve never been one to obey orders. Rules have never applied to me before. Not in this lifetime, at least. And now, here I am, keeping my mouth shut and doing exactly as Nolan has instructed, bound in plastic and breathing through a small hole in the bag that’s secured over my head.

He has this bizarre hold on me. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person who has ever understood me. He doesn’t even have to try.

He just does.

“You could have killed me back there, but you didn’t,” I speak up, breaking my silence. “Is it because you’re planning on killing me somewhere else? Your lair wasn’t good enough? Or do you just plan on fucking me some more?”

“I told you to be quiet,” he snaps.

“Ah. You don’t plan on fucking me, then. Killing, it is,” I sigh. “Unfortunate. I was really looking forward to it. We have so much chemistry.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Cora,” he growls over me.

“If I do that, then I won’t be able to suck your dick.”

“There won’t be any need for that,” he sadistically replies. “I’ll be having too much fun fucking the gaping stab wound in your stomach. Warm, and squishy. And self-lubricated. Made just for me.”

“That’s hot,” I moan, wetting my lips with my tongue.

“You’re a sick, twisted little freak,” he groans, taking a sudden sharp turn. “You know that?”

His apartment is like walking into a furniture store display. It’s sparsely decorated, with tidy black and white rugs on the floor. There’s no TV, no books lining the walls. No coffee cup casually sitting on the counter. I turn my head around, craning my neck to look at everything as I’m carried through the door and down the hall, his arms holding me tightly over the curve of his shoulder.

He pushes through another door into his bedroom and tosses me carelessly onto a bed with gray sheets. I roll on them, enjoying how they smell faintly of his spiced cologne, the one that reminds me of dark rum and cedar trees, before sitting up and looking around his room.

Again, like an Ikea ad. No photos on the bedside table. No posters or hanging sports flags. A small desk lurks in the corner, a jacket hung over the back of the chair.

What catches my eye is the painting he has hanging up on the wall across from the bed. A vacant white canvas, large, hung deliberately within view as he would fall asleep. A singular, red dot in the center of it.

I could imagine him lying there each night, staring at the red as the murderous abyss swirled behind his eyes.

He flips me onto my stomach and rips the plastic at my legs, giving him access. My body trembles with excitement as I feel the sharp tip of a blade pressing against the sensitive skin between my thighs, cutting the plastic wrap evenly down the middle, exposing me to him. I shudder with anticipation, waiting for the unknown.

Everything he does is unexpected. Finally, I found someone just as batshit crazy as I am. Completely unhinged, in the most beautiful of ways.

He lets out a sharp, enthusiastic breath as he rests the flat side of the knife against my thigh, urging me to spread my legs for him. My legs spread wide on their own accord.

“Where did you come from, Cora?” he asks me, grazing the cold flat surface of the blade against my clit. A shiver travels down my spine.

“Same as you, Nolan,” I answer with a hushed moan, grinding my pussy against his knife. “The darkest corner of the coldest depth of hell.”

Suddenly, something is inside of me. And it’s not the knife. It’s not him, either. Whatever it is, it’s extremely hard. Cold. Lifeless.

Nolan eases the object into me as deep as my body allows. I’m soaking wet. I try to break my arms free from the plastic wrap, except it’s no use. Instead, I arch my back and use my hips to rock back and forth on the bed. I cry out to him, throwing back my ass and meeting each forceful thrust with a hunger so powerful, I’m not sure anyone or anything could satisfy it, including myself.

“Open up for me,” he instructs, grabbing my ass cheek with his free hand and spreading me apart. He fucks me harder. Violently. I groan, burying my face into the mattress and biting down on the bed sheets. I’ve never felt this consumed.

“More, Cora,” he demands, slamming into me with no remorse. I accept it eagerly, whimpering at the incredible sensations.

“Fuck,” I scream, grinding myself against whatever the hell is making me feel so good, whatever is far wider and deeper inside of me than any man or dildo has ever been.

My juices drip down my thighs, soaking the mattress beneath me as I cry out repeatedly, overtaken with pure adrenaline and euphoria. My senses become heightened. The scent of sex and sweat fills the air, along with the heady scent of Nolan’s lingering cologne. My toes curl and my hands ball into tight fists at my sides. I inhale a long breath, claiming this inevitable orgasm and riding out every incredible second of it.

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