Page 48 of Ricochet
I abruptly stopped at her pleas, my chest warming at the sight of a frown forming between her eyebrows.
“You don’t get to call the shots now, remember?”
“Yes, yes I remember.” She nodded, already lost in the pleasure I was bringing her, chasing her own delirium.
“Good.” I continued with the punishing strokes. “I can see your pussy squeezing the handle. How badly do you want to come?”
“Fuck you, Kieran.”
“Well, that’s what you’re kind of doing.” I chuckled.
She started moving her hips, matching my thrusts. I wanted to throw away the knife, untie her and bend her over the bed as I fucked her with my cock, as I destroyed her inside and out.
But that would have to wait.
With two more strokes, she started shaking, her orgasm tearing through her body.
“Shit, shit, shit…”
I threw the knife on the bed, replacing it with three fingers, easily finding her little nub. I latched onto her clit, my tongue swirling around, collecting her juices. She tasted heavenly, pulling at my desire for her.
“Fuuuuck!”
I kept my ministrations, even after she started clenching around my fingers, her juices coating her thighs, my hand, my face.
“S-Stop. No more. Please.”
“No. Gimme one more.”
She tossed around the bed, her limbs flailing with their limited movement, but I didn’t stop. If anything, I increased my pace until I could feel the second wave of her inner walls clutching my fingers.
“Fuuuuck!”
Her scream echoed around the room, and with one final lick through her folds, I removed my hand, licking my fingers clean.
“Mmmm, delicious.” She glared at me, her eyes two daggers slicing through me. “This is going to be so much fun.”
I chuckled as she tried to move from the position she was in.
“I am going to rip your throat out, Kieran.”
“I think you would rather be sucking my dick.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “Get some rest, darling. This is just the beginning.”
Motherfucking piece of shit.
I didn’t have enough words to describe what a fucking prick Kieran Nightingale was. Well, if I was being honest, I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to stab him or to throw myself off the nearest cliff for once again falling for his antics. Stupid body, stupid hormones, stupid memories pushing me to him. How was I ever supposed to get out of here and get things done if he could disarm me with one single touch?
A knife.
I allowed him to fuck me with a knife. I allowed myself to succumb to my deepest desires, and even if it meant that what he did was out of hatred, I still did it. I craved his touch, his warmth, because for the longest time, he was the only light in the infinite darkness I was thrown into.
So what if the look on his face screamed revenge? I didn’t need his love to feel good. Right?
Our hearts didn’t matter anymore, because one of us… One of us won’t be getting out of this alive. Over the years, I’ve imagined how our first meeting would go. At first, there were versions where Kieran found out the truth and sought me on his own, asking me to come back home. I quickly realized wishful thinking could only fuck me up more, and my messed-up head didn’t need that. When the truth came to the light, the only version I had in my head was my knife sticking out from his chest.
No love, no regrets, just the end of the road for us. It was funny, really. I never questioned the tightness in my chest after every single touch, kiss or moment spent together. But now I know.
It was the impending doom our relationship was always sentenced to. Sometimes people make something beautiful, using all of the broken pieces. The two of us, we managed to turn those pieces into dust, killing our hearts in the process.
