How many times have I envisioned her just like this. From that very first moment I heard the tinkling cadence of her laugh, and it slinked, like a fucking thief, right under my defenses. Taken off-guard, I wasn’t prepared when I turned to see her, with her beaming smile, a bright ray of sunshine invading my dark haunt.
I looked into the captivating pale-blue of her eyes and I knew—in a fraction of a second—she would be my destruction.
And all the dark, depraved thoughts I fought to keep at bay as I tried to remove her from my reach—I felt powerless. She was so fucking beautiful. Her scent tormented me. Her laugh stirred a fiery heat beneath my cold skin as I tried in vain to imagine what her screams would sound like in that tinkling cadence.
She consumed me from day one.
How I craved with ruthless fury to punish her for that.
That goddamn shirt with the neck tie was damn near my breaking point, and I knew I had to remove her, or else I’d snap.
I fed the hunger by first sketching her, memorizing every slope along the contours of her face. Every tempting, sexy curve of her body I branded into my memory with each stroke of charcoal.
The only one of my subjects from whom I never removed the flesh. Only ever allowing myself to fantasize what her delicate bones would look like, far too wary to put the imagery in physical form, for fear I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
When I couldn’t get her blue eyes out of my head, I bred my Himalayan blue poppies to match the exact shade of her striking irises, my entire greenhouse a shrine to her beauty.
At any point, I could have ended my torment. I could have relented and sliced her open to torturously peel back her skin until I was rewarded with the prize I knew lay beneath; that delicate hyoid I felt when my hand was choked-up on her pretty, slender throat. A true star for my trophy case. I could have reduced her to ash, a memory easily blown away from my mind, and scattered the remains in the poppy beds.
The need to surrender to the tireless craving and make her disappear was a fraught one I battled every day I walked through the university doors. Because if I didn’t—if I let this obsession continue—it would result in breaking my own rules.
She tempted me to defy my nature.
She was a threat.
And right now, the provocative sight of her soft skin is too great a temptation, beckoning me to reach for the scalpel on the tray.
Reduced to savage need, I tear through the last of my feebly bound restraint as I storm toward her sedated, angelic form on the gurney and slide the razor-sharp blade of the tool beneath her shirt.
The sound of shredding fabric licks over my skin in sick satisfaction as I draw the scalpel up the center, slicing the garment I gave her and her lacy bra to expose her body to me fully. I let the shirt fall away from her breasts, admiring her hardened nipples, the even rise and fall of her chest.
I take my time, letting my gaze study every inch of her naked body, bare and vulnerable.
I know Kyrie wasn’t born a killer. She has a conscience, a soul, empathy. She desires to love and be loved—and despite my limitations there, I will do my best to give her what she needs. But this…
This is all for me.
Debauched. Deviant. Corrupt.
The unholy way in which I’m about to take her would make angels repent.
With depraved hunger, I allow myself to feel the twin scars below her lower ribs. My fingers map the beveled edges, tracing the coarse indents where the blade split her skin.
A violent anger rises up from the bowels of my pitch-black soul, furious that another man dared to touch her, to harm her, to try to destroy her. Rage lashes my viscera, the scalpel clenched in my trembling hand as I visualize the unhinged way in which I’d first torture, then mutilate him.
The massacre I committed in this very cold room would pale in bloody comparison to what I’d subject Winters to if he stood before me now.
I killed him too quickly.
And I hone this feral lust. Fixated on the sleeping beauty spread before me on the gurney, I discard the scalpel and reach into the hollow of my slacks and grip my rock-hard cock. A tight hiss escapes between my gritted teeth as I squeeze the base, then track my cold palm up the rungs of my shaft. I stroke the length, hips thrusting in time with each pass over my raging erection, as I stare at her parted thighs, the pretty pink clit peeking between her smooth lips, and I can almost taste the wet heat.
With my free hand, I clasp one of her ankles and part her legs farther. I spread her knees until they touch the steel railing on either side, opening her up wide to me, posing her like a precious doll—one I can place in any lewd position I desire.
After I discard my slacks, I drop down over her slumbering body and breathe in her scent just to stir the hunger before I bite into the fleshy swell of the bottom of her breast. My fingers seek the warm slit of her pussy as I coax her taut nipple to pebble harder with my tongue. Sinking two fingers inside, I groan at the soft give of her flesh, no resistance. Her slick arousal coats my fingers as I plunder deeper, so inviting.
She doesn’t move as I drive in and out, becoming more feral as she soaks my fingers. The need to fuck her with merciless depravity locks every muscle along my vertebrae. My teeth find purchase in the delicate junction between her neck and shoulder, where I devour the taste of her skin, my tongue trailing along her clavicle.
I withdraw my fingers from her hot little pussy and arch myself over her splayed form. A hard shiver racks my muscles as I trace the slippery pad of my finger over her colorless lips, then my gaze falls to the peaks and shadowed valleys cast by her bones.
A sick yearning to finally relent and peel back her layers grips me with fierce, untamed need, and before I can leash the desire, I’ve reached across the shelving unit and grasped the soft charcoal stick in hand.
Free hand braced to the chilled rail of the gurney, I rear up and position the stick to the bottom of her pelvis. I start by outlining her hips, using the span between the pubis to pinpoint the lumbar vertebrae.
At the sternum, I apply pressure and drag the soft tip up the column until I reach the thick manubrium, where I lighten the strokes. Branching out, I contour each rib along the cage. The clavicles I trace next, saving the column of her neck for last, where I tilt her head back and take my time shading around the mandible. My heart riots and my cock throbs as I outline her hyoid from the memory of my touch.
I raise up and gaze across her beautiful body, the silhouette of her skeleton only a vague overlay sketched on skin—the definition missing; the precision absent—but the depth and size accurate enough to turn me into a ravenous beast.
I brace my palm to the negative space of her belly and bury the head of my cock inside her slick entrance, captivated as I watch her sweet pussy eat each rung. I lower myself just enough to savor the delectable taste of her mouth, drawing in a deep breath between her parted lips as I inhale her into my lungs.
The sheer yearning to shred her tight walls with my studded cock is a demon clawing at my insides—to feel titanium hit cartilage and the vibration ricochet through my cock as I scrape across her bones.
This twisted love nurtured in the dark belongs only to us.
The sight of her drawn bones is a torture so divine, I’m barely restrained as I thrust into her with animalistic fury. I smear my hand across her pelvis, smudging the charcoal before I fasten my hands to her hips and rut into her with base, carnal want.
I could break her. My doll is so delicate, I could shatter her to pieces. A growl works free from the base of my throat. “So goddamn perfect, lille mejer. I want to fuck you so brutally I turn you inside out.”
