Page 63 of The Way We Rot
“You wouldn’t touch her,” Penny said, shaking her head. “You’re too good.”
I laughed. Loud and booming. “You think I’m good?” I asked, incredulous. “Look at where you are, Penny, and tell me again you think I’m good.”
Staring at me, she stood, still naked, arms crossed over her chest. It pushed her tits together, and myattention darted down. When I met her eyes again, they’d shuttered.
“No, I don’t think you’re good,” she muttered, seeming almost disappointed, quieter.
Ignoring her words, I gestured for her to follow me with the gun, and she let me guide her through the theater and to my shitty little apartment. She moved slow, her eyes grazing over everything to take it all in. She had questions, that was clear, but bit them back.
The apartment was shoved in by the previous owners, right at the rear of the building and along a whole maze of hallways. It was a shithole, but it had a bed, a shower, a kitchen - while I’d been working at the prison, it had been all I needed.
Penny’s eyes roamed over everything as she walked, bare-footed and naked through the cold building. I directed her to my bathroom and turned on the shower, setting it to just warm. Room temperature. And in this building, the room temperature was on the frostier side. “Wash,” I demanded, gesturing with my gun again.
“Fuck you,” she spat, though her attention drifted to the spray, the shampoo and shower gel. I’d left myrazor on the sink, too, and I saw her eyes drag over it, sizing it up as a weapon. Idiot mistake. But I refrained from picking it up. Showed her I wasn’t afraid.
“Just get clean, Penelope,” I sighed, frustrated at her reluctance. I was giving her something good, for fuck’s sake. Maybe Laceyhadsoftened me.
“Fine.”
She stepped into the cubicle and groaned as the warm water began sloughing away all the dirt and grime coating her. It soaked into the bandage on her arm, and I knew I’d have to replace it, but for now, she was captivating.
Through all of this, she still turned me on, got my cock hard. Disgusting. The thought of hurting her, of climbing into that cubicle and fucking her raw, made me want to crawl out of my skin with need. The more I leaned into this hell, the more I realized just how much I’d changed, how low I’d sunk.
Made myself sick.
But I held the gun toward her and watched her grab the soap and rub it all over her body. Slide it over her tits, between the valley of them and over her collarbone. She soaped up hernipples—
“You’re a sick fuck,” she said then, making me jolt to look her in the eye. She gestured down, and I realized I had one hand on the gun, the other rubbing my cock through my jeans. She wasn’t wrong.
With her accusing stare on me, I didn’t stop, couldn’t make myself. Her judgement of me meant nothing, anyway. “Just get clean, fucking pig.”
“Oh, I think I will be fucking a pig,” she spat, but turned away from me, her soapy hands coming up over her shoulders before drifting down. She cleansed herself, probing a sudsy hand between her ass cheeks and into her pussy before shampooing and rinsing.
When she slid a dollop of conditioner into her palm and smoothed it down the lengths of her oil slick hair, she turned back to me, her eyes landing on where I was still rubbing myself. I could jizz in my pants at the sight of this dangerous woman, soaped up and wet in my shower. Just looking at her made it harder to think straight. To focus.
“I saw your bedroom,” she said. “All the kinky shit you put in it. Is it for me?”
“No,” I lied. It was. It was all for her. And I hated it. She always found a way to burrow under my skin with just a few short words. “Get out of there now.”
A few late-night purchases from kink websites had my room looking like a sex dungeon - something I hadn’t used, didn’t even know if I wanted to, but the urge had been intense. Watching her behind those bars in the prison, it made a man’s mind wander…
“But I haven’t washed off the conditioner yet—” she started, but I lunged in there and grabbed her injured arm, pulling her by it until we were back in my bedroom. I threw her on the bed and, working quick, tied one of her hands to the frame. Only the best kinky tools, bondage rope, and a cage framed bed.
She glared at me, but it was curiosity, not fear. It was never actual fear with her. No matter what the hell I did, how hard I pushed the bitch, it was never fear.
Fuck, I was a mess. As bad as her, as horrible, awful, disgusting. The gun in my hand felt hot and heavy, important.
I squeezed it, aimed it at her, and she just waited. Even when I stripped away my clothes and climbed on top of her, my thighs bracketed her wet and nakedbody, my cock hard and heavy as it pointed towards her face. I held the gun with both hands, right between her eyes, one bloodshot and bruised, the other on fire with questions. Her expression was tight, but she waited.
“What are you going to do with that, Adrian?” she asked. “Why did you get all undressed?” She looked down, stared pointedly at my cock, the bead of moisture on the tip waiting for her to lick it up. I had no answer, not a real one.
“Didn’t want to dirty my clothes with your blood when I blow your brains out,” I lied again.
“But you don’t mind dirtying your bed?”
“Fuck,” I groaned, and lurched down to pull her nipple into my mouth, sucking it between my teeth and biting, releasing more pressure when she gasped and bucked.
I held the gun to her head as I worked, needing her to feel me, to understand the gravity of what this was.
