Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
She looks terrified.
I nearly come just thinking that word.
Terrified.
Not of me, though. That's the beautiful part. Not of the man standing three feet away with his cock in his hand, hard from watching her kill. Not of what I might do to her, or what I've already done.
She's terrified of the consequences for what she just did.
The balancing of her scales. The reckoning she thinks is coming.
I walk over to her slowly, deliberately, my hand still wrapped around my cock because I'm not hiding this from her anymore. When I reach her, I take her wrists—gently, carefully—and pull her arms out, away from her body, letting my cock bob, hard and erect, between us.
She resists for half a second, a tiny whimper catching in her throat, but then she lets me. Lets me hold her arms out to her sides so I can see all of her.
"You balanced him," I tell her. "You delivered justice. Real justice. For Posie. For dozens of others, Scarletta. All those girls whose names we'll never know. You saved dozens more who would've come after them if he'd lived another year, another five, another ten."
"I didn't even decide, Caleb. It just—. I just saw his eyes and I knew, ya know? I knew he was gonna—"
"Shhh," I say, putting a finger against her lip. The blood is still wet. I drag my finger through it, smearing it. Painting her face with it.
She lets me. Not even a flinch. She stares into my eyes like I'm her God. I place my hand on her cheek, look lovingly down at her. I let my thumb trace along her jawline, feeling the tacky warmth of blood there. I can practically hear her heart beating.
"Is your pussy wet?" I ask, my voice dropping. "Please, Scarletta. I need to know. Did it make you wet?"
Her mouth falls open. She begins to say something. Stops. Just… stares at me.
I cup her whole face with my hands now. I press my cock into her stomach. My sickness poking in to her. "You can answer honestly. Even if it's no. You can tell me. And if it is no, then… then we'll clean up and I'll take you home. Don't worry about him. I'll take care of him too. You don't have to worry about anything."
I let out a breath. Blink. Swallow.
"But if it's yes, Scarletta. Then… then I would like to fuck you right now. Right here. With his blood all over you. With his destroyed body at our feet. Because this… this isn't my sickness. This is my dream."
Her eyes search mine. She takes a breath. Holds it. Lets it out with her words. "Why… why don't you check for yourself."
I almost come. Right there. With nothing but her request to spur it. But I hold it in because finally—finally—it's happening.
I've found someone.
Someone just like me.
Someone not only willing to balance the scales, but to take payment in a way that breaks all the rules.
Just like her story.
I slide my hand down her stomach. Across the waistband of her panties. And then inside.
Fuck.
She's drenched.
Not wet. Not aroused. Drenched. Her pussy is soaked, slick heat coating my fingers the instant I touch her. I have to close my eyes. Have to force myself to breathe through my nose, slow and controlled, because my cock is already twitching and I'm dangerously close to losing it right here with nothing but my hand in her underwear.
She killed a man. She pulled the trigger and watched him die. And her pussy is dripping for it.
I open my eyes and find her watching me. Waiting. Her lips parted, chest heaving, blood drying on her face in dark streaks.
"Good girl," I whisper.
She moans.
The sound breaks something in me. I push two fingers inside her, curling them, and she gasps, her hips bucking forward to meet my hand. She's so wet I can hear it—the obscene squelch of her pussy clenching around my fingers as I fuck her with them.
"You're just like me," I tell her. "You've always been just like me."
"Caleb—" Her voice cracks.
I pull my hand out of her panties and bring my fingers to my mouth. Her taste explodes across my tongue—salt, and musk, and something darker underneath. Something that tastes like adrenaline and fear and the blood-bright edge of death.
I drop to my knees.
The concrete is cold and hard, and Ryan's blood is spreading toward us in a slow creep, and I don't care. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and drag them down her thighs. She steps out of them, and then she's bare from the waist down, standing in nothing but her coral sports bra with a dead man three feet away.
I spread her pussy lips apart with my fingertips and press my tongue into her sick arousal.
She cries out, her hands flying to my head, fingers tangling in my hair. I lick into her, tasting that same darkness, that same violence. My tongue finds her clit and I suck it between my lips, and she makes a sound that's almost a scream.