Nothing.
It was the first time I failed at making her orgasm with oral. “You broken down there?” I sat up and fingered her, but it was the Sahara Desert down there.
Her dead gaze did nothing more than stare at me and leak tears.
“I guess we’ll do it another way.” I spit on my hand a few times and smeared it between her legs and along my dick. It still felt like sandpaper when I pushed into her. By that point I wasn’t doing it for the release as much as I just didn’t want to let her win. So she played the errant, limp child, refusing to cooperate while I did all the work.
It took forever to feel my orgasm approach, even using Kimberly and Evelyn as my visuals. The bedroom lights were on. The blinds were cracked open. And Lila’s grotesque bald head occupied my line of sight.
On the verge of pulling out before finishing, admitting a rare defeat, Lila surprised me. She lifted her knees toward her chest, allowing me deeper penetration. Then she grabbed my head and pulled it to hers, kissing me slowly, teasing her tongue along my lips, turning her head slowly to drag her lips across my cheek—
“Fuuuck!” I reared back, ripping my cheek from her clenched mouth. Pain seared through my face, and I swear she had part of my cheek still in her blood-stained mouth. I started to pull out of her, readying my right hand to break her face, but then she smiled.
Crimson covered teeth. That hideous bald head. And her nipples erect like doing that to me turned her on.
Instead of making her the victim with a fresh dose of bruises, I opted to simply get rid of that fucking smile. I grabbed the other pillow and covered her whole head.
Problem solved.
All that remained was her perfect body, bouncing tits, and hands clawing at the pillow as I finished … blood dripping from my face to her torso while her body flailed. I took my time, no longer feeling the pain in my face, just the release. The glorious release.
As her fight began to weaken, I pulled out, released the pillow, and walked toward the door.
Lila’s high-pitched gasp turned into a fit of ragged coughs. I plucked her phone from the pocket of her purse discarded by the door and closed it behind me.
Blood from my face dotted the floor from her bedroom to the nearest bathroom.
“Jesus …” I cringed. My cheek looked like a dog attacked it.
I took a picture of it and sent it to a friend. A plastic surgeon friend.
Graham: Come to the house. Bring what you need.
I couldn’t leave Lila. Things were too unstable between us at the moment. I also couldn’t let my face be scarred for life.
I taped gauze to my face while I waited for Dr. Peters, a buddy from high school who needed some help settling a lawsuit and keeping his medical license after operating under the influence on a patient. The thing was … Blake was an excellent plastic surgeon who just so happened to have a drinking problem. He had to sober his ass up as part of our agreement for me to help him.
When I returned to Lila’s room, her lifeless body remained just where I’d left her. Only, she wasn’t without life.
Unfortunately.
With my face mangled and her body untouched, my attorney could have made a solid case for self-defense. My psychotic wife (the one who faked having cancer) going crazy and attacking me. However, that would have been a hard sell to Evelyn. And if I couldn’t have my trophy when all the bullshit finally ended, what was the point?
“Listen, Hannibal, I have a friend coming for a visit.” I grabbed her arms. She made a weak attempt to fight me. “So I need you to stay in your room and not make a sound until he’s gone.” After restraining her hands and feet, I wiped the blood from her mouth so the tape would stick. “I’ll let you out of your cage later.”
Blake arrived within the hour. I messaged security to let him through the gate.
“What the hell happened?” he asked the second I opened the door.
I removed the gauze. “Dog attacked me.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog.” He followed me to my office where I sat on the leather sofa, leaning back because the adrenaline started to leave my body, and I wasn’t feeling well.
“This isn’t a dog bite.” He frowned while inspecting my face.
“No shit. If it were a dog bite, I wouldn’t have called you to my house.”
“We need a sink or a bowl so I can clean this good to see it and to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“Go find a bowl in the kitchen. I can’t get up. I’m not feeling so well at the moment.”