Page 51 of Scaredy Cat
“Or should we take it one step further? Should I fuck you with the hilt of my blade while you beg for me to let you finish? Would your greedy pussy clench around it? Hmm?” He laves his tongue up the side of my face, licking a line up to my cheekbone before doing it again.
“Or should I just take pity on both of us and claim your pretty pussy with my cock?” He studies me with dark eyes before his smirk widens on his full lips. “Nah, I don’t think you deserve for me to be that nice. And I don’t think you want me to be, do you, pretty girl?” He presses my hands more tightly to the wall and shifts his grip, while his other hand drags my hoodie up over my body.
“You have no idea what I could possibly want.” The words come out as a challenge, my shoulder blades shifting against the tile-covered concrete as I say it.
Even in the low light, I can see the way his eyes darken and his lashes dip when he narrows them to study my face. “You don’t think I do? You think I’m just going to fuck you? Just bore you with vanilla sex, even though we both know you want and deserve so much more than that? Tell me”—his gaze studies my face before sliding down to look between us towards where his fingers stroke my skin, just under my breasts—“have you ever had the nerve to tell the boys you’ve fucked that they bore you?”
The words hit a little closer to home than they should, prompting me to look away in surprise and embarrassment. “There is no way, literally no way, that you can know anything about what I’ve done with other men.” Not unless he’s psychic, and while I’m willing to believe a lot of things, I’m not willing to believethat.
“No,” my stalker agrees. “But I’m pretty good at guessing. We’re pretty similar, you know. Especially in this.” He rolls his hips against me, and the movement creates more friction against my core while he moves against my thighs with a hiss of restrained delight. “So I’m asking you again. Have you ever told any of the boys who’ve disappointed you what you really want?”
No. I haven’t. But I won’t admit it to him. Hell, I don’t think I’d admit it under penalty of torture or death. There’s no way?—
His hand on my stomach slips free of my hoodie, and he wraps his fingers around my throat to press against my quickening pulse. His eyes never leave mine as he drinks in my surprise, and his fingers tighten just enough so I can really feel them.
“It’s a yes or no question. All I’m asking?—”
“No.” The word escapes in a whisper, and I wish I could grip his wrist in my fingers, to dig my nails into his skin. It’s not that this hurts. Quite the opposite, actually. I want more, even as uncertain anticipation thrums in my veins. No matter that he’snever once tried to really hurt me, he still scares me. He could go too far, or he could just kill me for the hell of it.
“Good girl.” He tightens his grip until I’m gasping and my head is tilted back against the dirty tile, knocking a few of the small squares to fall and shatter on the floor. But I barely notice. One foot kicks back against the wall, shaking loose more tiles, and I writhe against the wall as my body automatically resists the feeling of being deprived of vital oxygen.
“You don’t have to fight me,” my stalker murmurs encouragingly. “Just let go. Just feel it, Persy. You’re going to get so lightheaded. Can you feel your pulse under my fingers?”
My face feels hot, and I finally sag against the wall when dark spots start to dance in front of my eyes. Immediately my stalker loosens his grip, allowing me to take a deep breath of air that burns my lungs. Chest aching with the force of my echoing heartbeat, I look up at him with wide eyes that are streaming hot tears under my lashes.
Fuck,I think in horror as all that fear turns to heat and goes straight between my thighs like a one way flight. Oh,fuck?—
The whimper that leaves me when he grinds his knee against me is embarrassing at best. He does it again, his smile cocky, before leaning down to scoop up his knife that goes back in the sheath at his belt, barely letting go of my wrists as he does.
“I can give you everything you need,” he promises. “You just have to be willing to let me, and do what I say. I can make fear feel so good. I can give you what you’re missing. You loved it the other night.” It’s not a question. My stalker leans forward, lips brushing mine, but when I turn my face up expectantly for a kiss, he licks up the rivulet of tears on my face, before doing the same to the tear tracks on my other cheek.
“You taste so good.” His voice is silky soft in my ear, and he releases my throat at last, smoothing down until his hand is pressed to my sternum. “God, I’m going to destroy you, Persy. Iwill ruin you over and overand overuntil you don’t even look at other men, because you’ll know they don’t have the ability to give you what you need.”
“You think I need to be choked?” I gasp out, catching his eye with my own narrowed gaze.
He tsks, clicking his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Don’t be coy. I think you need to be terrified. I think you need to be scared as hell to get that sweet pussy wet. And you don’t need to lie to me. We both know you’re soaked for me. Shall we find out?” He suddenly tugs my leggings and underwear down to my knees, and before I can react, he shoves two fingers against me, sinking into my folds and pulling a sharp cry from my mouth that’s lost on the wind.
“Fuckingsoaked.” He’s clearly proud of that fact, and pulls his fingers free just to slide them between his lips, never breaking eye contact as he messily cleans them off with his tongue like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
That’s hotter than it should be,my mind supplies, and I press my thighs together in an attempt to hide myself from him.
“Doesn’t it feel disrespectful to do this here?” I ask, though there’s not any accusation in the words.
My stalker eyes me lazily. “You tell me,” he invites. He leans forward, bracing himself on the wall where he’s holding my wrists. His fingers sink into me again, his movements almost playful, rather than harsh to prove a point. It still brings a whine to my lips, and I can’t stop the noise from escaping me. “Are we being disrespectful? Does it make it worse that if I finger you any harder, you’re going to hear how wet you are for me?” He skims his nose up the side of my face and sighs against my skin before adding a third finger.
“So disrespectful,” I assure him, going up on my toes when he curls his fingers inside me. He fucks me on them until his fingers make slick filthy noises as they move in and out of me, and I’mbiting my lip while trying not to be a writhing, squirming mess against the crumbling tile. “T-two women died here, and?—”
“I think we’ve already established that the ghosts can watch.” He grins against my throat and nips against the soft, sensitive skin there. “Maybe next time we’ll compare how wet you are before and after I choke you. Though, that will get too predictable, won’t it?” When he adds a fourth finger, I swallow a gasp and arch my hips away from him, unable to find any relief from his touch.
“No, no you don’t get to run away from me. Take my fingers like a good girl, or it’ll be my knife in your pussy next.” I whimper a reply, not quite able to form words with his fingers stretching me open and coaxing my arousal to the forefront of my mind. It’s impossible to think about anything else, or to focus on our surroundings. If the ghosts are here and watching, they’re sure to get a good show.
“God, I want to destroy you, but I can’t make myself wait. I had all these plans of what I’d do to you, of how I’d make you cry for me. But I need to feel you around my cock. I need you to be mine, Scaredy Cat.” He suddenly releases my wrists at the same time his fingers slide free of me, leaving me feeling empty and embarrassingly needy.
Maybe he’s right, and I am greedy for his touch.
Staggering slightly, I have to use the wall for support, and my heart races as I watch him step back into the bright patch of moonlight that both illuminates and washes him out. My stalker looks almost ethereal in the night, and the only sound other than my breathing in the dilapidated, possibly haunted bathroom, is the clink of his belt as he undoes it, then his jeans.
He barely waits a second longer before lunging back at me like he can’t stay away. With a feverish, bright-eyed look, my stalker grabs my throat again as he growls and his lips meet mine possessively. “Such a pretty little thing,” he purrs. “Andall mine. I came across your channel by chance, you know.” His other hand goes between us, and I feel him shove his jeans down his hips before palming his cock and stroking along the erect length of it. God, I want to see. I want to know what chasing me through the sanitarium and fingering me has done for him, but I can barely move.
