“How am I torturing you, darling?” he asks and puts my hand on his hard-on, my eyes snapping open at this, and I glance between us, looking at the organ that has the power to bring me so much pleasure I can forget my own name. “Grip it,” he orders, and I follow, longing to drag my tongue all over it, remembering the fullness of it in my mouth. “Not tonight, Callista. If I let you, you’ll play with it for hours,” he says, as if reading my mind, and pushes in and out of my hand, the soft skin pulsing against mine. “Feel this? That’s how hard I’m going to fuck you tonight, so you won’t ever forget who you belong to.”
Yes, yes, please.
“But first, I’m going to feast on this pussy before worshiping it like it fucking deserves.” And with that, he falls on his knees, slipping my heels off one by one before he rips off my panties with one hard tug.
Then he nudges my legs apart, lifting one of them up and placing it on his shoulder, opening me up to him so his hot breath fans my core. I clench, needing him to do something. “Arson,” I whisper and thread my fingers in his hair, pulling him forward.
His thumbs open me up, and then his lips are on me, as he licks my folds up and down, making me gasp loudly, only to change it to a moan when he sucks my clit, trapping it between his lips and burning me from inside out. Two of his fingers enter me easily, pushing so deep that I cry out, rolling my hips forward, digging the heel of my foot into his back while holding on to him so I don’t fall.
The way he drags his velvet tongue over my folds, licks me up, leaving tendrils of fire on his way… it creates a cocoon of pleasure around me where nothing but the ecstasy from his touch exists.
The pressure inside me builds as he takes out his fingers and slips his tongue into me, swirling it so deep for a second I forget how to breathe as my thigh clamps over him. My hands pull him even closer while I slowly rock back and forth, grinding on him, needing a little friction on my clit to satisfy the lust I’m slowly drowning in.
His fingers find the sensitive spot on the inside of my thigh, grazing it with his pads while he continues to feast on me, swiping his tongue along my folds over and over again, and slowly biting on the flesh, which sends tremors through me. I jerk, wanting nothing else but to find the relief only he promises, but each touch only tortures me more.
“You. Are. Mine,” he says, pointing it out with each stab of his tongue inside me, pushing against the spot that drives me insane. “You. Belong. To. Me.”
I moan as he places his hand on my stomach as it travels up to the underside of my breast, and he cups it, squeezing harshly. I cry out again, the combination of both pleasures too much for me to take, and finally when he licks up my clit again, I erupt in his arms, pulling his hair so hard I’m sure I bring him pain. With how hard I press on him, I have to wonder if he can breathe, since his nose is brushing against my clit, sending shocks from the aftermath of my orgasm through me.
My eyes close, and I rest my head on the tile, gulping for breath while the steam around me caresses my body that is still riding the peak, giving me satisfaction I’ve not known before.
If his jealousy will be coming out in such ways, I’m all in for that as long as he always delivers on his promise to ruin my body with his love.
Arson gets up slowly, his whole body brushing against mine, and I want to put my leg back on the floor, but instead he props it on his hip. Then with one swift move, he thrusts inside. A moan slips past my lips, and my eyes open to meet his dark, intense pools. He palms my neck and gives me a kiss that drives me mad with need as he pulls back his hips, only to enter me once again, his thick length filling me tightly.
We continue to kiss as he moves deliberately slow, pulling out his cock, dragging it inside my folds, and earning himself groans from me while he growls against my mouth.
The kiss matches his strokes; he lazily moves his mouth on mine—not caring about the water that still pours on us—and I taste myself on him, but it only intensifies my lust.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rub my nipples against his chest, tremors rushing through me at the contact, and I clamp my thighs around him as his fingers dig into my ass, lifting me higher before thrusting forward, building the desire anew inside me.
Breaking the kiss, I rest my head on the tile while arching my back and feel him bite my neck, sucking it harshly and leaving a hickey for everyone to see, but I don’t care.
Instead, I want this to continue forever, so the outside world won’t disturb the peacefulness of this passionate moment.
His pace speeds up; his thrusts are more jerky, and I focus my stare on him, watching how the vein in his neck pulses, how hard his muscles flex under me, and the beauty in his burning gaze sparkling with emotions I know only I’m capable of inspiring.
This man is so handsome, and he’s mine. How can he think I’d be interested in Caspian at all after I came back to him?
Pulling at his hair and tilting his head up, I fuse our mouths again while clenching around him, wanting to finally feel him erupt inside me and give my body the relief it’s craving, which is so, so close, if only he’ll push harder and rougher.
Gulping for breath, I tell him, “You are my one and only, Arson.” He freezes for a second, his eyes finding mine, and he must read the truth on my face, because he no longer tortures me.
His mouth closes around my nipple again, and he moves his hips back and forth, thrusting repeatedly inside me until I shatter in his arms, crying out, and my body floats in the aftermath of his lovemaking.
Because that’s what it is, right? Even if he doesn’t say it.
A few more thrusts and he groans, spilling inside me and hugging me close while we both pant for breath.
I tighten my hold on him, breathing in his masculine scent, and all the worries from tonight vanish. With this man as mine, I have nothing to fear.
He will never hurt me as long as he lives.
Arson
Callista’s chest rises and falls as she sighs in her sleep, rolling to the side, allowing the moonlight streaming through the window to cast a shadow on her, making her seem almost unreal with all her untangled beauty.
From her golden locks to her porcelain skin and long legs, she is a temptation no man in his right mind will ever be able to resist.
Her beauty mesmerized me from the start, long before I decided to use it in my game with Caspian.
Only…
What if this beauty was actually used against me instead, and I’ve been lured into Caspian’s very sophisticated trap?
Not once while looking at me back in the ballroom did surprise cross his face. Satisfaction with a huge grin though?
Yes.
Like a hunter who is about to get his biggest victory, ready to pounce on the prey at any moment.
And in this case, Callista is… the bait?
For all the attention he paid her, never once did I get the vibe of a man obsessed with the woman, rather a man attracted to what she represents.
Which explains fucking all the blondes that spoke to… some deeper, better part of him… and whenever he is with women who look like her just a little, he can pretend his soul is not rotten.
A serial killer who doesn’t accept he is a serial killer is the worst kind. Because he covers all the disasters with good intentions.
So all her resistance, captivity… is Caspian’s desire to play the game he started a long time ago for the sake of his own gratification?
The only surviving victim.
A bitter laugh echoes through the walls and onto the open balcony door while realization hits me hard, the answer so typical for any serial killer that it’s funny I haven’t thought about it before.
Of course.
Caspian orchestrated the massive killings on the whorehouse where everything burned in flames and no one was supposed to survive.
But I did, his one loose end that doesn’t let him rest freely and enjoy his accomplishment. I’m not sure what happened to the twin girls I saved. Caspian probabl
y doesn’t know about them.
So what he wants is to recreate that night all over again, but before that, he has to finish me first.
And what better way to end a man than with a woman?
Noticing a flashing light in the distance beyond my gates, all the puzzle pieces come together so clearly it's a wonder I haven't seen the picture before.
Taking my phone off the nightstand, I walk around the bed and lean toward Callista, my hand almost wrapping around her neck, but I resist the desire, even though the anger in me is impossible to tame.
On the second ring, the man on the other end of the line asks groggily, “What?”
“You need to do something for me.”
I trap Callista’s chin between my fingers, pressing them harshly into her skin, and she frowns in her sleep yet still doesn’t wake up.
So peaceful, so serene, so trustful… even if her appearance is nothing but deceit encased in beauty to lure away the lost souls.
Ah, people won’t learn one simple truth.
No one betrays me and lives.
Chapter Twenty
“A sense of betrayal is like a scar that never goes away.
Whenever you look at it, it reminds you of your anger, and you want nothing else but to make that person suffer.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, people say.
Ah, no.
Revenge is better served warm with fire swallowing the person and burning them to ashes, not leaving even a body behind.”
Arson
Arson, 26 years old
The minute I step inside the club, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes penetrates my nostrils while the music blasting from the speakers grates on my nerves.
My body still hums from my fresh kill, my latest victim, his scream of agony still echoing in my ears and sending pleasure through me, giving me a momentary reprieve from the demons eating my insides.
There isn’t a better thing in this world than killing someone; of this, I have no doubt.
Pushing past the sweaty bodies dancing wildly to the beat toward the bar, I’m stopped abruptly when a woman extends her hand, blocking my way. Sliding my gaze toward her, I see a redhead with curves and such a short dress that it leaves nothing to the imagination. She steps closer to me, her perfume disturbing my senses while asking in her throaty voice that should probably do something for my dick, “I haven’t seen you here before.” Since I say nothing to that, only motion for Brian to get my drink ready, she places her hand on my chest, shifting even closer and not hiding what she seeks from me tonight. “Would you like to dance with me?” I might have been interested in the invitation just a few hours ago, but I despise fucking after the kill.
It takes away the thrill and joy of it; the women always ground me in the present, and I can’t ever reach the oblivion the victims give me.
Sex is great. It has the ability to make me numb to anything around me. Fucking a chick till adrenaline is rushing through my veins can’t compare to a lot of stuff in this world. As long as she doesn’t touch me or try to talk dirty to me.
Hate it when someone talks to me during sex, pulling me back into my past to when a different voice did that.
But sex is not so great that it gives me the same sense of euphoria as burning someone.
Also, sex is powerless against the voices in my head that never shut up.
“Not interested,” I reply, removing her hand and continuing to walk to the bar, not caring in the least how she huffs in annoyance.
What the fuck ever.
The world will come to an end before I care about a woman’s feelings or feel bad about hurting her.
Not that it’ll ever happen.
There is nothing in my dark soul left to give to a good woman, and it’s a blessing for them to stay away from the monster who seeks the flesh of those who most deserve it.
Or just inspire the hunter in me to play.
After all, everything depends on my mood.
Finally reaching Brian, I salute him with my drink and greedily gulp it. It takes a moment for me to register Brian waving his hand in front of my face and exclaiming, “Arson! For fuck’s sake!”
Arson.
It has been almost thirteen years since I claimed the name, and a smug smile curves my mouth when I hear people address me like that.
A name I chose in honor of the fire that became my best friend, lighting up the darkness that lives inside me.
After Lachlan found me on the streets, he took me to his mansion, where he explained who he is and what he does. He’s a successful billionaire by day and serial killer ruling his protégés with an iron fist by night.
Even though he didn’t have to, he took care of us all and gave us an outlet for the desires overpowering our senses.
With the only condition was that before we killed someone, we had to learn how to do it properly.
A serial killer uses skills and technique to bring maximum pain, yet every move is always calculated. We know what drives us, what inspires us, and what feeds the craving inside us.
We are not murderers; the high is not in the killing, but in the method and the emotions it brings.
“If you ever go rogue… I'll end you.”
Lachlan Scott might be a nightmare for those who cross him, but he became my salvation.
He’s had a lot of students, mostly those who created trouble around his clubs and had the tendency to be vicious.
Use your anger to kill those who deserve it; don’t waste your life on the anger that has no purpose except to get you caught. Your past was a nightmare; make the most of your future.
Most of the teens spend time with his friends all over the country, and he handpicks those who learn directly from him.
Luckily, since he found me, he kept me and gave me more than I ever could have imagined.
Private tutors who taught me how to read and write in five languages, manners so I’ll be at ease at any important gathering, medical basics and education.
He opened an account in my name but told me to get a profession, because he didn’t run a charitable organization.
So with all my skills, I finished a business administration program and invested money in the right places to be set for life, along with buying this one club from him.
Only because I built an underground domain where I could torture victims for hours and hours, without cops breathing down my neck or hearing anything.
For who will search an elite club, right?
My life would have been absolutely perfect…
If it weren’t for one thing I still can’t achieve no matter how much I search the entire country. Even Lachlan’s connections have no answers for me.
Only then will I be able to let go of my past and enjoy this life of a serial killer to the fullest.
“You have a guest waiting for you in the office.” Brian’s voice slashes through the haze of memories, and my glass pauses midway to my mouth. Brian shifts a little uncomfortably before adding, “He said for you to come meet him quick, because he gets bored easily.”
Chuckling at this, the bartender’s words are truly hilarious. I swirl on my chair, lazily sipping the drink while Brian watches me worriedly, probably wondering who was stupid enough to bark an order at me.
I do whatever I want, whenever the hell I want.
“Tough for him then,” I reply, motioning for another drink, and he pours another glass of vodka for me while I wonder who would show up at my club with such requests.
In our circle, it’s impossible to not know my name, and no one ever wants to cross me; some of the fuckers run in a different direction at seeing me.
There are of course exceptions.
But then we have an understanding and simply don’t cross each other’s path; after all, there are enough victims in this world to last us all.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Brian continues to explain, adding more ice and sliding the glass to me. He leans forward, hushing his tone. “He seemed dangero
us.”
“I prefer the word mysterious.” A deep, husky voice from behind me makes Brian gasp, and then the man stands next to me, flashing me a grin that doesn’t reach his cold blue eyes.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Dangerous works too. A shot of tequila please.”
Brian stammers, “We… We are out of tequila.”
“Well, then find it and be quick about it. We wouldn’t want to test just how dangerous I am, would we?”
Brian pales, nods, and takes off in the direction of the storeroom, leaving Wilkinson tending to all the clients who are mostly at the other end of the bar.
They know I detest company.
“You are a hard man to reach, Arson,” Santiago says, slapping his hand on the counter.
Not in the mood for any of his bullshit, I ask, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He clacks his tongue, sighing dramatically. “Is this the way to greet your guest?”
“Since I haven’t invited you, yes.”
Leaning on the counter, he drums his fingers in time with the beat of the music and my gaze travels to his hand.
He is wearing a blue sapphire ring, which reminds me of the one I saw on Remi when he last visited New York and they had an argument with Lachlan.
And even though I don’t want to encourage him, because the man has been relentless trying to establish some kind of contact, I voice my question, hoping it’s not true.
Dealing with their asses plus Lachlan’s and the inevitable destruction that follows their visits is not on my agenda for today.
Why the fuck can’t a man just enjoy a little time to himself, basking in the glory of his latest kill? “Are you one of the four dark horsemen?” The minute the question is out of my mouth, I already know the answer.
I just didn’t know their Santiago was the same Santiago from a long time ago.
He opens his arms wide, winking at me. “In the flesh.” Then he frowns, his voice turning deadly. “Where the fuck is your bartender?”
Arson’s Captive Page 34