Page 127 of Lilies from Hell

My head clears as I feel her hair tickle me as she moves. My lips touch her nose before even registering the action.

“I have to go back to the house,” she says, still half asleep.

“It hasn’t even been a day,” I retort. She sighs, looking at me with pleading eyes, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist. “Fine.”

I pull out my phone and put it in my ear, watching her leave to the kitchen as the call connects and the voice of Denis distracts me from her for a while.

“We’re in more trouble than we thought. Did you see the messages I sent you?”

“No,” I say. My attention coming back to how she moves around the kitchen.

“I can guess why,” he mutters sarcastically. “Call me when you see them.”

As soon as the call ends my feet moves automatically toward her, forgetting about the messages. She’s sipping her coffee when she almost drops it as she feels my hands squeezing her ass. I grab her hips when she tries to turn around, wanting to press them into her skin.

“I made coffee.”

“Bet it tastes amazing.” She nods, holding the cup with trembling fingers. “Can I have a taste?” I ask, my voice hoarse with lust.

“Sure,” she murmurs, handing me the cup.

I kneel down slowly, rubbing my nose against the line that separates her buttocks, and spread them apart, giving me perfect access to the fluids that slide out of her folds. The ceramic shatters against the floor as a strangled moan escapes her, my tongue already sliding from her entrance to her wet lips.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stutters between gasps, her fingers gripping the countertop.

Her trembling legs make me harder than a fucking stone and my heart beating faster inside my ribcage. I run my tongue over her a couple more times before getting up and grabbing a handful of her hair. Then I carry her to the kitchen island and tilt her body, forcing her legs wider apart with my foot. Now I have a better view of her swollen, wet pussy.

I can still taste her on my tongue when I pick up one of the pieces of porcelain left on the floor. My breathing becomes more erratic at the thought of tasting her blood again.

“Don’t move,” I warn, brushing her skin with the piece of broken porcelain as I slowly put two of my fingers into her and move them around.

My tongue also comes out, trapping her little bud between my teeth before licking and sucking her juices. The taste of her and her blood together makes my eyes roll back in my head with pleasure. I take her moans as a sign to dig the piece even deeper into the skin of her right inner thigh, tracing lines as I let her milk my fingers as if they were my cock.

I pull away, hating the idea. I still need a little more depth to make the scar more visible.

“Please,” she whispers in a breathless voice with a pleading look that could have had me at her feet.

“I’ll be right back. If you move, I’ll tie you up.”

Of course she didn’t listen. When I come back to the kitchen she already has a piece of the broken porcelain in hand, the other one close to her pussy, about to touch herself. I grab her hand and pulled it away from there.

“I told you not to move.”

She takes a few steps back as she watches me take off my belt. She keeps moving away from me until she reaches the door, forgetting for a moment about the cut on her leg.

“Come here, Lena.”

She doesn’t move. Her smile testing my patience while her hand starts to slowly caress her stomach, stopping at her pierced belly button. As soon as I take another step, she sprints to the stairs. It takes me only a few seconds to catch her by grabbing her. She screams and thrashes in my arms when I lift her into the air. Then I tie her wrists to the railing with my belt under her watchful gaze.

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever comes into that beautiful head of yours, lyubov’.” My words are barely a whisper, though not far from the truth.

Her skin bristles and her legs tremble when I slide the razor across her thighs with a simple stroke. I listen to her soft moans and gasps in the background as I continue to trace those lines. It is truly the best melody I have ever heard.

She opens her legs wider, giving me better access to her inner thighs. She had been really eager to have my razor on her skin, although I knew that long before she did. Ever since I heard her involuntary moan when she accidentally cut her finger slicing a piece of apple and then pressed the wound, probably wishing to experience that pain again, as I did when I was younger than her.

I still remember the look on her face when I discovered her.