Page 65 of The Fire Went Wild
Jaxon catches me, his arm twining around my waist again, his mask sliding into the space between my shoulder and my neck. “You’re a Hunter.”
His words sear through me. I don’t believe him. Ican’tbelieve him. But my body’s pumping with a strange black hunger that I desperately need to feed.
I reach behind me, twisting my arm into the gap between our bodies until my fingers graze across Jaxon’s cock.
“Is that what you want, little Hunter?”
“Don’t call me that.” I whirl around to face him, kneeling on the blood-soaked mattress. He stands beside the bed, gazing imperiously down at me from behind the mask. He looks like the god I am meant to worship.
I fumble with the button on his pants, my fingers too slippery with blood to do anything. But Jaxon takes over, undoing his fly with a slow laziness like he’s mocking my urgency. He eases his cock out, and through the red haze of my lust, I see he’s just as urgent as I am. I felt how big he was before, but seeing it is another thing, his thick length swollen and taut, beads of precum already shimmering on his cockhead.
I wrap my bloody fingers around him and stroke.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Mark me with his blood.”
His words shoot electricity through me, and I grab him with the other hand, stacking them on top of each other. He thrusts into my grip three times before he braces his hand on the top of my hand and barks, “Now lick me clean.”
I jerk my gaze up to him, past his bloody cock, not sure if he’s joking. Not sure if I even want him to be joking.
But all I see is the mask.
“Now,” he orders, tightening his grip on my head. “Taste him for me, little Hunter.”
“Don’tcallme th?—”
He pushes my head forward and my lips part on instinct, and I draw him into my mouth. My victim’s blood is coppery and salty and not unpleasant at all, a realization I simply can’t let myself dwell on. Instead, I give myself over to it, my blood-sticky hand slipping down to rub my clit over my clothes as I swirl my tongue around Jaxon’s hot, solid erection, lapping up the blood until I taste Jaxon underneath.
He grunts softly and thrusts his cock into my mouth, his hand holding me into place.
“All of it,” he orders.
My clit aches, but I can’t be bothered with the zipper or the bottom, with any of it. So I just keep teasing myself, touching my clit through two layers of fabric as I lick all the way down Jaxon’s length, sucking off the last streaks of blood. He groans, hips rocking, his cock sliding sideways between my lips. And I’m making noises of my own. Hungry, greedy little slurps. I want more. More blood. More Jaxon.
“You like that.” He pulls away from me, so suddenly that I whimper at the loss of him. His mask tilts down and he catches me with my hand between my thighs. “Look at you. Getting your clothes dirty.”
“Who’s fault is that?”
He laughs, the sound echoing and deep. “Yours. You were a messy girl.”
Heat floods into my face, and I don’t have a snappy response. Because I was messy. I’m sitting in that mess now.
“I want you to undress.” He pushes his own pants down as he talks, his cock even more impressive when it’s not bound by fabric. “But don’t get up from that bed.”
I don’t move. Some tiny part of me wants to cling to my morality. To myhumanity. Because I’m not a Hunter. Ican’tbe. Even if I did enjoy stabbing that man?—
“Undress,” Jaxon snarls, and then he jumps onto the bed, the mattress springing. The man, my victim, jostles up against me. It doesn’t disgust me.
In fact, I—I like it.
“Make me,” I say, because if Jaxon makes me it’s not my fault. I’m not a monster.
Jaxon laughs darkly again. Then he grabs my ankle and yanks off my shoe. My sock. I suck in my breath, holding myself up because if I fall back the way I want to, I’ll be draped across my victim’s chest.
Jaxon pulls off my other shoe, then crawls slowly between my legs, shoving my thighs open. I can feel his eyes on me even if I can’t see them. Even if all I see is emptiness.
“Why don’t you want to obey?” he murmurs, unhooking the button on my pants. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?”
I glare at him, trying to summon up the horror and terror I know I should be feeling. “You made me do this.” It sounds stupid, even to me.