Page 51 of Taunting Tarran
‘Fuck you, let me go!’ she seethes.
‘Fuck me? I was getting ‘round to that.’
She gasps, ‘You’re a cold-hearted bastard!’
‘Probably, but cast aside those rose-tinted spectacles of yours. They won’t shield you from the truth, Tarran. You’ve been bound to my cock and my cold, black heart since the very moment I laid eyes on you, and there you shall remain, caged and claimed, forever mine.’
‘You can’t make me,’ she spits, her words like shattered glass. I let out a low, velvety chuckle and stroke my jaw. ‘You poor, naive thing,’ I purr. ‘It’s not about making you. It’s about inevitability. And what I want is always mine before you realise it was even yours to give.’
It’s the way her voice falters, betraying her bravado she’s desperately trying to cling on to. Fear doesn’t lie. People do. It’s a language all on its own, and Tarran speaks it fluently.
‘I’m not lying!’
I reach down, my hand sliding between her legs. ‘Then why are yousowet?’ I ask, her body instantly stiffening,
‘Natural reaction.’
I whisper in her ear. ‘You’re wet ‘cause you know who I am.’ My lips stroke the shell of her ear as I continue, ‘I told you to run, little lamb.’
Her breath catches, and then she gasps. ‘Angel?’ A single word escaping her lips, more like a plea than a question.
Did my name have the power to save her or damn her?
‘Angel Gabriel,’ I correct.
Anger surges as her breathing comes in short, rapid pants. ‘All this time?’ she seethes, the words trembling withbarely contained fury. ‘I grieved for you! I thought you had died.’
She turns, and the anger in her chest falters, her voice carrying a weight I’m not prepared for.
Pain.
She grieved for me? Interesting.
‘You...you’re the boy with the face of an angel?’ she asks, a single tear sliding down her face. I hold her jaw in my hand, twisting it to the side as I lick the droplet off her skin. ‘If you say so. You’re shivering.’
‘Don’t deflect!’
‘There are more pressing matters than who I am, or used to be. You’re shivering…’
‘Maybe, because I’m trapped here with you and you’re a twisted fuck.’
I laugh, a twisted fuck I am, among other things, but she’s shivering for other reasons.
‘You’re a liar, little lamb,’ I twist her body to face away from me, and force her legs to part. I slide my right hand under the elastic of her underwear, my fingers tracing the entrance to her pussy.
‘Do you know how I know you’re a liar, Tarran? I know because you’re wet. I told you, it’s your pussy I want to make weep, not your eyes.’
She mutters under her breath, as my other hand rests on her left breast feeling her heart pulse.
It’s strong.
‘This should raise your body temperature,’ I growl, rubbing her clit in slowministrations. ‘Tell me, Tarran, is it the fear of dying that gets your pussy throbbing? The very thing people instinctively avoid – danger, vulnerability, and the unknown? Is it the reasons people seek out fear, albeit safely from the confines of our homes, like watching a horror film? Or is it the thrill, like a rollercoaster or a haunted house that gets your pulse pumping?’
‘No, not quite,’ she whispers in a breathless mewl.
My eyes roll as I rest the side of my cheek against hers. ‘Then what is it?’ I reply, blowing hot air onto her skin as I continue to massage her pussy, her body slowly relaxing against mine. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s the adrenaline that reminds me I’m alive.’
