There is something intimately powerful about that, how he derives purpose and pleasure from me, and I gain a man that women only dream about, one forever on screen or between the pages but never flesh and bone.
Every single one of the girls I learned about in crime documentaries deserved a champion like Kage, someone to bring them brutal justice, and now I have the chance to wield a powerful one of my own.
So I reach up, chest rising in dark pride, and grip his sturdy, flexing shoulders, relaxing my hips, allowing him deeper access to my pliant, broken body. I get lost in him, in the wet sounds of my soaked pussy, in our labored breaths, in his grunts and choked off moans. “Fuck, right…right there, please…fuck…”
His palm leaves my stomach to grip my jaw, my eyes springing open as his lips crash to mine, leaving bruises in the wake of his claiming. Our tongues dance briefly, and he pulls away sharply, glaring furiously at me. His hips stutter yet still somehow keep a steady pace. He turns my face to the side, likely seeing the redness and swelling of the backhand smack I received. I think he tasted the blood, and if I thought I’d seen him enraged before, it somehow devolves. I watch in detached fascination as he takes it out on me.
And I fucking love it.
There’s something wrong with me, but I’m not sure if this side always existed, or if Kage stoked it to life in my soul. The pumping of his hips resounds through the basement, the silky head of his cock rubbing against a sensitive spot inside me. When my cries change to something higher, more desperate, his thumb dives down and rubs furiously across my slippery clit, sending sparks of pleasure through me as a cataclysmic climax builds.
His eyes scorch my face in molten flames, and my neck cranes as I cry out to him, to the god of death that rules my body and soul forevermore. “Make me come…please…please…”
My breath hitches, cutting off as the orgasm overcomes me, unending pleasure burgeoning deep within me, coaxed out by a monster. My nerves are flayed beneath his domination, my entire body alight, my ears roaring as I drown in pleasure and a type of high I never knew existed before now. The wild swing from nearly dying a torturous death to sinking into an obsession I’ll never let go of has me falling through the cracks and into hellitself, Kage cracking me open and spilling my darkest truths to him and the dead.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” I whine like a whore, glancing down to watch in fascination as my stomach shudders and my cunt squeezes his girth so hard it tries—and fails—to push him out. Slicked with my juices, his veiny shaft is shoved back in to the hilt, my orgasm ripping through me from head to toe as I scream and cry, shuddering in time with each pulse of lightning coursing through me.
Keeping himself deep inside me and snug against my womb, he releases at the same time, the throbbing of his cock and the spurt of his hot load coaxing me into another climax. His cum leaks out of me as I cry and he continues to pump his hips, neither of us done with the other now that we’ve experienced the magnitude of how we make the other feel.
Panting with tears staining my face, I collapse into his embrace, our eyes catching—and the world going black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KAGE
“Ow, ouch—motherfucker!”Summer hisses, punching me in the thigh with her tiny fist. A smirks tugs at the corner of my lips, teasing at a smile that’s unable to form because of the storm cloud hanging over my head. She has a way of burying things—pushing emotions away until she believes they no longer exist. But as my fingers gently pry apart her blood-crusted curls to better view the gash on the back of her head, a wave of rage washes over me and settles like a hot stone in my stomach.
She almost died. My father’s henchman Clyde almost raped her. And then she watched me bash his skull in, and I fucked her on that cold, dirty floor without a rational thought in my barbaric brain.
I could have killed her, and as I witness the depth of the cut and the slit of white bone peeking through layers of skin, my guts churn. Not because I am queasy at the sight of a little blood, but because she is hurt, and I probably made it worse.
We’re on the couch in my rather shanty living room, a lamp with no shade leaning precariously over the back cushions to give me a better view of her injuries. Her cheek rests on my thigh, one hand dangling to the floor, coaxing Poppy out from the shadows to distract from the pain.
And despite everything, I’m still somehow hard as a fucking rock for her, my mind wandering back to how it felt to lose my virginity in a cunt as velvety, wet, and tight as hers. She could’ve—and probablyshouldhave—fought me. Instead, I watched and felt and witnessed her blossom into something entirely new, some deeper, more powerful version of herself coaxed to life as I finally,finallymade hermine.
Fresh blood oozes from the cut, pulling my attention back to the task at hand. I’ll have to stitch her up; I have plenty of practice. One of the tenants of the cult I was part of was never seeking help from medical professionals. A friend of mine died as a child from a simple broken arm.
Thank fuck my mother taught me to sew in secret, because without that knowledge, I wouldn’t have sutured my throat back together and had the wherewithal to splash pure alcohol on the wound once a day. That fiery pain is seared forever in my memory, and knowing I’m about to force Summer to endure it guts me.
Gently, I grip her skull and turn her face up to mine. Her bright green eyes shine up at me, a calmness about her I’ve never seen before. Almost as if all she needed all along was my cock pistoning in and out of her cunt to tame her.
My bloody thumb swipes gently across her swollen cheek, and she gives me a small, sated smile. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”
She’s naked, and though every animalistic instinct in me wants to fuck every hole in her goddess body, I can’t until she’s at least patched up. Releasing her face, I make a motion with my fingers, trying to convey I have to stitch the wound. Her brows furrow briefly, but then understanding ignites in her keen gaze, and she gulps.
“I’ve…I’ve never had stitches before.”
Frowning, I cock my head to the side and cup her cheek again. She blushes beneath my touch, so demure when fifteen minutes ago, she was begging me to make her come. My cock surges at the memory.Not now, Kage, focus, I admonish myself.
She chews her lip, worry slipping into the corners of her pretty eyes. I have enough medical supplies here to withstand the apocalypse thanks to my job; once Randy, the farm owner for the grow operation I work for, discovered I could fix more than just equipment, he bought me military-grade kits.
They’ve come in handy more times than not; I had to give Randy’s ten year old kid stitches on his brow after a biking accident. Poor little guy was shaking like a wet dog, more afraid of the mysterious guy with scars who can’t speak than the impending pain. Now, he’s my shadow every time I go to work.
Lifting my left thigh so I can fish my phone out of my back pocket, I open it to the notes section and type
I can numb you.
She cranes her neck, nosy and impatient, but when I flip my phone around, she’s aghast.
