Page 30 of Welcome Home
13
A New Skin
Cora
There is nothing gentle about my waking when I finally come around, my hair plastered to the drool on the side of my face as I gasp shooting up in bed like a crappy vampire movie. “Vosz?”
As I wipe the tangled and dirty hair from my face, the intense aching in my core serves as a reminder of the very real sci-fi horror turned erotic porno my life is turning into. My hands shove underneath the sheets, testing the very bruised flesh, a wanton pulse of need building anew inside me. My face is soon buried in my hands, wincing as I force my knees up to rest my elbows on them, trying to sort through and deal with even one of the nerve-shattering emotions rattling around in my chest. The anxiety that’s plagued me since I killed Oliver, the misery I’ve felt since we moved here, since they told me my cervix was useless. Incomplete, they said, it was the way it had developed, no amount of IVF, fucking or crossed fingers would change that.
There’s an odd and unwanted warmth in my chest, and a monster has put it there. Hope and something dangerously deeper, something that’s burned me before that I don’t dare put a name to.
My body protests in every way as I shuffle towards the bathroom, fighting against the sudden gush of fluid that isn’t mine as it runs down my legs. Racing against gravity to make it to the shower. God, it’s so much. It’ll be leaking for a week, the thought both excites and makes me cringe. The warm water feels amazing on my aching body, sure, but I rush through the shower, anyway. Desperate to get downstairs, to find the source of all my problems, and maybe if I’m lucky, the solution to them.
I rush through brushing my teeth too and don’t even touch my hair, my battered core making me walk wonky as I descend the stairs. “Oli-“ I wince at my own mistake, “Vosz?”
By the time I hit the last stair, heat flushes my cheeks, his foreign tongue and milky translucent shade of his skin sending more tension between my thighs. The smile comes unbidden to my face. The Unexpected smile right here of all places brings tears too. Ones I quickly wipe away. Tears only make things worse here. There’s too much on the line to spend time trying to work out my feelings right now. The hardwood is chilly on my bare feet. I clutch my robe around me, but I left the top open, a deep V line between my palm sized breasts. The onslaught of shyness has me gripping it shut, too. His eyes haunt me, even now. Scrutinizing every step I take, I can see him from the kitchen. His lips curled back in the disgust he didn’t even bother trying to hide in the end. The beige silk robe is stained now, black. It’s mine, my home, and he isn’t in the kitchen. He’ll never be in the kitchen again.
“Vosz?”
The sound of the basement door slinging open quickly makes me jump, the door handle smacking into the opposite wall. A fleeting glance at the ornate clock on the wall tells me it’s just after three in the morning, I think. I never was great at roman numerals.
I round the staircase towards the living room where the basement door sits just off to the left, all of my breath leaving me in a gasp so abrupt I cough. Detective Rappert’s normally clean, pinned hair is down, her curls hanging around her shoulders, her clothes-
Are those my clothes?
I take a step back, my palms already slick with sweat. “What are you doing in here?”
She just watches me, her normally confident gait off kilter as she mirrors my steps. I take one back and she follows, slowly eating at the space between us.
“Oliver!” I yell, almost missing the way her fists tighten, her rich skin pulling taut over her knuckles. My heel hits the runner in the hall, making me stumble. “Get out of my house! You have no warrant nor reason to be here!”
“But don’t I?” Her smooth voice filters through me, something there prodding at the nervous frenzy bubbling in my gut. “Oliver!” She calls out abruptly, making me flinch. “Doesn’t look like your husband is here, my love.”
My love?
“Get the fuck out, I don’t want to hurt you…” I whisper, the need to retreat fading.
My love…
Her laugh is a pretty melodic sound. It’s a shame I’d never heard it before. “We both know that’s not even close to the truth. You’d love to hurt me, wouldn’t you, Cora dear? You’d love to cut me into pieces… to writhe and finger fuck your little pussy raw right next to my corpse, wouldn’t you? You-“
“Enough!”
He’s on me now, his hand capturing my throat in a firm hold, guiding me back until I hit the marble-topped island. The moment I try to wrench free, my core pulsing his-herlips slam into mine. They’re so full, the kisses so soft I push into it, my hands wondering… exploring.
It feels so perverse, so wrong.
My own arousal smooths the ache between my legs as he slips her tongue into my mouth, swirling it with mine, her fingers prodding and teasing before they disappear underneath the robe, flicking and rolling my nipples. It’s hot. It’s so fucking hot I have to force myself back to reality. “Why?” I gasp.
“Does this body please you, my love?”
I whimper as he dips her head tugging the tie of the robe free with a perfect fluidity I couldn’t begin to replicate, exposing my breasts before he flutters her tongue over them. “Yes.”
“You are quite the deviant indeed, Cora. What would the honorable detective think about you rubbing your cunt against her like this?” With that he stops his teasing exploration of my flesh, shoving her fingers deep inside me so suddenly I cry out in pain, but it’s more than that. It’s the pleasure too, despite all my aches and there are plenty I want to be filled up again. To feel the pressure deep in my stomach from his monstrous cock.
He sucks my nipples feasting on each one, then backing off to lick and lap at them. All the while letting me fuck myself down on her fingers, wantonly, desperately grinding my clit into her palm. “Fuck.” I whimper, pressure building in my gut, my core clenching. When he bites down on my nipple I explode, coming violently on her fingers, ones he extracts far too soon, holding me tightly against him as I sag in his arms.
I’m still panting when the waves of pleasure start to wean, reality, being the bitch that she is. “Oh, my god you killed her.” I accuse abruptly jerking free from his arms he doesn’t let me go far, keeping a possessive banded arm on me.
