Page 27 of Ruin

I mirror her expression. My cock uncomfortable in the decadent heat between her thighs.

“Why aren’t you getting wet for me?”

I don’t mean to say it, but the words spill out of me, confusion, because I know how this works. I understand sex. Somewhat. I have fucked more men than I dare count, but this... Shouldn’t this be the same?

“Ava,” I lick my lips, staring into those addictive, dead eyes.

Her legs flex beneath me, the barest movement, I know she has no strength in them. My frown deepens, so does hers. We must be mirror images of one another’s expressions now.

“I want to fuck you again,” I tell her, my lips plucking over hers with each word, and her cunt pulses.

Barely, but I feel it and my cock punches in response, swelling, heating, begging me to move, urging my instincts to thrust, thrust, thrust. I do nothing. Gritting my teeth.

“Ava,” I brush my sticky, bloody fingers down her cheek, cup the fragile bones of her face in my hand.

She looks me dead in the eye, a corpse, like me, it only makes my dick harder. I bite my tongue, my cheek, drawing blood, thick in my mouth, in my throat. And I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to move more in my entire life. Ever wanted anything more than this moment.

Our bodies joined, lain in blood, flesh, bone.

I want to roll us around, slather her pale body in it. In this, in us, I want to come inside of her again and again and again, over and over until I am all she can see, taste, feel.

I bite down into my tongue, blood bubbling, flesh burning, I stare at her as though I want to devour her. I think about taking a knife, slicing into her skin, replacing the scars she has with mine, with me, me, me. I want to come in her hair, on her face, in her throat, cunt, hands. I want to slather her in my blood, cut her up into pieces and consume every portion like she is the greatest delicacy.

My hips punch forward, knocking the crown of her head into the butchered man at her back and I feel feral, at her touching him. I rip her up from the ground, blood decorating her back and I realise it’s not mine, it’s not me, her, us.

I tear her into my chest, dropping back onto my arse, black jeans still hanging onto my hips, I cradle her head beneath my chin, my lips in her hair, my eyes hard on the dead man behind her.

I am fucking feral.

Her arms hang at her sides, even though mine are banded around her. I think of the way Lala always holds me so fucking tightly that my skin crawls, and then I don’t find Ava not clinging onto me so infuriating as only a moment ago. But I feel…cold,without her touch, and I frown harder.

I’m not good with people.

Especially not girls.

Women.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I blink as I rasp the question.

The thought only just occurring to me to ask, even though my cock is currently snug and solid as fucking granite inside of her. I didn’t ask her before, I wanted it, it was a punishment, I think, maybe, I don’t know what I’m thinking when I get like that.

This though, this gets a reaction out of her. Her fingertips flex at my sides. Relaxing my hold on her cheeks a little, I can’t see her, where she’s tucked beneath my chin, so I draw back, dip my chin, cock my head, catch her eye. She looks at me now, her breathing slowing, her heart is hammering against my own, and the organ in my chest seems to cling onto the beat of hers. Mimicking it, syncing with her. Heat flushes through me, my eyes dipping down to the sliver of space between us. Her dark nipples are puckered on her small chest, my mouth waters and reluctantly, I drag my gaze back up to hers. Her face bloodied, bruised with my fingerprints, and despite it not being my blood smeared across her, I feel the shudder it elicits all the way down to my core.

“I-” I lick my lips, trying to think about what I’m saying, but it all comes out wrong regardless. “I’ll try not to hurt you again,” I look away then, scrunching my nose, sniffing hard.

My grip is still tight on her face, despite forcibly relaxing my fingers, I’m too rough and I don’t know how not to be. I don’t want to learn not to be either.

It’s who I am.

Violence.

I look to her then, those pretty eyes on mine, and I feel all of my blood rush south again. I lick my lips, my gaze hopelessly locked on hers, tethered, frozen, caught, snared.

I am the poisonous spider in the web, but now, right now, I feel like the fly, captured and bound in silk.

“Charlie,” I say quietly, that catch of my voice cracking in my damaged throat, the tendons taut, muscles cramping. She drops her chin as far as she can, keeps her eyes up on mine, “I’m Charlie,” I hush again, and her lips curl, shyly, slowly, fucking beautifully.

A smile.

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