Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Bobby grabs me and kisses me, his tongue snaking into my mouth as he wraps me in one of his very powerful arms. The other remains at the ready to do violence, gun in hand, finger not far from the trigger.
I melt into the kiss. Bobby is not temperamentally dominant in the classic sense, but he has a brute force quality to him that makes it far easier to submit than fight.
I feel the thick, hard rod of his cock pressing against my thigh, and I feel my body respond with an instant flush of wet arousal. Now that Angelo has claimed me for his own, I know I belong to Bobby too.
His hands are at my waist, pushing my pants down, gripping my ass cheeks and kneading with hungry motions. Bobby is an animal, and his lust is the kind that makes me lose my mind and follow my instincts.
He unzips his fly and his cock springs out, thick, hard, and ready to fuck me. He kisses me roughly, passionately, and there is a shared taste of blood that is not ours on our tongues. The flavor of our kills is a potent aphrodisiac. He turns me around, his hand gripping the back of my head, fingers curled in my hair, and pushes me over the table.
I feel his cock spear inside me roughly, no time for foreplay. I don’t need it. The gunplay was foreplay, and I am soaked as Bobby’s cock slams in and out of my tight, gripping cunt. The still-warm bodies of the dead surround us and serve as a backdrop for our mutually unhinged lust.
Everything we are doing is wrong, but when I am with Bobby I feel completely disconnected from what is right. It’s not a consideration. It’s not even a concept anymore. What we do together, what we have already done, is follow brutal, base animal instinct.
He reaches around and plays with my clit, his other hand curled in my hair keeping me arched in position. Bobby fucks hard, like a beast, but he is not without art in his lovemaking, even in this rough and primal interlude. He’s making sure I am given pleasure even as he takes his own in my body.
It’s not a long, languid affair. It’s a quick, rough fuck. I can feel him pulsing inside my pussy, his cock getting thicker as he gets closer to coming. It’s harder for me to reach climax, but Bobby forces me there by pinching my pussy around my clit and using jerking motions to essentially masturbate me to an obedient orgasm.
“Fuck yes, good little fucking slut,” he grunts in my ear, filling my quivering pussy with his cum. His filthy words feel like real praise. This is how Bobby shows his approval, with harsh words and hard thrusts.
I come hard around his cock, gasping and moaning, my hands sliding through sanguine mess as Bobby grinds and fucks me through my climax and into his. His seed floods my cunt, leaving me dripping as he pulls free, slaps me on the ass, and buttons his cock up again.
“Let’s get going,” he says, slapping me again when I don’t immediately bounce up.
I am in a fuck-drunk haze, pleasure still trickling through every part of me as if being pumped through my body by my pulsing clit. A third time, Bobby slaps my ass, and this time he reaches down to my pants and drags them up my thighs, over my ass and hips, giving me a firm wedgie as he re-clothes me.
“Get it together, Riley,” he grins.
As my brain starts working again, I realize we’ve fucked up.
“Angelo wanted something from these people, didn’t he?”
“Huh?” Bobby sounds vague. When I look at him, his eyes are glossy and shiny, and I know he stopped thinking at about the same time I did. He might be a few steps ahead of me in the high on sex stakes, but neither one of us is thinking clearly.
We are both covered in blood from head to toe. My shirt is smeared with it. We are a couple of ghoulish creatures, and there is no way we are walking out of here without drawing attention to ourselves.
“Get that guy’s coat,” Bobby says, taking someone else’s. We wipe our faces off with napkins dipped in water and wine and make ourselves look as presentable as possible. We also gather what we can from the corpses; hopefully, it’s enough to satisfy Angelo. A wallet here, a laptop here, a briefcase there. We’re not going back empty-handed, but we are going back red-handed.
While I sweep the bodies for the last few items, I hear Bobby make a call.
“We need a clean-up,” he says. “Now.”
He gives the address.
I am glad to hear him make that call. Our prints and cum and god knows what else is going to be all over this room.