13. Wes

Chapter thirteen

Wes

L ayne props herself up on her elbows, wincing as she shifts her thighs. “What’s edging again?” She asks, adjusting her glasses on her face.

Probably should have taken those off of her.

“You bring yourself to the point of orgasm and then you stop,” I say, smirking at the ceiling. I love her innocence. She is going to be fun to teach.

I look over as her eyes meet mine, and I can see the confusion etched on her face.

“That’s dumb. Why would someone torture themselves like that?”

I groan and roll back onto her, feeling the warmth of her body against mine as I cup her breast in my hand. My tongue swirling around her nipple, then drawing it into my mouth. I suck feeling her body arching into me in pleasure.

“Oh… fuck ,“ I bring my hand down to her pussy and she is already wet again. One finger slips inside her while I switch to her other nipple, teasing her. She is underneath me, writhing in pleasure as my finger works her g-spot .

Layne tries to suppress a moan, but her face gives away the mixture of pleasure and pain she’s feeling. She doesn’t know which one to let take over. I’m already hard and ready to go again, and I intend to fuck her as many times as I can before I have to leave. I have a lot of catching up to do after three months of denying myself, and I’m making sure I get my fill. With a satisfying pop, I release her nipple from my mouth. I run my tongue slowly down her stomach, savoring the taste of her skin. Her skin is salty and sweet. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, and I can feel the wetness on my tongue as I suck and lick her sensitive bud.

“Wes, Oh…Go…” I give her clit a gentle nibble, reminding her not to mention God. “Sorry…oh shit,” she whimpers into the pillow.

With a smirk on my face, I dive my tongue inside her, tasting her sweetness. The taste of her is mixed with something other than my cum. Blood. I fucking forgot she would bleed. My eyes take a look around, blood covers the sheets, my cock, and now surely my face. From between her legs, I look up and see her completely lost in pleasure. Fuck it . I dive back in and eat her pussy until she’s screaming, grabbing the sheets, and cursing.

Her body trembles as she comes for the second time, and her release drips down my chin, leaving me wanting more. As I sit up, she groans, “Oh no!” She hides her face in the pillow. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror above her dresser. The combination of our release and her blood covered my face, glistening in the light. Layne raised her head and grimaces at seeing the mess between her legs. “It looks like a murder scene,” she says, her cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment.

“Nah,” I chuckle, “a murder scene would be significantly worse. Trust me.“ Layne tries to scoot away from me, but I grab her by the knees and pull her back. “I’m not finished, Ma Petite Mort .“ I thrust inside of her in one swift motion and she bites her lip at the sensation. This time, I’m not as gentle. My thrusts are deep and merciless, I’m chasing my own release now .

Breathless, she asks, “Why do you call me Ma Petite Mort ?”

I stop mid-thrust, and I adjust so I can look at her face. “The French use that to describe the feeling of an orgasm. The bliss is a little piece of death that we can experience while living. You are my little death. Every time I come inside you, I’ll get to experience that bliss.”

“But you called me that before we… you know.”

“Fucked. Had sex. Engaged in coitus as the nerds say.” I smirk.

“Right.” She chuckles.

I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her up to my lips. “In the three months I watched you”

“Stalked me.” Layne corrects me, matter-of-factually.

I huff. “ Stalked you. I never let myself come. I knew I wanted to experience what dying inside you felt like. It’s transcendent, Layne.“ I bring her lips to mine, capturing them, savoring the taste of her as lips part, allowing me to explore and taste her. Nirvana. Her smell, taste, her very essence is my new favorite drug. Her tongue eagerly meets the strokes of mine.

My cock inches back inside her slowly, feeling her tight pussy flutter around me. She gasps.

“No matter how we fuck, rough or tender, loving or angry. Know that the only pussy I want to die inside is yours, Layne.” I push the tendrils of hair that have fallen into her face away, so I can stare deeply into her eyes. The connection between us doesn’t break as I slowly savor every moment I’m inside her pussy. Her amber eyes look into my soul as I tear down the walls of hers, beckoning her to let me in.

Underneath me, she spreads her thighs wider. “Give me everything.” As much as I thought I would want to tear her apart, I want this more. I crave this deeper connection with her.

Capturing her lips in mine, “Not tonight. Tonight, I’ll make you fall in love with me. You’re mine, Layne. I have a lifetime to give you everything.” The dam breaks inside of her and she smashes her lips into mine, moaning into my mouth. I continue the deliciously slow thrusts until she comes.

“Wes,” comes out as a whisper from her lips, “You’re going to be the ruin of me. Aren’t you?”

With two more deep thrusts, I fall apart. I’m clinging to her, my face buried in her neck as I ride out my release. “Yes,” my reply comes out as a shaky whimper, “But in the best way possible. Because you ruined me too, Layne. Does that scare you?” She nods. With a kiss on her cheek, I lift myself from on top of her, then I walk into her bathroom. Turning on the sink, and taking the washcloth I run it under the warm water before going back over to her to clean her up.

Layne winces and groans as the warm washcloth runs across her pussy. “You’ll probably be sore tomorrow,” I smirk, “a reminder of me for you to have throughout the day.” After cleaning her face, I wipe my own with the cloth, then my cock. Grabbing my boxers briefs from the floor and put them back on.

Layne sits up on her elbows. “Are you leaving?”

I’m facing away from her and I can tell she has a frown on her face, just by the sound of her voice. “I should,” I say as I make my way towards the couch to retrieve my pants.

It’s just my lighter and cigarettes I’m after, but I can’t help but grin at the thought of her already craving my presence.

“You could stay,” she pleads, “come back to bed. Please?”

I turn back to her holding up my pack, showing her I just want to smoke.

The embarrassment is all over her face. “Oh. Um, you can’t smoke in here.” I head over to the window with the fire escape and crack it open, feeling the cool breeze on my face as I lean out on my elbows. The cigarette between my lips, I light it up.

As the nicotine makes its way into my system from my deep inhale, I feel the cool bay breeze blowing on my face and I can hear her shuffling around in the room behind me. What now, Wes? Are you going to spend the night with her like she wants? I turn around and see her grabbing the bottle of vodka from the cabinet. I finish the cigarette with one last drag, stubbing it out on the escape, and flicking it out.

“Was it that bad? You already want to forget it,” sauntering towards the counter.

She scoffs at me. “No. I just want to sleep. I can’t sleep without it lately.” Already knowing this, I grab the bottle from her before she pours out a shot.

“Come on,” I urge her, dragging her by the hand back towards the bed. She falls into the sheets and I climb in behind her, grabbing the comforter and dragging it up over the both of us. She snuggles into my chest, “Sleep,” I tell her.

“I can’t. My dreams…” she trails off and I can feel the wetness of her tears on my chest.

“I’ll fight the nightmares away if they come. I’m much scarier.”

Layne traces the tattoos on my chest, running her fingers over some of my scars. “Tell me about this one.” It’s a scar from the second kill I ever made. A priest that liked to rape the little boys that he taught in Sunday school. I don’t think Layne is ready to hear about that part of my life. I won’t hide it from her forever, but for now, I will keep it to myself.

“That’s about four years old now, someone cut me and it was deep enough to scar.”

Satisfied with my answer, her hand slowly relaxes, her breathing is steady, and her eyes gently close. While holding her close to me, I use my free hand to trace the beautiful curves of her body. While my fingers trace the outline of her full lips, she falls asleep, breathing deeply.

“Layne,” no response so I know my next words she won’t hear, “I love you, Ma Petite Mort .“ In those words, my death sentence is spoken into existence .

Layne Murphy is the keeper of my heart and soul.

For the first time in months, I allowed myself to sleep. With my girl in my arms, my mind and body finally relax. Soon I will have to share the deepest, darkest parts of myself with her. She may run.

Too bad for her. I love the chase. Layne is mine. I’ll never let her go.