AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He hooks my uninjured leg over his hip and grinds against my bloody leg. Pain radiates out from the cut in waves, making me hiss but that doesn’t stop Baxter. He lines himself up at my entrance and enters me fully with one sharp thrust that emanates the way he wields his blades.
‘Sucker for Pain’ plays in the background. Maybe this could be Baxter’s anthem. Maybe it’s mine.
I glance down and see that he’s painted his dick with my blood. Seems fair, as I’m covered in his, but it still makes me laugh.
“Sorry!” I gasp but Baxter just grins at me, not breaking his rhythm.
“If you’re not laughing, sobbing or screaming during sex, are you even doing it right?”
I don’t know what to say to that, but I guess he has a point. He wraps his arm under my other leg and lifts me so that I have no choice but to wrap both legs around his waist. My back burns against the rough tiles but I love it: From this angle he hits that perfect spot inside me and all my muscles clamp down around him. I sink my teeth into his shoulder and watch the pink tinged water pooling around the drain.
“Fuck!” I yell when he bites me back, the sharp sting making my pussy clench. I rake my nails down his back in retaliation but he gives me a psychopath smile and dares me to be rougher. If only I could. This position gives me limited movement but I don’t want to move, not when, with every bounce on his dick, he hits my G spot and I grit my teeth against the orgasm that threatens.
Damn, he’s good. A moment ago he had me begging to come, and now I don’t want to. I don’t want it to end. But the water’s getting cold. I guess even a quarter of a million pounds a night doesn’t buy you never ending hot water.
“Knife,” I gasp, suspecting what he might need to reach his climax.
Instead of pulling out to pick it up, he lowers me down onto the floor of the shower and reaches for it without breaking stride...thrust? Whatever. Guy’s got strength and stamina.
He passes me the knife and I raise it, blade upward, pointing to his chest. He leans into me, sandwiching it between us, and the distance closes as the blade sinks into his skin. With a cry my orgasm triggers, and I feel him lose control a moment later.
With a curse he pulls the blade free and throws it away, kissing me passionately while his cock still throbs inside me. I feel boneless, liquified, unable to move. Panting, we remain where we are until we can catch our breath, but eventually he pulls free. I wince.
I’m kind of sore all over now but there’s no way I’m complaining. Instead, I carefully get to my feet and grab a towel while Baxter shuts off the water. He also kills the music which was playing a rather awesome Kaleo track that I love. I turn to him and grin.
“If you liked blood play all you had to do was say so,” I tease. “But I think I’ve just proven that I can handle sex with you.”
“Oh Raven, we’re just getting started.”
Did they ever #TrackDownTilly?
Yes and no, it would seem dear readers. It’s no secret that there’s a list of qualities preferred in a missing victim in order for them to be found. Being wealthy, a woman, and attractive certainly helps. I’m sure you all know the other criteria on the list, but we won’t get into that today.
No, today’s blog is all about Tilly Who. I say this because, to be honest, no one even remembers her name, but for a short period last year the #TrackDownTilly hashtag was trending hard. Admittedly, the media frenzy for the blonde chick lasted a little longer than the average reader’s attention span, but even being wealthy and pretty only buys you screen time for so long. The hashtag lives on though, with many a meme spurned from an apathetic society whose only interest is making Tilly hashtags hotter than #ByeFelicia or #Fetch.
So where did Tilly what’s-her-face disappear to, and did she ever turn up? Do we even care? Apparently someone does because they paid me an obscene amount of money to investigate.
Here’s the facts:
Tilly allegedly disappears/vanishes, cutting all contact with friends
Concerned friend raises the alarm and an investigation is launched when Tilly’s husband – super wealthy, super successful, super high profile, super boring financial guy – confirms that he hasn’t spoken to her in a while. (Which is pretty vague if you ask me!)
Also, if you ask me, the husband is always guilty too but I’m not claiming she's dead or anything crazy like that so hold your horses, readers.
