Page 69 of The First Cut
I grab his shoulders with both hands and hold on tight as he works me with a skill even I don’t possess, and it’s my damn body. By the time I come, whimpering his name, I can barely hold myself up.
With his wet hand, he smears our combined essence across my sex and between my thighs before his hands move up my body, rubbing his cum into my stomach and chest like its fucking lotion. More like an aphrodisiac. I might have just come, but the knowledge of what his intentions are makes my already heated body flush with arousal again.
He leans closer, biting my ear lobe, making me shiver. “Tonight, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll feel me inside you for days.”
Pulling back, he tucks himself away before walking over to the bed. Picking up my dress, he walks back in front of me before sliding the dress over my head. The material glides over my skin as he tugs it back into place.
“You want me naked underneath this?” I tug at the dress.
“You’re not naked. You’re wearing me.”
I shiver, wondering if it’s possible to spontaneously orgasm from words alone.
“No matter what happens tonight, you’re mine and I’m yours. You get me?”
“I get you.” I hope so. I’m trying to rein in the way those words make me feel, but it’s hard. He might be playing a role, but for me, the reality of our situation is blurring with what I’m beginning to feel for a man I have no business feeling anything for.
The problem is that telling myself not to fall in love with Hannibal feels a lot like boarding the Titanic and not being able to swim. But even knowing I’m getting caught up and pulled under, it’s impossible for me to change the course of my feelings.
Outwardly, I hope I’m projecting an air of calm indifference, even if inwardly, I’m a nervous wreck. Hannibal can feel my nerves just from how hard I’m sweating his hand, and I hate that I feel weak next to him.
People greet him with nervous excitement. Sure, I can feel a thread of unease and a certain amount of resentment in the room, but for the most part, people are adapting to having Hannibal as their new president. Their views on me, though, don’t seem to have changed much. So far, most people have ignored me, which suits me fine, but I know I won’t get through the night unscathed.
After breaking away from Hannibal to use the restroom, I find myself facing the leader of the I Hate Lola Committee as Razzle lingers outside the door. Always one to embrace the club girl vibe, Razzle has a risqué fashion sense. Whether it be shortshorts or tiny skirts, blinged-out tanks, or sparkly tiny boob tubes that just about keep the girls contained, Razzle has always embraced her role. But looking at her right now, I can’t help but notice she’s taking things to the extreme.
She’s wearing a pair of black leather shorts, which honestly look more like panties with laces up the sides that match the band of leather wrapped around her chest, masquerading as a top. The same laces on the side of the shorts run between her breasts, exposing more than they cover. In fact, from this angle, I’m pretty sure I can see her nipple.
She teamed the outfit she could only have purchased at StrippersRUs with a pair of black high heels and a studded choker around the neck. Her blonde hair has been teased and sprayed to give it that just-fucked look. Of course, it really could be that she’s just been fucked. With Razzle, anything is possible.
“You want something Razzle?”
“You think you’re so fucking special, don’t you,” she spits, stalking closer. Her hands fist at her sides as if she’s fighting for control.
I stare at her for a beat before I shake my head. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t need to stand here and listen to the shit coming out of her mouth anymore. Say what you want about Hannibal, but there's no way he will stand by and let Razzle shit all over me like Khan and Driller did. Even Havoc, to an extent. In the beginning, I’d give as good as I got, but after being told to just let shit go or that my attitude was reflecting on my old man, I eventually stopped fighting back. I stopped reacting, full stop. Instead of getting the fuck over herself and moving on, Razzle continued to be a two-faced, confrontational bitch, and nobody said shit to her. Hell, when everything went down with Havoc, and everyone joined the I Hate Lola Fan Club, they let Razzle spew her venom at me freely.
But Khan and Driller aren’t here anymore. They can’t force me to endure any more of Razzle’s shit.
“Fuck this.” I step to walk around her, but she grabs my arm and stops me.
“Hannibal might have fallen for your shit, but none of us have forgotten what you’re really like. When he wises up, he’ll be done with you. And then I’ll be the one warming his sheets.”
“Let go of my arm or I’ll rip your hair out of your head.” I pitch my voice low and hard.
She freezes for a moment, shocked that I actually said anything before she snorts with laughter. I pull my arm from her grip and start walking away once again when I feel her hand in my hair. Before she can yank it, I spin and throw a punch, hitting her throat. She lets go of my hair as she yelps, struggling to suck in a breath.
“Your days of bullying me are over,” I warn her as I shake out my fist. Motherfucker, that hurt more than I thought it would.
She gets her breathing under control before standing to her full height. “I’ll kill you,” she hisses, lunging for me. Her fist swings out, aiming for my stomach.
I cover my belly with my hands automatically as I twist away from her, but her fist never connects. At the sound of Razzle’s scream, I turn back and see her being yanked back by Elmo, who has a handful of her hair.
“Tell me I didn’t just see what I saw,” he snarls.
“She hit me!” Razzle yells, struggling to free her hair.
I wait for him to turn on me, telling me I caused this. But he says nothing as his eyes rove over me, his gaze pausing on my stomach for a moment before they move up to my face.
“You okay?”
