Page 59 of Lonely
An electric torrent of violent shivers raced along my spine.
I wet my lips, chasing the pleasure as he gagged again.
Such a good boy.
I always knew he would be.
They all were eventually.
They just had to lose hope first. But when they did . . . when they realized I was their last hope—their only hope—they became such good patients. So willing to please me and give me anything I asked for because they thought I would lower my guard.
“You’re hot on your knees,” I praised. “You pretend you don’t like it. But you do.”
The pleasure became too much. A groan rumbled in my chest and I fisted his hair, spilling down his throat.
When I released him, he sat back on his heels and slowly spat my cum out. It dribbled down his chin and the long column of his throat.
He smiled a toothy, cum-filled grin and then laughed, a jagged, unhinged sound that rattled down my spine. Like the patients late at night, when their moaning and whining and shrill laughter echoed through Wellard’s walls.
It was enough to give anyone chills.
I smacked him and gripped his chin. “Stop it.”
But he continued laughing and mocking me with his semen-coated teeth and lips.
I smeared it over his skin as I gripped him harder, determined to hurt him for taunting me, determined to leave his skin as bruised as my fucking ego.
“What do you want now, old man? My ass?” he mocked. “Or my cock in yours?”
Leaning down, I sneered. “I’m going to shut you up for good.”
“Does that mean you’re finally ready to fight me because that’s the only way you’re getting your hands on me again?”
“Such a slut for violence,” I whispered, feeling his scruff beneath my fingers. I shoved him away and then drove my fist into his smug face.
He collapsed to the floor and spat blood as he wiped the corner of his mouth. A chuckle filled the room as he studied his crimson thumb.
Flexing his jaw, he grinned at me—a dark, menacing smile.
A smile that promised death.
“Is that the best you’ve got, Doctor?”
I kicked him square in the face. His head snapped back, but he wasn’t down for long.
He staggered to his feet and rushed me, all 6’3 of him, and we crashed against the wall.
Carter threw me to the floor, then straddled me and rammed his fist into my nose.
Blood gushed and my eyes watered. He laughed again, the same manic, slightly deranged yet delighted sound.
He was enjoying this.
“You’re pathetic, Doctor.” Securing my wrists over my head, he patted me condescendingly on the cheek. “When was the last time someone put up a fight, huh? Am I the only one? Is that why you can’t get enough? Is that why you’re such a whore for me? Why you’d crawl like a dog for a taste? What do you want? Tell me what the fuck you want, old man.”
“I want your fucking thoughts,” I almost shouted, kicking my legs out on the floor, trying to find some damn purchase so I could throw him off.
“You want my thoughts?” He patted me again. Hard this time. “Here’s a thought for you. I wonder how you’ll look at me when I finally kill you? When I finally get to see the life drain from your eyes.”
