6. Six

The scalding spray of the motel shower pelted my battered body, the water pressure pathetically weak yet still painful as it hit my bruised flesh. I winced as I gingerly soaped up a washcloth and began to clean the remnants of Stu's brutality from my skin. Rust-tinged water swirled around the grimy drain, tinted pink with traces of blood.

I went through the motions mechanically, numb. My muscles ached and injuries throbbed, but those pains paled in comparison to the awful feeling in my gut.

Images flashed, superimposing themselves over the dingy tiles and moldy grout. Phantom hands grabbing at my hips, cruel and bruising. The sour stench of cheap vodka and stale cigarettes, the whirr of road under tires, the weight of the metal chain linked to my collar, the mocking laughter of a man I didn't know—didn't want to know—and yet was forced to live with.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the flashbacks to fuck off, but they only got more vivid with my eyes closed.

Shaking, I turned off the faucet and stepped out onto the threadbare bathmat. I fumbled for one of the thin, scratchy towels and began drying off, wincing as the rough fabric dragged over tender flesh.

In the smudged mirror, my reflection stared back - a mosaic of purple and yellow bruises mottling my skin. Finger-shaped marks encircled my throat, souvenirs from Stu's strong hands. I looked away, unable to meet my own haunted eyes.

I pulled on the clean t-shirt and jeans I'd brought into the bathroom before I finger-combed my damp hair and shuffled out into the dingy motel room.

Stu lay sprawled across the bed, out cold, his pants still unbuttoned. The room reeked of sex and cigarette smoke. Bile rose in my throat as sense-memories assaulted me - grunting, rutting, pain mixed with twisted pleasure.

I'd consented, I reminded myself. Agreed to the scenario, the roleplay, the rough treatment. So why did I feel so violated now? Used and filthy and... broken?

Panic clawed at my chest and I couldn't breathe. I needed to get out, away from Stu, away from the oppressive walls of that disgusting room.

I needed to hunt.

I laced up my boots with shaking hands, grabbed my jacket, and slipped out the door into the cool night air, carefully easing it shut behind me so as not to wake Stu. Outside, I gulped deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

The motel parking lot was deserted, bathed in the sickly orange glow of a flickering streetlamp. I scanned the area, senses on high alert, feeling the old familiar itch crawling beneath my skin. The hunger. The need.

I set off walking, no destination in mind, just needing to move, to prowl. To find prey. The pain of my injuries faded into the background as adrenaline began to sing through my veins. This was what I needed. The hunt, the kill. It was the only thing that made me feel alive anymore.

I walked for miles, the chilly air soothing my heated skin, until the shabby buildings and empty lots gave way to the neon glow of bars and clubs. The perfect hunting grounds. I felt the anticipation building, a dark thrill chasing away the lingering horror of the motel room.

I picked a seedy joint, the kind of place where no one looked too closely. The bouncer barely glanced at my fake ID before waving me through. Inside, the bar was dimly lit and packed with hard-drinking men. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, and a jukebox blared tinny country music.

I wove my way to the bar, ignoring the leering stares and crude catcalls. I ordered a beer I wouldn't drink and leaned back against the sticky bar top, letting my jacket fall open to reveal the tight white t-shirt underneath. An open invitation.

It didn't take long. A man slid up beside me, his eyes raking over my body with blatant hunger. "Hey there, pretty boy," he drawled. "Lookin' for some company tonight?"

I looked him up and down, taking in the beer gut straining against his stained shirt, the wedding ring he didn't bother to hide. The predatory gleam in his bloodshot eyes. Yeah, this one would do just fine.

I licked my lips and leaned in close. "Depends. You got someplace we can go? Someplace more private?"

The man's mouth curled into a hungry grin, revealing yellowed teeth. "I got a truck parked out back," he said, his boozy breath hot against my cheek. "Plenty of room in the cab for you and me to get... acquainted."

I forced a sultry smile, even as my skin crawled. "Lead the way, handsome."

He grabbed my wrist in a meaty paw and tugged me toward the rear exit. I went along willingly, already envisioning the moment when I'd wipe that lecherous smile off his face permanently.

Out in the parking lot, he pulled me around the side of the building, into the shadows where the streetlights didn't reach. His truck was parked at the edge of the cracked asphalt, half-hidden behind a dumpster overflowing with trash bags and empty liquor bottles.

Perfect.

He fumbled with his keys, unlocked the passenger door. "Climb on in, sugar. I'll be right there."

I hauled myself up and slid across the bench seat, my heart beating faster with anticipation.

The trucker heaved his bulk up into the cab and slammed the door, sealing us inside. The air was thick with the stench of stale cigarettes and old fast food wrappers. He turned to face me, his eyes glinting with lust.

"Fifty bucks for a blowjob, hundred for a fuck," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my stomach roiled. "And you wear a condom. Non-negotiable. "

He grunted, already fumbling for his wallet. "Sure thing, princess. Whatever you say." He tossed a crumpled hundred-dollar bill onto the seat between us.

I plucked it up and tucked it into my pocket.

The trucker reached for his belt buckle, his fingers clumsy with eagerness. I watched him, detached, as if from a great distance. His heavy breathing filled the cab, mingling with the tinny sound of the radio playing some twangy country tune.

As he shoved his jeans down to mid-thigh, exposing pale, doughy flesh, a wave of revulsion crashed over me. I couldn't do this. Couldn't let this disgusting man put his hands on me, shove his cock into me, use my body for his pleasure. Not after Stu.

Stu.

I thought of Stu's strong, calloused hands gripping my hips, the delicious sting of his teeth on my neck, the exquisite fullness of him stretching me open as he fucked me hard and deep. The way he made me feel alive, on fire, every nerve ending screaming with sensation.

Even though he'd hurt me, it was different. There was an undercurrent of something else. Not tenderness, never that, but a kind of dark understanding. A recognition of the monsters inside us both.

This sweaty, panting trucker could never make me feel the way Stu did. I didn't want his clumsy groping, his rancid breath hot on my skin. He was just a poor substitute, a means to an end, and suddenly that wasn't enough anymore.

I couldn't go through with it, not this time. As the trucker groped for me with meaty paws, grunting with anticipation, a cold clarity washed over me. I didn't want this. Didn't need this. Not anymore.

Quick as a snake, I struck. My hand darted into my jacket pocket and emerged, clutching my trusty switchblade. The trucker's eyes widened in shock as the gleaming blade snapped open with a soft snick.

"What the fuck—" he started to say, but I lunged forward and buried the knife to the hilt in the side of his throat before he could finish. Hot blood spurted from the wound, splattering across my face and chest in a warm, coppery mist.

The trucker gurgled, hands scrabbling weakly at his ruined throat as his life gushed out in sickening pulses. I yanked the blade free with a vicious twist and he slumped over, wheezing and twitching.

I watched him as he bled out, the cab's grimy upholstery turning a slick, glistening crimson. The sour reek of shit filled the air as his bowels released. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

It was over in moments, the trucker's body going still and slack, glassy eyes staring at nothing. I wiped my blade clean on his shirt and folded it closed, then tucked it back in my pocket.

I reached for the wad of fast food napkins I'd seen stuffed in the cup holder to wipe the worst of the blood from my face and hands, shoving the napkins into a plastic grocery bag. Then I patted down the trucker's corpse until I found his wallet, took the meager cash inside, pocketed his smokes and Zippo lighter, and hopped out of the cab.

I was still wearing enough blood that someone would sense something was amiss if they saw me, so I clung to the shadows on my walk back to the hotel room. About halfway back, I stepped off into the desert to bury the bag of evidence in the sand.

The dusty desert air filled my lungs as I trudged back to the motel, the high of the kill already fading, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest. The thrill had been fleeting, the rush of power and control short-lived. Now I just felt empty. Numb.

The trucker 's blood was already drying tacky on my skin, flaking off in rusty bits. I could still smell the coppery tang mingling with the stench of fear and shit. It clung to me, inescapable, a morbid perfume.

I slipped back into the motel room as quietly as I'd left, easing the door shut with a soft click. The room was exactly as I'd left it - dingy, reeking of sex and cigarettes, with Stu sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world.

In the dim light filtering through the threadbare curtains, I could make out the rise and fall of his broad chest. My eyes traced over the lines of his body, lingering on the trail of hair disappearing into his unbuttoned jeans.

Memories of our earlier encounter flooded my mind - the rough grip of his hands on my hips, the burn and stretch as he forced himself inside me, the humiliating mix of pain and pleasure that had me hard and leaking despite myself. I felt my cock twitch in my blood-crusted jeans, a Pavlovian response to the ghost sensations playing across my nerves.

I padded closer to the bed, shedding my jacket and toeing off my boots as I went. Stu didn't stir, lost to the depths of sleep. I drank in the sight of him laid out before me, tall and solid, the corded muscles of his arms and chest speaking to a raw, brutish strength.

He was everything I should despise - a cruel, controlling bastard who took what he wanted and damned the consequences. But something about him had pulled me in, and I couldn't let go.

I stripped off my blood-stained clothes, letting them fall forgotten to the stained carpet. Naked, I climbed onto the bed and straddled Stu's sleeping form, my knees bracketing his hips. The cheap motel bedsprings creaked under the added weight, but he didn't wake.

I ran my hands over his chest, relishing the feel of firm muscle and coarse hair beneath my palms. Stu was solid and real in a way few things in my life were. His skin was sleep-warm, radiating heat that seeped into my perpetually cold fingers. I traced the lines of his tattoos, the ink stark against his tanned flesh.

My wandering hands dipped lower, skimming over his abs to the trail of hair disappearing into his open jeans. I freed his soft cock, admiring it. Even flaccid, it was impressive - thick and meaty, with a plump head. I knew intimately how it felt splitting me open, impaling me, wrecking me.

I wrapped my fingers around Stu's cock, giving it a few languid strokes. It began to firm up, twitching and swelling in my grasp as blood rushed in. I watched, fascinated, as it grew to its full imposing size, standing tall and engorged. The broad head glistened with a pearly bead of pre-cum.

My own cock was hard and aching between my legs. I wanted him, but not like I'd had him before. This time, I wanted to own him, to use him, to claim and command him and make his body my plaything. I ground my hips down, rubbing my rigid cock against his.

The friction sent sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. I rocked against him harder, savoring the slide of hot, hard flesh on flesh. My blood was up, the lingering adrenaline from the hunt transmuting into a darker, hungrier arousal.

A low groan rumbled in Stu's chest. His eyelids fluttered, then cracked open, hazy with sleep and confusion. "Wha…" he mumbled, voice rough with drowsiness.

"Shh. Just let me, Stu. Just let me." I leaned down and captured his lips in a searing kiss, swallowing his questions. He tensed for a moment, startled, but then relaxed.

His lips parted under mine, inviting me deeper. I licked into his mouth, greedy for his taste. Stu's big hands came up to grip my hips, his fingers digging into the bruises he'd left earlier. I moaned into the kiss, pain and pleasure blurring together.

I broke away to trail biting kisses down his jaw, his throat, tasting salt and smoke on his skin. Stu tilted his head back with a throaty groan, baring more of his neck to my questing mouth. I sucked hard at his pulse point, relishing the way it jumped beneath my lips. Wanting to mark him, claim him.

"Fuck, someone's eager," Stu rasped out, sleep-roughened voice sending shivers down my spine. Then his eyes raked over me. "Whose blood is that?"

"Nobody important." I sat back on my haunches, Stu's cock jutting up obscenely between my spread thighs. I reached behind myself, finding my hole still slick and open from earlier. I sank two fingers inside, scissoring them, making sure I was ready. The aching stretch made me hiss through clenched teeth.

I positioned myself over Stu's rigid cock, the swollen head nudging against my stretched hole. "Just lie there," I breathed, my voice ragged with need. "Don't move, don't touch me. Let me use you."

Stu's brow furrowed, confusion and hesitation warring in his eyes. "What're you on about? I thought you wanted—"

"Please," I cut him off, an edge of desperation creeping into my tone. "I need this. I need to be in control. Just... just pretend you're asleep. Or dead. Let me take what I need."

Understanding dawned on his face, followed by a flicker of uncertainty. For a long moment, he searched my face, trying to read me. I held his gaze, letting him see the raw hunger, the yawning emptiness, the shattered pieces of my psyche.

Stu let his hands fall away from my hips to lie slack at his sides. He went limp beneath me, his face going lax, eyelids drooping shut. Only the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the rigid heat of his cock betrayed any sign of life.

Fuck, that shouldn't have been as hot as it was.

I sank down onto Stu's hard cock in one smooth glide, letting gravity impale me on his thick length. A broken moan clawed its way out of my throat as I was split open, filled to the brim. The burn and stretch were exquisite, skirting the knife's edge between pleasure and pain.

I started to move, undulating my hips, fucking myself on Stu's rigid cock. His hands remained slack at his sides, even as his breathing grew harsh and uneven. But he kept up the illusion, kept his body loose and pliant beneath me, a warm, living sex doll for me to use.

It was a relief, being in control like this. Taking what I needed, chasing my pleasure on my own terms. No one pawing at me, no demands being made of my body. Just the slick slide of Stu's cock in my ass and the coiled tension building at the base of my spine.

I rode him harder, faster, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the thin motel walls. Sweat beaded on my skin, mingling with the tackiness of drying blood. The coppery scent filled my nostrils, sending arousal spiking through my veins.

I ground down on Stu's rigid cock, taking him deep, the stretch and burn sending sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. I clutched at his chest for balance, my fingers digging into sweat-slick skin. His heart pounded beneath my palm, betraying his excitement despite his feigned sleep.

I chased my pleasure, savoring the obscene sounds of his cock pumping into my slick hole. My own erection bobbed against my stomach, smearing sticky trails of pre-cum across my skin with every roll of my hips. The simmering arousal in my veins was edged with something sharper, hungrier - the heady rush of bloodlust blending with raw carnal need.

The memories of the dead trucker, of hot arterial blood spraying across my face and chest, swirled behind my closed eyelids. I could almost feel the warm wetness painting my skin again, could almost taste the coppery tang on my tongue. My hips snapped forward faster, harder, chasing that high. Needing it.

Beneath me, Stu remained still and compliant, letting me take my pleasure. But his cock throbbed inside me, rock hard and pulsing with barely contained need. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the tendons standing out starkly.

The effort it must've taken to keep up the act… But God, he was good.

I leaned down, changing the angle, taking Stu impossibly deeper. A low groan rumbled up from his chest before he could catch it. I clenched tight around him in warning and his face went slack again, playing possum. His cock jumped inside me, betraying how close he was. How much he was holding back.

Fuck, the control he was giving me, the trust... It was headier than the most potent drug. I owned him in this moment, this ruthless, brutal man, putty in my hands. Pliant and submissive, just for me. Because I needed it.

And oh, I needed it. Needed to cleanse myself of phantom groping hands and grunting rutting and the echo of cruel laughter. Needed to paint over those ugly broken parts inside me with pleasure and power. I lost myself in the slap of flesh and filthy squelch and the coiling tension winding tighter in my core.

Stu's breath came harsh and fast, sweat beading on his brow, but still he stayed motionless. Let me chase my high on his body, use him raw. Let me take back control .

My rhythm faltered, hips jerking erratically as I neared the edge. Pressure built at the base of my spine, throbbing in time with my racing pulse. Stu's cock was an iron bar inside me, unyielding. I could feel him throbbing, knew he must be close.

With a broken cry, I slammed down one final time, taking Stu to the hilt. My orgasm crashed into me, whiting out my vision and shredding my nerves. I spilled across Stu's chest and stomach, painting his skin with ropey spurts of cum as I clenched around his rigid cock.

Beneath me, Stu made a choked sound, his hips giving an aborted twitch as his own climax overtook him. I felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside me, flooding me, marking me. Claiming me as his, just as surely as I'd claimed him.

For a long moment, I just clung to him, shaking and gasping, lost in the aftershocks. Pleasure radiated out from my core, washing away the ugliness, the shame, the phantom pains. In that suspended instant, there was only Stu's solid heat, his strength anchoring me. Grounding me.

Finally, I peeled my body off of his and flopped over onto my back beside him. My chest heaved as I gulped down air, slowly coming back to myself. The sweat cooled on my skin, and my racing heart gradually slowed.

I felt wrung out, emptied of everything - the bad and the good. Numb and floating, but calm. Satiated.

The mattress shifted as Stu rolled onto his side to face me. He reached out, brushing his knuckles down my cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. "You good now?"

I leaned into his touch, craving the contact, the connection. "Yeah. I am now."

Stu's hand drifted lower, skimming over the finger-shaped bruises he'd left on my throat just hours ago. His expression flickered, something like remorse darkening his features. "Got a bit carried away earlier."

I captured his wrist, stilling his movements. Met his gaze dead on. "I'm not some delicate flower, Stu. I can take it." I gentled my grip, letting my fingers caress his pulse point. "I need it, sometimes."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, chased by a flash of heat. He knew. Knew the ugliness inside me, the darkness. The hunger. It called to his own, resonating in the blackened depths of his soul.

Stu's hand slid into my hair, fingers twisting in the sweat-damp strands. He yanked me closer, bringing our mouths together in a steamy, sinful kiss, one that bordered on too much affection for a couple of fuck buddies who had killing in common.

We stayed like that for a long moment, mouths locked, sharing breath and heat and something that felt dangerously close to tenderness. It was too much, too intimate, too real. I broke away first, rolling onto my back and staring up at the water-stained ceiling.

Beside me, Stu lit a cigarette, the click of his lighter loud in the suddenly awkward silence. He took a long drag and exhaled, the smoke curling towards the ceiling.

I tracked it with my eyes, needing something to focus on besides the man beside me and the unfamiliar emotions trying to take root in my chest. This thing between us...it was supposed to be simple. Uncomplicated. Just two twisted souls finding solace and release in each other's darkness.

I wasn't prepared for the way my heart clenched at his surprising gentleness, the way my body craved his touch in a way that went beyond the physical. It terrified me, these fledgling feelings worming their way into the numb wasteland of my heart .

I couldn't afford this—whatever this was. Attachments, affection, caring...it made you weak. Vulnerable. And in my line of work, vulnerability got you caught.

Or killed.