Page 64 of Pen Pal

Yes.

Mark’s blood smeared from my hands on her perfect skin, adorning her like warrior paint. She was a survivor, and I saw the fire burning in her eyes.

She needed me just as badly as I needed her.

“Mine,” I growled against her lips, dragging her bottom lip in my mouth as I sucked on it. “There’s no escaping me now, my little pen pal.”

Her breath stuttered, and I turned her head to face what I had done, all for her. The body was still warm, her ex-husband sprawled on the floor, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing, mouth frozen mid-scream. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, still creeping out in slow, lazy rivers.

Any other woman would’ve been horrified to feel something more than the pulse of arousal between her legs. I could see the way her eyes glazed, her nipples puckered, and her stomach dipped. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps as she took in the sight before her at the severity of what I did.

Amara looked up at me, her husband’s murderer, but it wasn’t disgust that I saw reflected in her eyes. It was lust.

“You’re free from him now,” I husked, my voice low and rough. “I did that for you.”

Her breath hitched as I moved closer, my knees smearing blood across the floor. The copperyscent filled the air, saturating everything. My own gunshot wound pulsed with dull pain, but I knew it was minor, and I could barely feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my system.

My fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up to look at me. I saw the reflection of my eyes in hers, burning with something dark and all-consuming.

“You’re all mine now,” I declared.

I pushed her down, her back hitting the blood-soaked floor. The warmth of it seeped into her skin, branding her, marking her like a warrior queen bathing in the blood of her enemies, reborn.

“Look at him,” I murmured, one hand fisting her hair as the other ghosted down her throat. “He thought he owned you, thought he could keep you and control you.”

I forced her to face the corpse; the empty gaze, the slack jaw, the clotting blood.

“Now he can fucking watch.”

She shivered, and something forbidden and electric surged through my veins. I shoved her down, pressing her into the blood, into the remnants of the past that no longer had its claws in her.

“You like this, baby? Being fucked right where your husband died, his eyes watching you takethe pleasure he never offered?” I rasped, looming over her, dragging my mouth over the shell of her ear.

Her breath was shaky, and her thighs were slick with something more than blood. I groaned, running my hand against her folds, feeling her. “So wet,” I murmured, my voice dripping with satisfaction and victory.

The gun, still warm from the last shot fired, pressed against her spine as I pinned her beneath me; a reminder, a promise.

My lips found hers, sucking her tongue into my mouth. I bit at it, tasting her, reclaiming her as I devoured her, licking, sucking, and biting. She let out a shaky sigh as she licked at my mouth, arching her back and pressing her breasts to me.

I tore my pants and boxers from my body, leaving the blood-soaked clothes on the wet floor. Amara reached for my shirt, whipping it over my head as I chuckled at her impatience.

Then she spread her legs in invitation, and a haunted groan left my throat. She’d just endured countless horrors, but still, she reached for me.

Her pussy was swollen with need, blood smeared on the backs of her legs as it streamed from my latest victim. Her folds glistened with desire, and my mouth watered at the delicious sight.

Unable to resist her, I grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against me, her hot flesh searing against my skin. She moaned, her fingernails digging into my hips as she held me to her.

“Please,” she begged, pulling me harder against her, my cock trapped between our bodies. She moved her hips, her juices sliding my cock through her folds. “I need you.”

I pulled my hips back slightly but chuckled when she protested. Fisting my hard cock, I pressed it against her pussy, slick and swollen, and I rammed inside her.

She cried out, her voice dry and broken, and I inhaled sharply as her pussy sucked me in deeper, desperate for me like I was her lifeboat in a storm.

I turned her face to Mark, making her look into his dead eyes. Her pussy clenched on my cock, and my fingers dug into her hips as I slammed inside her wetness. She moaned, her tits bouncing under me, making the blood ripple around her.

She was fucking glorious, the macabre sight of her laying in her dead husband’s blood satisfying an instinct so depraved, any sane man would’ve been disgusted. The morbidity of it only made me burn hotter, her rapture and little whimpers fueling me.

I drove into her, circling my hips, hitting every inch of her as she took me. I bottomed outinside her, claiming her in the most visceral way possible.

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