Page 119 of That Sik Luv

He does as he’s told, ripping the soiled underwear near my hip, dragging it down my free leg, and tossing it to the side. It brushes past my clit, and the air sweeps against my wet center. I don’t want to enjoy this, but that disturbing sexual side of myself is resurfacing.

Unsure of where this is going next, I stare up at Saint above me, gauging him for some sort of reaction. I feel his indifference. It appears he isn’t sure who to trust either as he pushes my skirt up my abdomen, eyeing my center again like a lost desert man thirsting for a drink.

“Grab the crucifix from the wall.” Aero’s tone is dark and demanding.

Saint’s eyes widen slightly as he turns his gaze to Aero in disbelief. My pulse rages in my neck, the heavy thumping nearly drowning out my hearing.

He can’t be serious.

I peer at Aero in the corner, shooting him a glare at the dishonorable demand, but his eyes are focused on Saint, studying his hands and his actions like a hawk as he grabs the crucifix from its place on my wall.

He’s a ruthless madman. The symbolic nature of the cross means nothing to him. Just another foreign object with an unnecessary weight of useless meaning attached to it, just like organized religion.

My heart breaks in my chest as I gaze desperately into his eyes, wishing they’d focus on mine. Wishing that the man who began accepting my gentle love and embrace, the man who said what we had together was everything, the man that would rather die than live in a world without his little doll, would reappear. Tears flood my eyes at his distant presence as Saint hovers over my tied body, the crucifix in hand.

“Trail her body, using your God to touch her in all her achingly deceitful places,” Aero instructs, his tone entirely indifferent. “Cleanse her of the filth she’s ultimately succumbed to.”

Another loophole. Clever plan from an all too clever man.

“A cleansing,” Saint whispers to himself, vacant in his gaze.

He trails the black metal cross down my neck with agonizing slowness. The cold, smooth metal makes a tingly trail of goosebumps surface along the center of my chest and between my breasts, and Saint’s eyes drink me in. The cross trails down my abdomen, finding my navel, where he circles it softly. My body ignites like wildfire stemming from the base of my spine at the idea of the crude act Aero is having him commit.

“The dirty bitch loves it,” Aero comments, making my clit hum in regretful approval.

I hate that I love the filth that he spews. I hate that he owns my body with his degradation. It comes to life with his sick and twisted words. He makes me feel filthy and deranged, hating myself for embracing the pleasure that comes with his type of love.

Tears run down my face as I fight the sensations, angry at myself for a lifetime of fighting the urges that are entirely natural to me. I’m a human, run by hormones with a mind that constantly screams at me, telling me it’s wrong. It’s wrong to feel pleasure.

But said pleasure outweighs my mind as my body primes itself for more. The sensations become uncontrolled and insatiable as I lie tied down at their mercy. The need to feed my urges, never more present, because I’ve become immune to the voices that once screamed impurity.

That sick love is the kind I now inevitably crave.

Saint brushes the end of the six-inch, rounded cross against my clit and my hips lift off the bed, my body pulling against my restraints as a strangled moan leaves my throat.

“There she is,” Aero hums from afar. “My mad little minx. Coming to life again, are we?”

I peer into the dark corner at him, and demonic eyes find mine. His hand is gripping and releasing the gun methodically, as if to calm himself.

He’s calming himself.

Calming himself from the jealous rage burning within him.

Even the slightest sight of something so confirming helps me to relax into this, knowing I haven’t lost him to the darkness entirely.

Saint continues working the end of the cool metal against my slit, gazing into my eyes, gauging my reaction as his breathing changes.

I shouldn’t be turned on. This shouldn’t have my lower abdomen tightening and my mouth watering for more. I shouldn’t be enjoying something so horrifically vile and demeaning. But I am.

“Nice gentle circles, just like that,” Aero instructs as Saint’s eyes connect with mine. “Gets her willing to part those whorish thighs, opening that sweet, sloppy cunt every time.”

I throw my head back as the metal rolls over my clit again, the torture, tease, and inability to touch myself at his dirty words, sending me spiraling as my man looks on from afar. Tightly bound ecstasy builds beneath my flesh and begs for release.

Saint leans forward and licks a stray tear that’s unknowingly rolled down my cheek. His forehead rests against me before his lips brush against mine, almost more for his own pleasure, while his wrist rotates expertly, pleasing me with the tip of the cross.

Aero stands abruptly, his arm straightened, pointing the gun at Saint’s back. “Don’t you fucking kiss her!”

My stomach tightens and my pussy clenches at the sudden jealous outburst, filling me with dirty desire while simultaneously fearing for my life. Two sides of the very same coin. Two emotions, arousal and fear, so deeply intertwined into my sexual being like the thorny vines of my bloomed rose.

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