Page 66 of The Fire Went Wild
“Doesn’t answer my question.” He yanks my pants and panties down over my hips at the same time. I gasp when I feel the hot, sticky blood against my bare ass, then groan when Jaxon splits my pussy open with two gloved fingers. “This does, though.”
He pulls his fingers out and slides them into my lips. The wetness coating the leather is undeniable. I can’t stop myself from sucking on his fingers, either, or bucking my hips up against him.
“There’s my girl,” he says softly, pulling his hand away so he can peel my jeans off completely. “There’s my eager little Hunter.”
“I’m not a Hunter,” I gasp out. “I’m not like you.”
Jaxon’s only response is to push my sweater up over my chest. He grabs me by the waist and sits me up, grinding my drenched pussy into the blood-soaked mattress.
“Evidence!” I shriek out, logic somehow worming its way through my lust-fevered brain. “We’re leaving evidence!”
“You’re not human,” he says. “They don’t know how to look for us.”
And for the first time since he claimed I’m a Hunter, I hope he’s right. Because I really, really don’t want to stop.
Jaxon rips my sweater over my head, tosses it aside, fumbles with my bra. That he lets fall to the side, and his mask dips as he takes in my bare breasts.
Then he pushes me back, throwing me into the mangled stomach of my victim.
And I groan with pleasure.
Pleasure. Not fear. Not disgust. It’s pleasure, because pleasure is currently pooling hotly between my legs, and I lift my blood-smeared hips up toward Jaxon and press my upper back into my victim, sinking deeper into his corpse.
“Say it,” Jaxon whispers, his mask brushing my cheek. He rubs my clit, the cool leather of his glove a strange, delicious sensation.
“Say—what?—”
Jaxon responds by smacking my pussy just hard enough for it to sting. I cry out, jolt against the corpse. The body still feels warm, but the blood is already cooling and sticky.
“Say it,” Jaxon commands, and I gaze up at him and I really do feel like he’s a monster, a god, and I’m trapped in his thrall?—
Exactly where I want to be.
He rubs my clit a little faster, rolling my pulsing nub tween his fingers. I thrust my hips upward, not sure if the wetness between my legs is from blood or desire.
“Don’t act it out.” Jaxon’s voice is calm and low. Patient. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
I don’t want to say it because saying it is admitting that I want it. That I wantallof it. That I wanted the kill, and I wanted the blood, and I want Jaxon to shove his swollen cock into my greedy little cunt on top of the evidence of my crime.
“Tell me!” he roars.
“Fuck me!” I scream, my voice overlapping his. “I want you to fuck me!”
He pauses and pulls his hand away from my clit, that empty, terrible mask staring down at me. All I can do is take deep, sucking breaths, my back propped up against a dead man, my blood-smeared legs spread wide and waiting.
“There’s my good girl,” he purrs.
I moan softly, because it’s a lie. I’m not good at all. Look at me. Where I am. What I’m doing.
Jaxon crawls forward over the bed, making the corpse bounce up against me. I brace myself for the painful, delirious stretch when he shoves himself inside of me, but he stops, his cock just nudging against my entrance.
“What are you waiting for?” I gasp out, desperate to be filled.
In response, he reaches past me, dipping his hands in the cooling blood of my first—my second?—victim. I know what’s coming, instinctually, and I hold my breath as he smears the blood up along the side of my waist, rubbing it into my soft, jiggling belly. I arch into his touch, moaning, fists beating against the filthy mattress. “More,” I choke out, and it’s like I’m outside of myself.
Jaxon groans with dark, animalistic lust and does as I ask, painting the blood across my tits, squeezing and tweaking my nipples as he does. I drift on the tortuous haze of my desire, his warm, sticky hands sending new beats of pleasure surging through my body.
“This is a baptism,” he says softly. “Yourbaptism, little Hunter.”