Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)

Undressing.

My mouth went dry as I watched her, unable to pry my eyes away for anything.

She moved slowly, sure but hesitant as if she had never taken off her clothes for someone before.

My cock turned to stone instantly at the thought. She was known as a good girl and just twenty years old, but the thought of her virginity had never truly crossed my mind.

I hadn’t let it.

Now, it seared through my synapses, leaving lurid images branded on my consciousness. The sight of her face as I gave her the only pleasure she’d ever known. My dirty, bloodstained, violence-roughened hands on all that pure flesh, mapping it so I could claim every inch of it as my own. Pushing inside that tight, unbroken heat, then pulling out to see her blood staining my dick.

Fuck, but my skin burned as if I was being consumed in fire, already in the bowels of hell where I belonged for wanting––needing––to fuck and possess and ruin Bea Lafayette.

Still, I watched, shoving the fantasies out of my head so I could bask in the moment.

Good little Bea undressing for big bad me.

First, she pushed the robe off one shoulder, then the other. She shivered delicately in the draft from the window, and I knew her nipples would be hard little points just begging for my teeth.

Her hair shifted over her shoulder, pale gold curtains of silk parting over her breasts as she looked down her body at the nightgown and then, achingly slow, gathered the hem to leverage the cloth up over her head.

My cock kicked with a pulse of its own, knocking brutally against the entrapment of my jeans, needing to bury itself in that sweet, tight little body.

Christ, she was fucking gorgeous.

All long, slim limbs, a nipped-in waist flaring delicately into rounded hips framing a smooth, flat belly. I knew without knowing that she would have silken peach fuzz beneath that little whorl of a belly button. That the skin on her inner thighs would be so pale I could trace the bluish veins there with my blade and feel them throb under the very tip of my tongue.

I was standing, the umbrella dislodged as I surged up from under it.

The wind slapped me in the face, pelting me with knife points of iced rain.

I didn’t move.

I watched so hard my eyes burned.

Bea brushed her hair away from her chest, revealing the soft, small slopes of her breasts and those hard nipples I ached to feel under my teeth.

A growl was in my throat, rumbling through me.

That monster, that beast, that thing that was not human inside me roared and roared.

Take her, take her, take her.

Ruin, ruin, ruin.

All I could picture was her virgin blood on my skin, my cock messy with her juices. All I could think of was how much dirtier I could make her. I wanted to paint her sweet face in my cum, bite into her pale skin until it bruised like a peach, and slick my sweat-oiled body over hers until she reeked of me, of us.

I gnashed my teeth together, the pain grounding me.

Then she moved again, so sweetly, so hesitant, so goddamn virginal. One small hand moved up from her belly, between her breasts then back down all the way beyond my sight, beneath the window frame to rest only her God––the lucky fucking bastard––knew where.

I pulled out the switchblade in my pocket and dug the end into the center of my palm, hoping it would calm me, call me back to rationality.

Fuck, but the pain only reminded me that hurt could be good, that there was pleasure in it and that my sweet little Bea didn’t know that yet, but I could show her.

I could teach her.

No, not teach, I wasn’t patient enough for that.

I would show her by example, take her there so she could see for herself just how good I could make her feel when I did bad things to her pretty flesh.

Courageous now, knowing she had me like a fish tugging at the line, she reeled me in. One step closer to the glass, her breasts pressed flush to the cold pane, bringing their round shape and darker tips into clearer definition.

I was moving.

My boots struck hard against the wet sand, kicking it up behind me as I stalked across the grains onto the rocks, then onto the beaten path up to Z’s house. It was alarmed and locked, obviously, but I didn’t care.

Bea would have to have been in Fort fucking Knox to keep me from breaking in and taking her.

I paced to the side of the house, studied which route I would take, then swung up onto the porch railing, grabbed the edge of the eaves in both hands and pulled myself onto the steep roof. The tiles were slick under my heavy boots, but I focused on the window I knew lay around the side of the house, the window where Bea stood naked for me, and I made quick work of the walk.