Torture to Her Soul
Page 53
"I don't."
Her eyes are skeptical, borderline angry as she steps closer, coming outside. She doesn't believe it.
"I said it could've been a raccoon, which is true. It could've been."
"But it wasn't."
"No," I admit, "it wasn't."
"Who was it?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say it was the same person who robbed me."
She gapes at me. "How do you know? Did you see them?"
"No, I didn't see anybody," I say, holding up the returned keys, jingling them in the air. "Just an educated guess."
She stares at the keys before meeting my eyes. "Do you know who it is?"
I nod.
She pauses. "Do I know them?"
Another nod. This one's hesitant.
I stare at her, waiting for the question I dread.
Don't ask me if it's your mother.
Don't ask me that...
"Is it, uh...?" She frowns, looking away from me as she gathers her thoughts. "Is it safe?"
Reaching out, I graze my fingers along her jawline before cupping her chin. I tilt her face, making her look at me again. She looks worried, so I offer her a smile, just a small one, to try to ease her concerns. Is it safe? Absolutely not. It never is in my world, and it never will be.
Death lurks around every corner, watching and waiting, and someday, it'll come for me again.
"Nothing will happen to you," I tell her, running my thumb along her soft bottom lip. "I'll make sure of it."
She returns my smile. I don't know if she believes me, but I can tell she wants to. Slowly, little by little, she's putting her trust in me again.
"Happy Birthday."
I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my plain white shirt lifted up, tucked beneath my chin as I survey my left side, when those two words ring out.
Happy Birthday.
My eyes dart to Karissa as she stands in front of me. "Excuse me?"
"Happy Birthday," she says again, smiling tentatively as she holds out a small container of chocolate pudding and a spoon. "For you."
I drop my shirt, letting it cover my chest again as I eye her warily. I hesitate so long her smile falls, worry casting shadows over her face. Slowly, I reach for the pudding cup and take it as she sits down beside me with her own. She already has hers open and is taking a bite before I can even think of what to say.
"How do you know?" I ask, peeling the top off the pudding. I'm not even hungry, so I'm not sure why she gave me this.
"It was listed on your passport."
"Ah."
"I would've made you a cake," she says. "Or, well, had you one made, but I didn't think you'd eat it, you know, in case it got doped with cyanide." She casts me a sideways look as she takes another bite. "I guess I could've bought like a honey bun or something, but we had pudding in the fridge, so..."
"So pudding it is," I mutter, taking a small bite before I wave at her with my spoon. "I didn't expect anything."
"I figured," she says, "considering you never even mentioned it."
She devours her pudding, practically licking the plastic clean of chocolate, as I set mine down on the table without taking another bite. I pull my shirt back up as she watches me.
"It looks better," she says, setting her empty container down beside mine. Reaching over, she runs her fingertips along the skin around my wound, her touch so light it sends a tingle through me. The forming scar is nasty but it's healing, barely even sore anymore.
Sighing, I relax back against the couch, relishing the sensation of her touch. "It feels better."
Her hand moves, shifting away from my injury, and runs along my stomach, caressing the skin. She traces the ridges of my abs, following the trail of hair up to my chest as she slowly edges toward me.
I close my eyes when she leans my way, feeling her lips as they press against my stomach, trailing kisses up toward my chest. Her hand brushes against my lap, rubbing my cock through my pants. It stirs beneath her palm, just the simple touch enough to make it harden.
Reaching beneath the fabric, she grasps a hold of me, stroking a few times as she releases me from my pants. I open my eyes just as she shifts position and drops her head toward my lap.
"Karissa..."
Her eyes dart to mine, but she doesn't stop, doesn't waver, as she takes my cock into her mouth. The wet warmth soothes me, and I want to protest, I should protest, but it feels too good.
Too fucking good.
My hands settle on top of her head, lightly running through her hair. She sucks... and sucks... and sucks, teeth grazing and tongue stroking until my head starts spinning and I feel like I'm going to explode.
I should warn her.
I should stop her.
I should end this, but I'm weak.
I'm fucking weak.
I'm regaining my strength, but the woman still has the power to destroy me.
I come hard, my body tensing, pain running through me. It hurts. It hurts. But this pain feels better than anything I've felt in years. I grip on to her hair as she swallows, not letting go until she releases me from her mouth. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. "I told you never to do that..."
"No, you told me I don't belong on my knees, and I wasn't on them," she counters, sitting up, her gaze on my face. There's a twinkle in her eye when I look at her. Amusement. "You know you should always say what you mean."
Her eyes are skeptical, borderline angry as she steps closer, coming outside. She doesn't believe it.
"I said it could've been a raccoon, which is true. It could've been."
"But it wasn't."
"No," I admit, "it wasn't."
"Who was it?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say it was the same person who robbed me."
She gapes at me. "How do you know? Did you see them?"
"No, I didn't see anybody," I say, holding up the returned keys, jingling them in the air. "Just an educated guess."
She stares at the keys before meeting my eyes. "Do you know who it is?"
I nod.
She pauses. "Do I know them?"
Another nod. This one's hesitant.
I stare at her, waiting for the question I dread.
Don't ask me if it's your mother.
Don't ask me that...
"Is it, uh...?" She frowns, looking away from me as she gathers her thoughts. "Is it safe?"
Reaching out, I graze my fingers along her jawline before cupping her chin. I tilt her face, making her look at me again. She looks worried, so I offer her a smile, just a small one, to try to ease her concerns. Is it safe? Absolutely not. It never is in my world, and it never will be.
Death lurks around every corner, watching and waiting, and someday, it'll come for me again.
"Nothing will happen to you," I tell her, running my thumb along her soft bottom lip. "I'll make sure of it."
She returns my smile. I don't know if she believes me, but I can tell she wants to. Slowly, little by little, she's putting her trust in me again.
"Happy Birthday."
I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my plain white shirt lifted up, tucked beneath my chin as I survey my left side, when those two words ring out.
Happy Birthday.
My eyes dart to Karissa as she stands in front of me. "Excuse me?"
"Happy Birthday," she says again, smiling tentatively as she holds out a small container of chocolate pudding and a spoon. "For you."
I drop my shirt, letting it cover my chest again as I eye her warily. I hesitate so long her smile falls, worry casting shadows over her face. Slowly, I reach for the pudding cup and take it as she sits down beside me with her own. She already has hers open and is taking a bite before I can even think of what to say.
"How do you know?" I ask, peeling the top off the pudding. I'm not even hungry, so I'm not sure why she gave me this.
"It was listed on your passport."
"Ah."
"I would've made you a cake," she says. "Or, well, had you one made, but I didn't think you'd eat it, you know, in case it got doped with cyanide." She casts me a sideways look as she takes another bite. "I guess I could've bought like a honey bun or something, but we had pudding in the fridge, so..."
"So pudding it is," I mutter, taking a small bite before I wave at her with my spoon. "I didn't expect anything."
"I figured," she says, "considering you never even mentioned it."
She devours her pudding, practically licking the plastic clean of chocolate, as I set mine down on the table without taking another bite. I pull my shirt back up as she watches me.
"It looks better," she says, setting her empty container down beside mine. Reaching over, she runs her fingertips along the skin around my wound, her touch so light it sends a tingle through me. The forming scar is nasty but it's healing, barely even sore anymore.
Sighing, I relax back against the couch, relishing the sensation of her touch. "It feels better."
Her hand moves, shifting away from my injury, and runs along my stomach, caressing the skin. She traces the ridges of my abs, following the trail of hair up to my chest as she slowly edges toward me.
I close my eyes when she leans my way, feeling her lips as they press against my stomach, trailing kisses up toward my chest. Her hand brushes against my lap, rubbing my cock through my pants. It stirs beneath her palm, just the simple touch enough to make it harden.
Reaching beneath the fabric, she grasps a hold of me, stroking a few times as she releases me from my pants. I open my eyes just as she shifts position and drops her head toward my lap.
"Karissa..."
Her eyes dart to mine, but she doesn't stop, doesn't waver, as she takes my cock into her mouth. The wet warmth soothes me, and I want to protest, I should protest, but it feels too good.
Too fucking good.
My hands settle on top of her head, lightly running through her hair. She sucks... and sucks... and sucks, teeth grazing and tongue stroking until my head starts spinning and I feel like I'm going to explode.
I should warn her.
I should stop her.
I should end this, but I'm weak.
I'm fucking weak.
I'm regaining my strength, but the woman still has the power to destroy me.
I come hard, my body tensing, pain running through me. It hurts. It hurts. But this pain feels better than anything I've felt in years. I grip on to her hair as she swallows, not letting go until she releases me from her mouth. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. "I told you never to do that..."
"No, you told me I don't belong on my knees, and I wasn't on them," she counters, sitting up, her gaze on my face. There's a twinkle in her eye when I look at her. Amusement. "You know you should always say what you mean."
