Page 39 of Killer Confections
He releases my wrists, and my hands find his leg beneath me. Before I can push away, fingers circle my neck, squeezing the arteries lightly as two thick digits dip under my panties and run along the seam of my pussy.
I jolt, giving a shocked sound as he collects my juices before probing my entrance and pushing in deep.
There’s a loud squelch from my overly wet core and my face flames. “No!” I moan weakly.
The fingers fill me, quelling that aching hollowness. They reach deep, curling inside of me as they rub against something rough.
“UHN!” The sound comes from me involuntarily as my body squeezes. That heat that was pooling in my lower abdomen spreads, turning into a raging fire.
“Good girl,” he growls from above, his attention divided between the mirror and his pumping hand as he slicks his fingers in and out of me.
“Please,” I beg, my mind a jumbled mess. I’m unaware of what I’m even pleading for. My body is tight, my impending release causing my muscles to lock. But the slight fear still pulses in me, clearing some of my haze as I try to stop myselffrom giving this man what he wants.
He pushes in deeper, his knuckles pressed flush against my thighs as he starts a brutal rhythm, strumming the sensitive flesh inside of me. My back arches in response, my body betraying me as I chase the high of my orgasm.
“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum on my fingers, baby. Fuck, you’re tight.”
“Noooo,” the word elongates and mixes with my moan as I melt, the euphoria pumping through my limbs and spreading through my core as I cum.
I find myself in the mirror, taking in my blushing, sweaty cheeks and chest.
Betrayer.
His fingers leave my opening, my channel giving another weak squeeze around nothing as my chest moves with labored breaths.
He lifts his hand, shoving his soaked digits under the balaclava and into his mouth. My eyes widen in the mirror, an unwelcome heat throbbing to life inside my overused pussy. I can’t look away as he tastes me, glacier blues rolling back with a groan.
His hand loosens on my neck and I gather my bearings, quickly lifting off of his lap as I snatch up my jeans and back away.
My ass stings. The cheek he abused is a heated ache as the fabric slides over it. I hiss, buttoning my pants back as the afterglow of my orgasm quickly dies with the dowsing coldness at the realization of what just happened.
But worst of all, the confusing recognition that I enjoyed it has my brain functioning over time.
I shouldn’t have liked that.
I shouldn’t have let him…
He stands, his half-lidded and lust-drunken eyes watching me. The air thickens and I take a few steps back, my gaze never leaving his.
He turns, walking over to the spilled wet ingredients onthe floor. He bends down, picking up the metal mixing bowl before grabbing the mop and a few paper towels from the supply closet.
What the fuck is going on?
He does—that to me—then cleans up my mess? This is too much.
My head is reeling and I can’t even think of the situation I’m still in. My stalker is in my kitchen, wiping up the eggs and milk from the floor after fingering me to completion.
Hands grab my shoulders, startling me as softened blue eyes stare down at me. He pushes me back until I feel the bucket touch my calves. He motions to the makeshift seat with his head, silently asking me to sit.
I’m so utterly lost that I comply, plopping down as I blink at him. He goes back to the other side of the room, gathering what he can with paper towels and tossing them in the nearby trashcan before he uses the mop to clean up the rest.
He puts everything back where it goes before moving to stand before me. My back goes ramrod straight, my guard shooting up as he lifts a hand to my cheek, caressing it before he turns on his heel and walks out the back door.
It’s eerily quiet in the kitchen as I stare at the door he retreated out of. I don’t know what to do or even how to feel. I’m completely out of tune with my body, my mind floating and refusing to process anything that’s just happened.
“Loxley!” Addison calls from the lobby. I’m shunted back to reality, my stupor clearing as the swing door flies open and my friend pokes her head in. “Are you okay? Janette has been calling you, but you didn’t answer.”
“Oh,” I mumble, standing from the bucket before my feet carry me to where my phone is face down on the floor. I pick it up, wincing at the cracked screen.
