Breaking Broken (Love After Life), page 14
“Your virginity is mine, Stray. It’s going to hurt, baby. It will hurt a lot.” Her eyes sparkle with great joy. “But I’ll make it better. I promise.”
I shrink in on myself. I have no choice. This isn’t something I can refuse. She is completely and utterly using my body as if I am nothing more than her toy.
And then I feel it. The handle of the weapon being pulled through my slick folds. I cry out, my eyes slamming shut. I can’t bare it. I can’t watch her assault my body with the weapon she killed me with. What kind of sick torture is this?
She barely gives me a moment to prepare myself. With one thrust, she forces the entire handle inside of me. I scream. It’s so big— too big. It hurts as though somebody is ripping me in two. It’s agony— it’s blinding. A searing pain followed by an uncomfortable feeling of fullness. My eyes slam shut, burning with tears.
“Stop!” I cry out.
She pauses. For some wild reason, she listens to me. She doesn’t move an inch, letting my body slowly adjust.
“That’s it, baby,” She whispers. Her fingers cup my cheek, her touch firm and grounding. It’s anything other than what I expected. “Open your eyes.”
I want to refuse her command, but the charm forces me to obey my master. My gaze is blurry. She watches me slowly, intensely, scanning my face for every flinch, every ounce of pain. Wait no. Not watching. Staring. She drinks my pain as though it’s oxygen. A tear slips down my face, but her thumb catches it before it can slip into my mouth. Groaning, her eyes harden.
“You don’t make it easy to go soft on you, Stray. You better adjust quickly because I’m losing my restraint.”
She’s talking, and the words are rattling around my brain, but my mind will not let them sink in. The pain refuses to subside. My head falls back, and a long whimper escapes me. I’m like a wounded animal, panting and heaving. Her fingers return to my clit. Like a sharp jolt of electricity, she forces me back to life.
The pain splinters into something larger, more intense, something good.
Oh, fuck!
My toes curl as the pleasure blinds my mind. I can feel everything. It touches every nerve within me, pressing hard, promising so much pleasure.
Siren recognises the change and her lips return to my nipples.
“Good girl,” She whispers against my skin. I swear I can feel her smirk against me. She’s smug. She’s winning. She moves the weapon slowly at first as if to find her rhythm. With every stroke, my mind writhes with pleasure. My fingers flex, desperately searching for something to hold onto. It feels as though I’m about to explode. I fall away into nothingness. I don’t want to. I have no choice. But my fingers curl around her neck. I hold on for dear life.
“Mm,” she whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Listen.”
I don’t need to focus. It’s all I can hear aside from the blood pulsing madly in my ears. The sound of her weapon fucking me and my pussy accepting the attack fill my mind. I’ve never been this desperate before. The mewl is on the tip of my tongue.
Don’t cum. Don’t cum.
I beg my unfaithful body to refuse the pleasure Siren forces me to have. We can’t cum for her. Not again. Not ever.
“You’re going to cum whether you want to or not,” she spits. “And you’re going to fucking enjoy it. If you want to resist it and edge yourself, knock yourself out. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you scream my name again.”
No. No!
Her words force another wave of mind-numbing pleasure through me. My release is merely a few strokes away. I buck like a mad animal. She pushes me closer to the edge until her name is staining the tip of my tongue.
“Good pup. You’re doing so well.”
The moment our eyes meet, the air shifts. She looks at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Splinters of anger lick the adoration, too. Her breath fans against my flushed cheeks, her scent and my juices intermingled, wrapping around me like a noose. My knuckles ache from how hard I’m grabbing her. Her eyes capture mine, dark and wild, a mix of arrogance and something deeper— more violent.
I should look away. I want to.
But I can’t.
Something crackles in the heat between us, something raw, undeniable, something I refuse to acknowledge. Her gaze dips, flickers over my mouth, and then back up, and a slow, knowing smirk tugs at her lips. My pulse betrays me.
God, I hate her. I hate her so much. And yet, every nerve in my body is screaming for more.
The silence is thick, electric. My pathetic body is reeling, the edge of my orgasm a few strokes away. And then her gaze hardens. I see the exact moment the hatred sinks in when she remembers who I am, who we are.
Everything stops.
She stops thrusting the weapon in my dripping heat. She pulls it out to the hilt, and her fingers stop bringing me the pressure I need for release.
“No!” I cry out. The word leaves me before I can register their meaning. Pleasure bubbles under the surface of my skin. Her face is close to mine— dangerously close. Her breath licks my skin, and I swear she could push forward and rip my throat from me.
“Say you’re mine and I’ll let you cum.”
What?
The words seem to surprise us both. Her eyebrows flick together in shock, but she builds the wall up quickly. She pauses, the command sits in the air between us, thick and heavy. My pussy begs for me to answer her quickly, but the words refuse to materialise. Her head tilts to the side, a cocky look spreading across her face.
“Or I could leave you like this—desperate, aching, dripping down your thighs.” A dry laugh leaves her lips. “I bet you’d still thank me.”
“Siren—”
I can’t. It’s too much. She’s too much.
“Say it,” she hisses.
Could I? What will that change? Will it save me from the inevitable death that’s lingering after this orgasm?
She presses slightly against my clit and the bolt of electricity shocks my mind back into reality. It’s as if a breath of fresh air storms my lungs, and the world becomes brighter.
“Fine!” I shriek. “Fine! Fine! I’m yours, Siren. Please, I’m all yours!”
With a growl, she thrusts the weapon back inside of me. She slams it right against that perfect spot, her fingers joining in the assault. The pressure is too much. It’s embarrassing how quickly I fall over the edge. I cry out. The pleasure explodes between my legs before ricocheting into my stomach, billowing out into my curled fingers and toes. My body snaps forward. Before I can stop myself, my head nestles into the crook of her neck and I cling for dear life. The pleasure refuses to stop— it smashes into me like waves against a lighthouse in a storm. I’m whimpering, blubbering, mewling. My breathing betrays me and as do my legs.
“Again,” she demands.
She never stops. It’s as if she’s wild with lust. I feel the weapon touch every nerve inside of me, forcing me to the edge again. My thighs slam shut, but I’m no match for her. Siren effortlessly parts them again before suddenly, dropping to her knees. Crying out, I fall against the wall, my fingers curling into the paint as though to steady myself. I barely have the chance to glance down before I feel it… her tongue against my sensitive nub. It’s too much and I explode for her again. She laps at it hard and fast. It feels like she’s caressing everything. My orgasm consumes me and she moans in delight, the vibrations dragging my bliss on for what feels like centuries.
My breath shudders. My hips buck, my mind whirls.
She pulls the weapon from me before dragging her flat tongue along my slit, tasting every inch of the cum I produced for her. She laps me up as if I’m a tap and she’s been starved of water. Her moans fill the room as she feasts on me. My thighs tremble and I almost drop in pleasure. She drags out my high until I’m shaking, seeing stars.
She moves before I can fall, twisting us so my back is against the wall. I fall helplessly. I am her doll to be moved, positioned. My head lulls forward, fatigue consuming me, blurring my vision. For a long moment, I’m convinced I’m going to drop to the floor in a pile of limbs, but then something sharp is thrust below my chin. There’s a glint of silver in the dim light and then…
Burning.
A deep searing heat blossoms across my throat so suddenly, so wrong, that for a moment, I don’t understand. I jerk but she’s already got me trapped. She holds me still.
She presses the knife harder until I’m forced to lift my head. When I look back at her, there is a look of pure fury across her face. She’s a ravenous beast, and I’m her injured prey. All it would take is one swipe and she’d feast from my blood. The sharpness of the blade slices the first few layers of my sweaty skin. I choke on the pain. The world turns misty; my tears force my brain into a dull reality far away.
She smiles. “Cry all you want. It won’t change the fact that you fucking loved that.”
“Please don’t kill me—”
“Tut, tut,” she interrupts sharply. “You don’t get to make the decisions around here, Stray. What are you without me? Nothing. Just a weak, needy thing that begs to be ruined. You exist for my pleasure and when I’ve finished with you…”
She presses harder. Panic flares, raw and enduring. My fingers claw at her arms in a desperate attempt to free myself, but she doesn’t flinch. My lips part in a scream, but no sound comes out. My breathing shudders and I gasp as warmth pours down my neck. It spurts over the handle, mixing with her own blood and my wetness. I’m horrified. How tightly was she gripping it while she fucked me? She barely flinches when her knuckles crack around the handle.
She’s holding me against her. It’s an embrace which feels so wrong, one that shouldn’t be shared between murderer and victim. It’s too intimate. It’s too right.
She hushes me. “That’s it, Stray.”
My blood is on her fingers, but she doesn’t wipe it away. Instead, her head tilts, eyes turning into nothingness as she watches my struggle. I fall apart under her hands. There’s something so cruel in her expression. So final.
I reach for her. No, I claw for her. Some part of me doesn’t believe that this is happening again. If I can just make her feel me, maybe she’ll stop. If she could just hold me closer, she’d feel my suffering and show mercy.
There is none.
She laughs, the haunting melody wrapping around my head like a final hug. I try to pull in a breath, but it feels like drowning. All that comes out is a wet choking gurgle. There is a jolt as Siren presses through my vocal cords.
She pulls out, and thrusts violently into my stomach. Once. Twice. Seven times.
Pain. Searing pain. My head whirls. The dizziness licks me up into a stumbling, staggering mess. She doesn’t bother to catch me this time and I spurt out like a bucket riddled with thick holes. Blood coats the bathroom floor. I slip as my leg snaps left and my head bounces off the sink.
Crack.
Unimaginable agony splinters through my mind. Siren is finished. Squatting over my squirming body, she snatches my head in her fingers. I’m disoriented. Bleeding. Breathless.
She slices again and again and again. I am nothing more than a pig for her to carve. There are no more whimpers or sounds to fall from me. The only noises are her strangled grunts, and the sound of skin giving way to torture.
Oh, God. I can feel it… Death.
He’s around the corner.
I’m drained, exhausted. I have nothing left to give, to resist.
The last thing I see is her. That beautiful, twisted smile— one that makes my heart blush— and then… darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Siren
It reeks of blood, metallic and overwhelming. The sticky redness is everywhere— on my hands, clothes, pooling into the cracked tiles and porcelain toilet. She’s full of holes. Like a bucket. I resist the urge to press my lips to her wounds and drain her dry.
My vision tunnels.
Her lifeless corpse flops in my hands.
She looks like a doll. I muse. My beautiful, broken doll.
I release her and she falls into a pile of limbs with a thud. The sound of her bones cracking against the cold tile floors makes my stomach twist excitedly. She’s so fucking beautiful when she’s dead. It’s like death traps her into eternal beauty. She looks even more breathtaking than the first time I killed her.
She’s dead. I know she’s dead. I felt her final, shuddering breath and the death rattle sing at the back of her throat. I watched the colour drain from her cheeks, her lips. Her pupils exploded with pain and then lost their sparkle.
And yet… she’s never looked so captivating.
My heels slip in the blood, and I barely catch myself against the stall door, breath rasping through clenched teeth. I take a step back, then another until I’m out of the cubicle, staring at the chaos.
Will she remain dead this time?
I’ve cut her before and then kissed the skin which hid those scars. But this time, I didn’t hold back. I plunged my weapon into her skin harder, faster. I strangled the life from her. My fingers tighten around my weapon and the blood squelches between my fingers. It’s hot and sticky, but I know it’ll crust soon.
Maybe she’ll wake up shortly.
No. I shake my head quickly, dispersing the thoughts before they can turn into something more real.
She’s dead. She has to be.
But to be sure, I need to dispose of her. Completely.
My eyes flicker around the small, grimy bathroom, searching for anything I can use. I almost feel bad that I stole her life in such squalor. My beautiful prey deserved a more honourable death. After all, her sex brings me a new life. A renewed energy source. Perhaps she deserved to be murdered surrounded by something that isn’t lined with graffiti and cracked mirrors. Instead, she died with the intermingling scents of mould, piss and strong disinfectant which makes my eyes water. No cameras. No windows. It’s a prison— the most perfect place to commit my crime.
I crouch down, my fingers siding against the pulse point in her throat. I wait for something—anything—the flicker of a mocking heartbeat, the raspy shudder of a breath, but nothing. My hand trails lower, pressing against her cold, pale skin. Nothing. I press harder. Still nothing.
I need to finish this.
Fire. Fire is the only way I can dispose of her body into ashes. If she comes back, she’ll surely be different. Wrong. Disfigured. She won’t be mine anymore; she’ll have a new soul.
I yank open my bag. My cheap bottle of nail polish remover sits at the top like a shining beacon in the darkness. I always carry it with me; appearance is everything and nothing good can come from looking dishevelled with chipped nail polish. I pull it free before rummaging around for my lighter.
My breath saws in and out of my chest as I stare down at her small body sprawled against the filthy tiles. Her wide, unseeing eyes stare gormlessly at the flickering fluorescent lights above us. I unscrew the top of the bottle, the fumes stinging my eyes; my nose twitches angrily. I’m gassing myself out in this small, unventilated place, but it’s all for a good cause.
I hesitate. I’m frozen as a deep, shuddering breath slips past my lips. And then… I pour.
It splashes against her body, touching all of the places my fingers desperately want to caress. She was mine, and now… she’s nothing. The bottle quickly empties with a spluttering noise and I flick the lighter on. Without another thought, I drop it onto her body.
The fire catches instantly. It’s almost amusing how quickly her body is consumed by the ravenous waves of heat. The stench of nail polish remover is quickly replaced by the thick, suffocating stench of burning flesh. Her white skin is tarnished red and the flames curl around her fingers, dancing across her exposed stomach, up to the delicate arch of her throat, and then body collapses inward. The heat distorts the air and begs to touch my skin, too. Who knew she’d be so easy to burn?
My fingers, which didn’t seem to shake then, start to now. They itch to reach out, to touch what remains. My stomach flips and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention in protest of what is happening.
Regret? Maybe. Remorse? Never.
The horrifying blare of the fire alarm ripples through the room, loud and violent like the shriek of an angel.
And then, in the corner, I feel the shadows start to appear. The death angels close in around us, snarling and desperate for their soul to take to the God of Death’s Realm. Though I can’t see their eyes in the blackness, I send a foul look that says back off.
“I’m not finished yet,” I snarl.
Blackening bones and smouldering ash remain on the floor and I drive the heel of my boot into particularly large clumps of bone that refuse to give way easily. It cracks and splutters, the heat bursting out like a fiery volcano, almost setting my boot alight.
The death angels in the corner grow more ravenous. I hear their pacing as though they are in the back of my mind, feel their breathing down my neck—hot, and impatient.
The lump in my throat doubles. Whilst my nerves tremble, my face is stoically calm and I move with an ease as if this is a regular occurrence for me.
When the fire begins to die down, I drop to my knees and begin scooping. It scorches my palms like burning hot kisses. I want to wince, but I wouldn’t dare complain about the heat—it’s my last time touching her. I’ll savour this moment as if it were the first time I held her. The flames have eaten everything, even the blood that I had skilfully pulled from her. My fingers are coated in soot as I lift her over the toilet bowl.
Finally, my lip twitches into something more mocking. Without hesitation, I tip my hands over and let her ashes fall into it. I scoop up another handful and dump her in the spiralling water. Again. And again. Until she’s nothing but ash dissolving in the water. I brush my hands off thoroughly to make sure nothing is left of her remains before gripping the handle.
The world fades into silence. The roar of the death angels, the shrieking from the bell— nothing. Not even my heartbeat in my ears can ground me in the moment.
