Page 303 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I grin, wild and feral, savoring the small victory.

“Stop squirming, Sunny,” he warns, voice rough.

He straddles me, crushing my arms to my sides. I buck, but it’s useless. He cages me in.

The rip of fabric splits the air as he tears open my sundress. His knife flashes—slicing through lace. Cool air rushes over my skin.

He chuckles, noticing my thighs squeeze shut.

“One minute left,” he murmurs, almost sweet.

The knife trails down my neck. His other hand rips my panties away.

I feel the nick of the blade on my thigh—a warning.

Then his fingers slide through the heat between my legs. Slick. Soaked. Betrayal pools in my gut.

He lifts his mask just enough to reveal a blood-smeared smirk.

“I won,” he says simply.

I want to deny him—bite, kick, scream—but he licks his fingers, groaning low.

“Look how wet you are,” he purrs. “You love playing our game, little Lollipop.”

His hoodie hits the floor in one aggressive motion, his body all tense lines and sin. His hands fumble with his pants, freeing the thick length of him—hard and leaking.

Without warning, he grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me up, forcing his cock between my lips.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

My arms are pinned beneath his thighs as he rocks his hips forward. One hand braces on the floor beside my head, holding me still.

He’s merciless, pushing until my throat spasms, tears sliding from my eyes. I gasp, my nails scraping at his jeans.

“Take it,” he growls. “Take it like a good girl. I want to feel your throat cry for me.”

Each thrust steals my air. Heat pulses through me, shameful and sweet. My scalp aches, but I won’t beg.

He pulls out with a wet sound, strands of spit and pre-cum still connecting us. Tilting my chin, to meets the molten green blaze of his stare.

“That’s not where I want to come,” he rasps, wiping away a tear. “Not today.”

He slides down my body like a man possessed. His mouth finds the scar carved into my thigh—the “D” I gave myself for him.

He licks it. Bites hard enough to make me cry out. Bruises devotion into my skin like he wants to live inside the wound.

“I love that you’re mine,” he growls.

Then he’s wrecking me again—cruel fingers, a merciless mouth.

He brings me to the brink… then pulls away. Again. Over and over.

I sob, trembling, desperate.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like when I make you beg. When I ruin you the way you need.”

I shake my head. Denying it.

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