Page 39 of Shattered In Darkness

Her eyelids flutter. She gags. She can barely breathe. I let her choke, let her drool run down her chin. She claws at my thighs but I hold her steady, grinding deeper until her nose is smashed against my stomach.

Her tears keep coming, but she sucks me like she was born for it, quick clean licks with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks even when she’s got nothing left. My hips shudder. I clench so hard my vision pulses white. She grinds her knees into the floor, loving the sting.

When I cum, it’s fucking volcanic. White light blanks my vision. I hold her head tightly and squeeze her skull until she tries to yank away. I force her to swallow all of it, every last drop, so she’ll remember this salt in her mouth for days.

My jaw cracks. I grunt, groan, pulse. I let the wave eat me alive, make my brain go empty, blind, pure. This is what I’m made for. Not love. Not normal. Just obliterating her. Making her choke on me.

She does, like she’s trained for it. Gags once, hard, the sound so filthy I want to put my fist through the drywall. I keep her pinned to my thigh as I finish, riding out every last twitch. Her nails dig into the meat of my leg. Not hard enough to break skin, but almost. I want them to. I want her to mark me.

I finally stagger back a step and release her skull. She gasps for oxygen, mouth splitting open wide, drool and spit strung from her lips to my cock.

“You look good there, Bambi.”

“Go to hell.”

I zip my pants up, slow, deliberate. Button the top button. It’s a performance, and I want her to know she is the audience. “I’ll see you there.”

She doesn’t hop to her feet. She scrapes herself together inch by inch, not looking at me. I watch her ribcage flutter under the cheap fabric. She’s shaking, trying to hide it. I stare at her until she starts to fold in on herself. Until she’s just a little pile of prey. This is all she is now.

The room is scary-quiet. I want her to say something. I want her to scream. I want her to fucking attack me, rake her claws down my neck and make me bleed.

She doesn’t.

I lean against the wall. It creaks under my weight. My pulse is still ragged, blood boiling up from my thighs to my jaw.

“Next time you wanna play innocent,” I say, “don’t use your mouth like a fucking pro. Gives you away every time.”

She doesn’t answer. She’s all out of answers.

I turn and look at her slumped on the carpet, a spill of limbs and hair and torn-up pride. Bambi. My former everything, now just a mess on the floor. Maybe I should feel something. Maybe I should reach for her, offer a word, a hand, some crumb of comfort. I don’t.

Instead, I stare. Let the silence stretch. Let it drip into her ears like poison. I do what I always should’ve done, I turn my back and leave her there.

Slamming the window shut, I make my way out. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but who fucking cares. The echo cracks behind me, and that makes my pulse slow down, makes my bones vibrate with the rightness of it.

On the roof, the cold night air slices deep. I welcome it, it makes the sweat on my neck freeze, keeps the blood from boiling over. I slide down the tree. My hands shake, but I grip and drop, grip and drop, until I’m back on the ground, shadow-silent.

I stalk away from her house. Every step is freedom. Every step is a promise: don’t come near me unless you’re ready to bleed for it.

I hope she sobs all night, splits her nails scraping at the floor. Let her taste what she pretends to crave. Let her rot in the memory.

She doesn’t have answers. Not now. Maybe never. She’s not my problem.

I’m done with her.

I’m done.

I’m—

Fuck.

I never am.

10

LOLA

I can still feel the phantom touch of his hands on me. I still have the marks on my throat, and the soreness between my legs. Having him touch me like that, it’s nothing like how I remember.