“I thought that was rabies.”
He turns to me. “I’m speaking metaphorically.”
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a shit job of it.”
Laughing, he steps over to me, cupping my chin and tilting my face up, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “They’re wild animals, Scarlet. I see to their needs and they stay loyal because of it. But sometimes, you know, something goes wrong, so you don’t let yourself get attached, in case you have to put one of them down. You get me?”
Yeah, I get him.
I get him more than he could ever understand.
We’re just on different ends of the spectrum, him and I, both waiting for it all to fall apart, except he’ll kill someone when it happens to him, whereas I’m terrified of being the one to die. He’s braced and ready, locked and loaded, and I’m just free falling, dodging the crumbling pieces of my life as they rain down on me like meteorites.
“They respect you. I don’t think they’d ever turn on you.”
“Betrayal comes in many forms,” he says. “Sometimes it’s unintentional. Even the best-trained dog might snap at your hand if you try to take his food away. What do you do then?”
“Give him his food back.”
“Or... snap his neck.”
I shake my head. “You’re insane.”
“So you keep saying.”
He leans down, and I’ve got about a three second warning, long enough to inhale sharply, before he kisses me. His lips are the softest things about him, warm and gentle, like a slice of heaven wrapped in hell, so worth battling the flames to feel his fire.
My eyes close, and I kiss him back, grasping his forearm, like maybe touching him will keep me grounded. Touching him will keep me in the moment, will keep me from floating far, far away. My brain, it likes to disconnect, to send signals through my body to abort thinking, feeling, being, to just dissolve into nothing and reshape again when it’s over, because you can’t break what’s not solid, but I don’t want to fade away with him. He ignites something inside of me, stirring up these little sparks in my gut that send jolts through my body, like a defibrillator to the heart.
It’s terrifying, but fuck, to feel alive again...
It’s nice.
Lorenzo pulls away abruptly, breaking the kiss, his voice low and rough, like sandpaper, as he says, “You’re doing it again.”
I open my eyes, regarding him as he steps back, my hands leaving his skin. “Doing what?”
“Switching off.”
I scoff. “Was not.”
Was I?
“What were you thinking about?” he asks.
“About not switching off.”
“Is that hard for you?”
“Harder than it probably should be.”
He laughs lightly, stepping further away, and nods out of the room. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“Upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“Salvation.”
Salvation.
Never has a word ever sounded so beautiful.
Standing up, I follow him, trailing him up the staircase onto the darkened second floor of the house. We walk past rooms to a door in the very back, and Lorenzo pushes it open, stepping aside, motioning for me to go in.
A bedroom. It’s probably the size of my entire apartment back in the city, but there’s very little inside of it, just the basics. The bed, though—the bed is monstrous, so massive he could throw orgies in it and never encounter another pair of testicles.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. It’s not that big. But still, half a dozen people could sleep comfortably.
Lorenzo steps into the room behind me. He doesn’t turn on a light. It’s dark and takes my eyes a moment to adjust as I glance around, my gaze settling on a pair of shoes sitting on top of a dresser.
My shoes, I realize. The red Louboutins I discarded in the street when I ran from him.
“Figured you’d want them back,” he says, seeing me looking. “Heard they were expensive.”
“You don’t even know,” I mumble. I paid a lot for those damn shoes, more than a person should ever pay, but it didn’t cost me money.
Lorenzo steps behind me, grabbing my hoodie to take it off. I raise my hands up, letting him pull it over my head, my heart racing as he tosses it onto the dresser, on top of the red heels, covering them.
He sweeps my hair aside, pushing it over my shoulder, and I shiver when I feel his breath against the back of my neck, his lips brushing against my skin.
“Tell me a story,” he says.
“What?”
“A story,” he says again. “Doesn’t even have to be your story. Hell, tell me your favorite fairy tale.”
“I, uh...”
I don’t know what to say. His arms wrap around me, his hands going straight to my breasts, yanking my black tank top down and shoving my plain white bra up, palming bare skin. His teeth graze the side of my neck as he kisses his way down to my shoulder blade.
“Go on,” he says. “I’m waiting.”
“There was a princess named Nella,” I say quietly. “She had a love affair with a prince, but they kept it a secret.”
“Why?”
Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Why is he asking me this, why am I telling him a story, when his hands are all over me, touching, caressing, his fingers tweaking my nipples, sending shockwaves down my spine?
“Because Nella had two older sisters who were jealous of her and would ruin it if they found out.”
His right hand drifts, running the length of my torso before slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, no hesitation. He rubs me through the fabric of my plain white cotton underwear, fingertips roughly stroking my clit. Holy fuck. This man and those hands... he doesn’t play fair. At all. He presses buttons he’s got no business pressing.
“So what happened?” he asks, pushing against me, pressing into me. He’s hard, so damn hard... I can feel his cock against the small of my back. He practically manhandles me, shoving me toward the oversized bed, hand still down my pants, not missing a beat.
His fingers move the cotton aside, and I gasp when he touches me without the fabric barrier. It takes me a moment to find my voice again, to come up with words, as he forces my legs apart further.
“They made an underground glass tunnel leading from the prince’s castle straight to the princess’s bedroom so they, uh...”
I lose my words again when he drags me onto the bed, laying me down in the center of it. My heart races, thumping furiously as he hovers over me, cocking an eyebrow, staring down. “So they could fuck?”
“Basically.”
My voice sounds smaller than I want it to. I sound meek. Ugh. That’s not me. He’s still staring at me, but I think he hears my timid tone, too, because his expression shifts. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Nope.”
I answer way too fast, way too loud.
He smirks. He knows I’m lying.
“Tsk, tsk,” he says, his voice low, rough. “What did I say I did to people who lied to me?”
“You kill them,” I whisper.
“You’re goddamn right,” he says, gaze moving from my face, down to my chest before trailing even lower. “And what I’m about to do to you, Scarlet? If it doesn’t kill you...”
He trails off with a laugh.
I’m not sure if I like the sound of that.
My body, though, is most definitely a fan, every syllable he speaks bringing it more to life, like being roused from a deep, dark sleeping curse. That which does not kill me isn’t trying hard enough. He said that the first night we met.
Lorenzo strips me, tugging my pants down, taking the underwear with it, yanking the shoes from my feet and tossing them to the floor, the clothes following.
“So they built some magical tunnel to sneak around and fuck,” he says, kissing down my stomach, his tongue swirling around my belly button, dipping inside of it. I
squirm, shivering at the sensation, and unconsciously reach for him, but he grabs my wrists, stopping me, his gaze returning to my face, his expression dead serious. “I’m about to fuck you with my mouth like you’ve never been fucked before, and you’re going to keep telling me that story. You got me?”
“I, uh…” Wow. “Okay.”
“You stop, I stop,” he says, his gaze flickering down, right between my legs. “And I’m not going to want to stop, so you better not make me.”
I’m not sure how this is going to work, my nerves through the roof. He’s right—it might kill me. Because yeah, I’ve slept around… I’ve been passed around, like a piece of meat… but men that go down for the fun of it are unicorns.
At least, among men in the business of sleeping with women like me.
Gripping my wrists, he pins them flat against the bed as he settles between my thighs. I look down at him, watching in the darkness, chest aching, heart racing, and adrenaline rushing through my veins, fueled by anticipation. He’s just a breath away. He’s right there. His eyes flicker up, a warning in them.
Oh, shit, right, I’m supposed to be talking.
“They made this glass tunnel so they could sneak off together,” I repeat, stalling again, gasping, the moment his mouth is on me. He starts slow, running light circles around my clit with his tongue, but it’s enough to make me arch my back and squirm.
Wait, ugh, how does this story go?
“Every night, the prince would go see her, just run there, buck fucking naked, slip into her room and they’d, uh… fuck.” I throw my head back, the curse damn near catching in my throat, when his lips encircle my clit and he sucks on it, sending pleasure through me. “Fuck, every night... he runs over there. But the sisters, they find out, and they decide, you know, they can’t have that. They can’t let them... fuck.”
It’s torture, what he’s doing. I can’t see. I don’t know. But his mouth is fully on me now, tongue doing whatever it does, flicking and licking, sucking and fucking, completely devouring me, like he’s starving. I try to yank my arms from his grasp, but he isn’t budging, his grip damn tight. I want to grab him by the hair and pull him closer, desperate for more friction, but I think I’m just as likely to punch him if he frees me, because Jesus Christ, what is he doing to me?
“The prince, he doesn’t know,” I say breathlessly. “That night, he runs through the tunnel, no clothes on. The glass is smashed, he’s cut up, blah blah blah, uhhh... he, uh... Christ, that feels good.”
Lorenzo laughs. The asshole laughs. His mouth is on my pussy, my clit pulsating from the feeling, the sensation damn near shoving me over the edge, an orgasm building, because he’s laughing.
Yeah, I’d punch him.
“He’s cut up, bleeding out... I don’t know... dying. It’s killing him... fuck, it’s killing me...” I swallow thickly, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop, but I know he will if I don’t pull myself together. Asshole.
“The glass is magic. His cuts won’t heal. He’s still dying, so the King, oh god…” I shift my hips, my toes curling when he hits a spot that sends shockwaves rippling through me, my thighs trembling. Oh god… oh god… oh god. “The King promises whoever heals the Prince can marry him.”
Lorenzo releases my wrists, and I’m grateful for a brief moment, instantly running my hands through his thick, dark hair. He pushes a finger inside of me, maybe two, I don’t know, fucking me with them before abruptly pulling his mouth away. His gaze finds mine when I open my eyes, and I almost panic (did I pause too long?) before he speaks. “What if it’s a guy?”
He curves his fingers, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. The unicorn found the fucking Holy Grail.
Didn’t even need a map.
He navigated right there.
It feels so good I can’t make sense of anything else. It takes me a moment to remember he even spoke. “Uh, what?”
“What if a guy heals him?”
“I, uh… he marries him?” Did he really stop for that? “Are you seriously asking questions?”
He shrugs. “I’m curious.”
“It can’t wait?”
He smirks. “I like watching you squirm.”
His mouth is back on me after that, but I’ve lost my train of thought, because now that he’s added fingers to the mix, well, I really am going to die.
The pressure is building, and I’m panting, spewing out words.
I don’t know if they make sense.
“Nella, she goes to tell him goodbye, gonna die, no cure, I don’t know, holy fuck. But an ogre, you kill it, you save him. Nella overhears. Jesus Christ, don’t stop, please…” I fist his hair, my breath hitching. I’m thinking Lorenzo’s mouth could’ve saved the prince, because I don’t think there’s anything this mouth couldn’t do. “She murders the ogre, cures the prince, they marry… blah, blah, blah, oh god, I’m gonna… uh, Lorenzo!”
Orgasm tears through me. I gasp. My legs shake. He doesn’t stop, even though I’ve run out of words, doesn’t let up at all, his mouth working miracles as I buck my hips, practically fucking his face. Tingles engulf me, goose bumps coating my skin.
It’s short lived, the sky-high euphoria, but worth every damn second of stumbling through that story.
As soon as it fades, I relax back into the bed, my eyes closed, my muscles needing a moment to work again. Lorenzo sits up, his voice serious, matter of fact, as he says, “That was a terrible story.”
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, peeking at him.
“Seriously, that’s your favorite fairy tale?”
“At least it has a happy ending.”
He shakes his head as he moves closer, climbing up the bed, hovering right over me again. He slowly licks his lips, making a shiver runs through me. “I might be an asshole, Scarlet, but that little game kept you from fading, didn’t it?”
Yeah, I guess it did.
He leans down, kissing me, fumbling with his pants, unbuttoning them.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “That okay with you?”
I nod. More than okay. I’m aching, my body on fire, desperate to feel him inside of me again. I hate that I want it so much, that I want him, but he’s like a drug, I think, one of those potent, addictive drugs that alters your brain chemistry.
“Good,” he says, retrieving a condom from the stand beside the bed. He hitches my legs up, settling between them, as he pulls his cock out, rolling the condom on.
He wastes no time thrusting inside.
I cry out as he fills me, tilting my head back, and barely have a chance to adjust before his body weight is pressing upon me, his hand around my throat. A chill of fear shoots down my spine, but he doesn’t squeeze. He could, though. Instead, he looks me dead in the face and says, “You zone out, I choke you. Whether or not I let go is anybody’s guess. You still okay with this?”
I nod, no hesitation.
I probably shouldn’t.
Hell, I know I shouldn’t.
Would he let go? I like to think so. But I’m not sure, and that’s what causes the panic to trickle into my chest, spiking my system. It’s sick. Maybe I’m sick, the fact that it excites me, that being just a breath away from death makes me feel alive again.
I shift my body beneath him until he slips out a bit before I buck my hips up, slamming into him so he fills me. He’s thick, and rock hard, but I’m so slick he just slides right in, like he was made to be inside me. His expression goes slack. I can practically see the pleasure flow through him. The man is rough around the edges, something so primal about him, but there’s something else there, something unexpected.
So much passion.
He moves then. He starts fucking me, just like he said he would, slamming hard, one hand still on my throat, the other digging into my hip as he pins me beneath him. Every thrust knocks the air from my lungs as I gasp, and whimper, and moan...
“You like that?” he asks, his voice low, barely a murmur
against my lips before he kisses me so hard it hurts. “You like giving me this beautiful pussy? Like me taking it hard? Beating it? Fucking it? Killing it?”
“Yes,” I whisper, chills coating me as I let out a shaky breath. “I love it.”
“Love it, do you?” he asks with a little laugh, nudging my head aside to kiss along my jawline. “Savage little thing, aren’t you? Is that what your Scarlet Letter stands for?”
“Not even close.”
He bites my chin, and I hiss, flinching, before he pulls back to look at me. His movements slow a bit, but he’s still hitting deep, hard, pain tickling my stomach with every thrust.
“Seductive,” he says. “Submissive.”
He’s just spewing out S-words, I know, but that last one grates a nerve. My cheek twitches, and I tense, nails digging into his skin as I rake my hands along his shoulder blades. His eyes widen, the corner of his mouth lifting. Amused.
“Don’t like that one, huh?”
“Fuck you.”
The hand on my throat shifts up a bit, fingers pressing into the skin, not cutting off the air to my lungs, but it makes me lightheaded. He increases his pace, pounding into me, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping, cries escaping my throat. My vision blurs, my entire body tingling, but I keep my eyes fixed on him out of pure principle. He expects me to fade. He thinks I’m going to float away. But fuck him, if he thinks I’m submissive.
Fuck. Him.
I might love the way he makes me feel, but seriously, fuck him.
“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” he asks as I claw his back so hard I have to be drawing blood. “Got a bit of a sadistic side, don’t you, Scarlet? You like to give it as much as you take it, want to fuck up my face some more as I wreck this beautiful pussy of yours?”
He lets go of my throat, pulling away.
I don’t respond, because what can I say?
He forces my knees up to my chest, my legs over his shoulders as he shifts position, driving deeper, harder, faster. Oh god. His fingers find my clit, rubbing, stroking, and I can do nothing but make noise as he makes me come, over and over.
I don’t know how much I can take, and he’s not letting up. I’m soaked with sweat, my body trembling, muscles aching... even my fingers hurt from clutching his back. Eventually, he starts to slow down, hitting a few deep strokes. His face is nuzzled into my neck, teeth nipping at the skin as he grunts.
Menace Page 17