by LP Lovell
"Take it, Evie!"
Her pussy clenches and trembles around my fingers. I pull out and then push back in again. She moves her hips, grinding them against my hand. A moan slips from her lips, and I remove my fingers, leaving her panting.
"Ezra..."
"Shut up!" I shout, anger and the raw need to possess her coursing through me.
I swipe my hand across her arse, smearing come between her cheeks. "Remember when I told you I would take your virgin arsehole, Evie?"
She doesn't reply. I laugh, grabbing her hips and pulling her back so far that her arse cheeks spread open. She's shaking, and it's no longer from excitement. I slap her arse hard before I slam my finger into her arsehole. She clenches tightly against the intrusion, trying to pull away from me.
"My come is in every hole in your body. I own you, little killer." I nip at her ear as I work my finger farther into her arse. Within seconds, her muscles have loosened, and she's backing up against me, panting and moaning. I take another finger and shove it, knuckles deep, into her tight little hole. "Remember that the next time you decide to bring your fucking shit to my front door." I grab her throat with my free hand and trace the shell of her ear with my tongue. "And the next time you put another man's cock in your mouth, I will fuck this sweet arse so hard, I'll rip you open."
I ram both fingers in all the way. She flinches and whimpers. I pull away, leaving her shaking as I turn and exit the room. She can stay there, bound, and covered inside and out with my come.
She will learn. One way or the other.
My fingers are numb, my legs weak from standing here for most likely hours. This is his idea of punishment, but it does nothing for me. With each passing second, my sins eat away at me. I must have the forgiveness Ezra denied me. My pulse is erratic, my breaths heavy, and I worry he may never come back for me. He may very well leave me here to die, unforgiven. And then I will go to hell.
The hinges on the door groan, and I hear his heavy footsteps cross the room. Without a single word, he releases the cuffs around my wrists. My arms drop to my sides. My fingers throb as the blood rushes back to them. I turn around and cautiously glance up at him. I don't think I want Ezra angry anymore, because, as I just learned, anger does not lead to my forgiveness, but rather my denial.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Forgive me?"
He releases a heavy breath, and his eyes lock with mine. "I don't forgive." Cupping the back of my neck, he pulls me closer until his lips barely brush mine. "I like you, little killer. I want to hurt you and fuck you until you cry for me, because I own you, so the next time you put some guy's dick in your mouth, I will fucking kill you."
I swallow and nod my head. The heat from his body feels so nice against my bare skin. He's clothed, and I'm in nothing more than a thong. I like the way it feels to have him want to control me and own me. I feel innocent and dirty, wanted but not needed. I shouldn't want him because he is wicked; he is a distraction, but I am only human. His dark eyes gleam as he studies me, and I want to beg him to love me.
"Now get your shit, you're coming with me," he orders.
I open my mouth to ask why, but he cocks a brow. Do not ask questions. So I nod instead.
"Good." His lips pull into a small smirk, and he walks out of the room. I happily follow him because I'm obsessed with him. I'm not too proud to admit I need him, his pain, his body, his sin.
Ezra opens the door to his apartment, and Dave nudges his way in, running to the fireplace and circling his bed. The familiar scent of Ezra's apartment swirls around me as he closes the door, and I remind myself he mustn't know I've been inside his apartment—several times. He wouldn't like that.
There's a thud when he drops my suitcase in the entranceway. "I'm going to bed." He yanks his shirt over his head and starts toward the room where he fucked that redhead. When he flips the light off, panic seeps through my veins.
"I need to go to the church," I blurt. I should just turn around and leave, but for whatever reason, now, I feel I need his approval. Because he owns you, Evelyn.
Ezra turns to face me. His dark eyes meet mine, and I want to shrink away from him. "Church?" He laughs as he crosses his arms over his massive, bare chest. "You want to go to church?"
I can't expect him to understand this. He's not religious. So instead of explaining, I nod and head for the door. As soon as my hand brushes the handle, his thick arm locks around my waist and jerks me back against his hard body. "You aren't going to the fucking church, Evie. It's six 'o clock in the morning, and unless you had a nice comfortable nap on that cross, you should go to sleep."
"I can't..."
His warm breath touches my neck and my thighs clench. I want him to fuck the forgiveness from me, and I realize how terrible that is. I find myself relaxing into his body when I should be running to the church instead. He's like a raging fire sucking all of the oxygen from the air, suffocating me, leaving me breathless. And I'm not sure what I need more of this moment, forgiveness, or him, and that terrifies me.
I attempt to wriggle free of his hold. "I have to go..." His grip tightens. "Please." Guilt is eating me alive.
His lips skim over my neck, heating my skin. "What do you need, sweetheart? Do You want to pray? You can get on your knees for me if you like." He chuckles, and his chest vibrates against my back, sending chills splintering up my spine. His comment should disgust me, and it does, but not as much as it makes me want to fall to my knees in front of him and worship him—his cock, everything about him because he is a temptation at its finest.
I break free of his hold and spin to face him. "I need to be forgiven," I say.
"For what?" He looks at me like I'm filthy, and I instantly feel ashamed.
My heart thrums in my throat, sweat pricking its way over my forehead as my eyes slowly drag over his naked chest, taking in the intricate details of the ink playing over his tight skin. What do you need forgiveness for, Evelyn? Tell him. I swallow. "For wanting you," I breathe the words, my voice catching in the back of my throat as I imagine fucking him.
A cocky smile tugs at his lips, and he cups my face, his thumb skirting across the corner of my mouth. That simple touch causes my eyes to slam shut and my body to respond to him like a wanton whore. "You make me want to do such terrible things," I say before I swallow again. "You distract me from my work, Ezra. You make me want to sin. I should want to kill you, not fuck you,” I confess before I even realize it.
He inches his way toward me until I feel his breath on my lips until I can taste the scent of whiskey on my tongue. His hands glide over my body, stealing my breath one inch at a time. He grips my thighs and lifts me off my feet, slamming me back against the door. His hot skin slides against the inside of my thighs as he pins me in place with his hips.
"Then sin, little killer," he tempts with a wicked smile. "I'll forgive you."
I want to. I want to drown in sin with him.
His fingers snake under the hem of my dress, brushing over my panties and tearing the material from my body. His firm stomach feels so right against my bare pussy, and I bite back a moan. His body is like a sculpture of Apollo or Zeus, and it's because Ezra is a false idol. A beautiful false idol I will burn in the lake of fire for worshiping. But he wants me to be his sinner. He wants me to go up in flames within his sin all the while granting me forgiveness. Ezra wants to be my god, and I shouldn't let him, but I can't help it. I want him to own me. I want the same terrible things as he does. I want to give him my tears. And God forgives me for that because this man's sin is so delicious.
His hands clamp down on my legs, and then he pushes me up the wall until my thighs wrap around his shoulders.
He stares up at me, one side of his lip curled in a grin. "Is this a sin?" he asks before he buries his face in my greedy little pussy.
I can't help but watch in anticipation as his hot tongue plunges inside me. It flicks over my swollen clit, and my morals come undone, bowing at his feet. How can something so vulgar look so pure? I win
d my fingers into his messy blond hair, pulling at the roots as he forces me to come apart, piece by piece. Ezra strips each shred of dignity, each piece of purity away from me until I am bare and exposed. He laps me up like I am the waters of life, holy and pure. His tongue assaults my clit, determined. A chorus of moans fall from my lips, just like a hymn, and he growls, grazing his teeth across my clit. I break, screaming his name as my thighs clamp around his face.
But he does not stop. He continues to fuck me with his tongue until I can't take it any longer. Pleasure muddles with pain and I gasp. My body involuntarily flinches away from him. Ezra laughs, slapping the outside of my thigh before he drops me to my feet. I slide down the wall, weak with every inch of his body bleeding through me, but he catches me and brings my face to his. His lips slam over mine. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. His erection presses against my sensitive skin, leaving me breathless, my head spinning, with the flavor of my own sin thick on my tongue.
"See," he says against my mouth. "Like heaven." He winks and steps away from me.
I drag in several breaths as guilt slams its way through me. I'm not just drowning in sin; I'm literally sleeping with the enemy. I am tainted and soiled and not worthy to carry out the Lord's work.
You are wicked and dirty and unworthy of love. I hear Zachariah's word echo inside my head and rage fills me. I've sinned. I've forsaken my plot in life for desires of the flesh. Prayer will do nothing. God will not hear my prayers until I'm punished for what I've done.
"Hurt me," I scream desperately. "I need you to hurt me." Tears blur my vision, and I fall to my knees, grabbing onto Ezra's hand and pulling him toward me as I beg for my penance.
"I told you, Evie." He squats in front of me, cocking his head as he watches me crumble. "You don't control this. I hurt you when I want to hurt you."
I must be forgiven. Pulling my hand back, I slap him on the cheek so hard his head turns to the side. He grates his jaw from side to side, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising in ragged swells. He will hurt me.
Growling, he backhands me across the face. I tumble to the floor, the coppery taste of blood welling in my mouth. I swipe at my split bottom lip. I need more than this to be forgiven. Then his hand slams around my throat, his body on top of mine, and in that small amount of pain, I feel an ounce of relief.
"Fucking shit!" he shouts. "You fucking hit me again Evie, and I will leave you in a pool of your own blood."
"I need you to make me bleed. Make me bleed!" I scream, and Dave goes scurrying from his bed, darting into the open bedroom.
"What the fuck?" He brings his face inches from mine. "Why are you so fucking determined to make me hurt you, huh?" Ezra's eyes lock with mine, his uneven breaths cooling my bloodied lips.
"I need forgiveness..." I choke, my pulse frantically drumming in my ears.
"Why?" His eyes flicker, and I think that is rage firing behind his black eyes. His fingers tighten around my throat, and I claw at his hands, panicking as my air starts to dwindle. I want pain, not death. My work is not done. He squeezes harder, his nails breaking my skin before he suddenly lets go of me. I gasp and cough, staring up at him from the floor.
"Why?" He repeats, more calmly.
"Because..." I drag in a hard breath, trying to still my pounding heart. "It makes me feel clean."
He leans over me again, his hands on either side of my head. His stare is accusing, and I close my eyes to avoid his judgment.
"You realize that makes no sense, right?"
"You don't understand my religion." My eyes flash open. He studies me, his eyes flicking over my face. And I watch him silently assess me. The more of his beauty I take in, the more like the devil he seems. His eyes are empty, dark and bottomless; his lips wicked in every way. His body is a temple of temptation. He's the devil, Evelyn. He'll take you to hell. "To be forgiven, there must be pain," I say. "Pain cleanses me of wicked things like you, Ezra. It bleeds it out of me."
"Oh, I can bleed you, sweetheart, but you're a whore and a murderer. I'm pretty sure your God will want a damn site more than a little pain before he lets you through the pearly white gates." My teeth grate against each other. "You're just a filthy little whore..." he whispers into my ear.
"You wanted this. You asked for it, Evelyn." Zachariah releases his hold on my thighs. "You pretend like you don't love this, but just like any other wretched little slut, you only want things that are sinful. There's not one righteous thing about you." His hot breaths blow across my bare flesh, causing bile to rise in my throat. "You tell anyone about this, and I'll slit your throat in your sleep, I promise you," he whispers as he lifts his massive frame off mine. I can’t stop the dirty feeling crawling all over me. I can't make the throbbing pain between my legs stop.
Zachariah throws his undershirt at me as he walks to the door. "Clean that shit up, you dirty whore." He grabs the doorknob and turns to look at me, at the broken mess he's leaving behind. "You better pray to be forgiven for tempting me like that, Eve. Just like the woman you are named after, tempting a righteous man to sin. Shame on you." He opens the door and disappears, and I sink. I sink into this feeling of self-hatred, of loathing, worthlessness and shame. I am a sinner, and the only thing that can save me is if I repent.
That little demon inside of me screeches at the top of its lungs, and all I want to do is take a knife to Ezra's throat and watch the very last drop of his ruby red blood spill out onto the floor. He is no different than Zachariah. He is no different than any other man. I am not a whore. I am not his whore. I am good.
Evie freezes, her expression blank. "I am not a whore," she screams. "I kill bad men. I kill horrible men. I do good. You are sin, Ezra!" Her chest heaves as she drags in deep breaths.
I move away from her, propping my back against the nearest wall and running a hand through my hair. She's still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, talking to God I guess. I knew Evie was a little off. No girl should be able to take a beating like this one, but she's fucking crazy. People don't just get like this, they're conditioned, brainwashed. Just as I've been programmed to feel no remorse for the things I do, Evie has been programmed to feel ashamed, to feel as though she is breaking some sacred bullshit.
She believes that her faith will save her, that her God will grant her forgiveness.
My mother used to tell me that God loved her, that one day he would hear her prayers, and save us. My mother died a drug addicted whore at the age of twenty-six. She was a filthy slut who fucked dirty, nasty men for money to feed her habit. Religion never did shit for her, and it sure as fuck hasn't done anything for me. Religion is a cop out. It's an excuse for people to wallow in their fucked up lives because 'God will save them.' Guess what? The only person who can save you is yourself. If there is one thing I have no time for, it's religion.
Evie continues to mumble under her breath, begging for forgiveness, repeating she's not sin. I won't lie, a chick like this... I'd usually kick her to the curb and high-tail it out of there. But in my fucked up world of easy sex, killing, and money, it takes a lot to truly intrigue me, and Evie amuses me to no end. There's something about her that draws me in, and it's more than just her tight pussy and love of the belt. She's so fucked up. She makes me look dull. She's just asking to be possessed and owned, truly owned, not because she wants to please me, or fuck me, but because she needs it.
"You want to go to the church; I'll take you to the fucking church." I sigh.
She turns her head to the side, glaring at me. "You don't understand." She shakes her head. "What you just made me do, that kind of disgusting sin has to be beaten out of me." She pulls herself up to her knees.
I skim my knuckles down her cheek. "I will fuck you when I want to fuck you, sweetheart, and I will hurt you when I want to hurt you."
"Please, Ezra." Her eyes drift shut. "I've never felt as clean as I do when you beat me."
Those words force my dick against my fly. "Fucking strip." I can't help myself.
She makes me do this shit with her words.
Am I enabling her crazy fucking shit? Of course I am, but sometimes creatures as depraved as we are must find each other in the darkness.
Without a word, she pulls her dress over her head and tugs her lace underwear down her long legs. My eyes follow the scar down her spine to her arse.
She glances over her shoulder at me. "Please," she begs.
I grit my teeth as I yank my belt open and pull it through the loops. I grab her hair and tug her head back. "Bend over the sofa," I order.
She bends over, giving me the perfect view of her arse and pussy. I'm going to beat her and fuck her until she can take no more.
A couple of days pass, and I'm starting to think that Zee took my advice and ran. Letting him walk away after taking my girls makes me want to break shit. It's not in my nature to lay down, but sometimes you have to be smart.
Of course, nothing is ever that simple.
There's a knock on the office door, and Jack walks in, carrying a box. "Delivery for you, boss."
I briefly glance up from my laptop. "It's probably for the bar." I dismiss him.
He shrugs and dumps it on my desk before walking out, and I go back to placing the liquor order.
"Are you not going to open that?" Evie asks from her spot on the sofa.
I glance at her and cock an eyebrow. "Impatient?" I take a pair of scissors from the drawer and hold them out. She stands up and wraps her fingers around them. "I want these back," I say before releasing them. Before I know, I'll find some poor bastard with a pair of scissors buried in his nut sack.
She rolls her eyes before cutting the tape across the top of the box. I go back to the spreadsheet. Evie fiddles with the plastic packing, and then she screams. I jump, and Evie swats the box across the desk. She's leaned over, her face white, and her hand plastered over her mouth like she's trying to hold back vomit.
"What the fuck, Evie?" I push up from the chair and pick the box up off the floor. Inside is black plastic, like a bin liner. I move it aside, and inside at the bottom of the bag, is a pair of tits. Crystal's tits to be exact. I recognize the small rose above her left nipple. I take a deep breath and shove the plastic back over them.