Page 258 of Satan's Spawn
With one hand on my lower belly, he returns to massaging the pain away from the inside out.
Curling, thrusting, caressing. All attempts that have my body shuttering with both pleasure and pain.
After every sharp sting, Crayton soothes it away with a gentle touch. The alteration between both leaving my chest heaving and crying out for release.
Crayton’s throat rumbles when I begin winding against him, the precipice of my high a single stroke away.
“Go ahead, Little Ghost. Come for me. Let your pain spill on my fingers.”
“I don’t want to get…” My words taper off when he drives deeper inside me.
“Fuck.” I breathe harshly.
Crayton squeezes a palm around my neck, forcing me to look up at him. “Come for me, Rebecca. Now.”
Between the pressure on my throat and in my vagina, I have no choice but to let go for him.
Feeling my pussy throb, a surge of pleasure engulfs me before I’m doing exactly what he demanded.
I’m spilling, feeling both arousal and blood forcing its way past his barrier.
“Mmmmm…” Crayton buzzes again as I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.
He pulls out of me abruptly and releases my neck.
Crayton examines his bloody hand, and I watch in awe as a spark goes off in his eyes.
Then he does the unimaginable.
Bringing the stained fingers past his lips, Crayton secures them inside his mouth, sucking away all of my blood.
It’s the most grotesque thing I think he’s ever done.
And I’ve witnessed Crayton challenging the word many times.
Yet I’m not disgusted by him tasting my most sordid parts, in fact, I’m enamored by it. He seems to be, too, like licking ice cream off his hands.
“Now I’ve tasted everything.” Crayton cups my chin. “And guess what?” He pauses, and I audibly swallow before he adds, “Your blood down there is just as fucking sweet.”
I groan when he forces my lips open, drilling those sapphire eyes into me as he spits a line of saliva mixed with blood slowly into my mouth.
I’m unrecognizable. Out of my mind.
Because against my natural instincts to pull away, I take all of him and I, savoring us like the taste of salt on my tongue.
The whole exchange is undoubtedly sinful, but feels so right because it’s with him.
“Take all of it, Rebecca. There’s no part of your fucking body you should be ashamed about.”
The salt goes down my throat surprisingly smooth, proving even more how much I’ve been trading every moral principle with Crayton’s poetic words.
Still clenching my chin, his lips slam into mine, our tongues fusing together and greedy for more.
“You make a valid point,” I say, pulling away from him. “There’s nothing you should be ashamed about either.”
Crayton raises an eyebrow, but when I reach for the button on his pants he straightens out.
“Don’t,” he hisses.
