Page 23 of Locke 2

“Locke—”

“No,” he gritted, his mouth back on mine. He bit my bottom lip once more in warning, and I shut my eyes again, anything so that I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what I might feel if I did. He chuckled, but it came out cold and eerie. “You knew this was going to happen.”

I shook my head, and he let out that sound again. That cold little laugh. And while he was cold with his words, his touch was another matter. He explored my entire body with his hand, that gun still pointed at my head, but I knew it was more for his benefit.

He wanted to be in charge, to stop any possibility of my resistance. Even without the damn thing, I wouldn’t have resisted, but I wouldn’t admit that. We were both shielded by this illusion. We counted on it. It spoke clearly of what this was: me, the prey, and he, the predator. Me, the victim that wanted to run away. He, the killer that could easily decide my fate.

In a flash of a second, we were back to simpler times.

And it felt nice to give him the control, to let him have the final say, but it was an inferno that would burn out fast with our lies.

It didn’t mean my body was listening, though.

I let him touch me. I even made sounds when he flipped my shirt up to find my bare breasts. He tongued my nipple, and his breath hitched. He muttered, “Perfect little tits,” and continued on his way. He pulled my pants and underwear off me in one swift move and by now he was down the bed, the gun at his side and not at my head. I could have maybe got away if I wanted to, and I pretended I really wanted to. I made to slide off the bed when his hands gripped my hips, forcing me in place. I felt his eyes at me, his body stilling unnaturally. I stared up at the ceiling, trembling, as his voice cut through the air. “No.”

A command.

No.

As in,don’t fucking dare run from me.

I fidgeted and now the room was full of my heavy breaths and nothing else. He tapped at my knees that I’d pressed tightly against each other.

Tap, tap.

I shook harder.

Tap, tap.

My knees relaxed.

Tap, tap.

My legs fell open and that cold laugh returned, mingling with my breaths. “Good choice, little prey.”

Fuck you, I wanted to say. I would have once. But that girl was still in a coma inside me. I’d put her to rest in order to exist in this neighbourly fucking town.

See, I was swearing a lot more inside my own damn head. Already he was making me animalistic, but it was nothing—fucking nothing compared to the hot breaths blowing at my pussy, and then his tongue—

His tongue seared my centre. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I literally jumped, every inch of me centred around his touch. I was so damn sensitive. I let out a gasp as that tongue lapped me slowly, taking his time to run it along my nerves, stopping right at my clit. He flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue, and I jumped again, my moan louder than the heartbeats in my ears.

“Best you get wetter, lioness,” he growled. “You’ll want it slick when I fuck you. When I tear this little pussy apart. When I destroy every inch of you. You deserve it, though.” That anger laced through his voice. “You deserve to feel hurt after what you’ve done to me.”

I shook my head, but I didn’t retort. Let him have it. I didn’t care. I just wanted his tongue, his pleasure, his cock. All of it. I was beyond all sense. My heart might burst in my chest. I mighthave a heart attack, and I didn’t mind so long as I got to feel the orgasms he gave me.

Again, he took my pussy into his mouth in that self-servient way, groaning deep in his throat. The vibrations ricocheted up my body, adding more to the pleasure I was deeply submerged in. He sucked at me, lapping me in this hungry, fiendish way. His fingers dug into my thigh, while the gun in his other hand bumped against my other. I raised my hips, shamelessly grinding against his face as the pleasure built.

His words cut through the air.

“Perfect little pussy…” he grunted. “So wet. You’ll need to be wetter, lioness. It’s been a while since I’ve fucked, and I’m not feeling hospitable.”

But I was gushing for him. I’d never been so slick. Even with the cold breeze, I was sweating. My entire body tightened, the build up deliciously fast, though he seemed to know when I might explode, so he backed away, letting that cold laugh out. He wasn’t amused by how easily he reduced me. He was angry, and so he punished me. I felt it in little ways. When his teeth skimmed my clit, when he left me hanging, when he dug his fingers deeper into my thigh, intending to leave marks.

He didn’t have to leave physical bruises. He was going to mark me regardless. My soul would feel the punishing strokes of his touch and what they truly meant for a long time to come.

He worked me, his tongue flat against my clit, and then he sucked hard—

I exploded, quivering as the orgasm made me go tight, tight, tight, and then limp and boneless. The room spun, the sparks in the dark swirling in my vision. I was still quaking from theafter shakes when he rolled me over. His clothed chest pressed against my back. His hand gripped at my chin, tightly, his mouth at my ear, gritting out, “Did that feel nice, Kali?”

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