Page 80 of Fatal Fantasy

The blood lust is beginning to make my head spin, the scent permeating through the air, and without another word, I tangle my hands in Jasper’s hair, pushing his face back into my dripping cunt.

I’m almost so desperate for him to finish the job, while Vincent’s veins spew my favorite shade of crimson-red all over my belly, that when the thick droplets inch closer to my clit, as Jasper shoves three blood-covered fingers into me, I scream out in pleasure, while he thrusts into me at an obnoxious pace.

“He’s all yours,” Tyson chokes out, gagging as he drops the blade into the puddle of discarded bodily fluids, staggering away as he attempts to keep himself together.

It’s no easy task for him to be around the torturous side of things, but I’m proud of him, knowing that he felt like he needed to defend my honor, and was able to power through until he completed his mission.

“I’m not done playing with you, my little temptress of death,” Jasper jokes, nodding at a passed out Vincent, and my toes curl in anticipation, whimpers leaving my chest as he resumes his feral pace, my moans echoing off the metal walls.

It doesn’t take long for Jasper to hit every spot inside of me, triggering the most powerful orgasm I’ve had to date, soaking us both as my release mixes with the blood already staining my skin, and I stare in awe at my body, completely taken to new heights as I see the fucking mess I’ve been turned into.

After the first round ends, I’m nowhere near done playing with my victim, and it brings me immense pleasure to see Vincent’s tiny, shriveled up cock laying in the middle of the floor, but Tyson staggers back to the center of the room, a command on the tip of his tongue that’ll invigorate the madness as we move into round two.

“Kiss me, my little Angel of Death,” Jasper breathes, stealing my attention with a certain brand of neediness radiating off him that I don’t usually see, but I’d never deny a request like that.

Our lips tangle together in a flash, his tongue dancing with mine at a rhythmic pace, and I melt into him, tasting the blood on his tongue while my chest rises and falls in perfect syncopation with his.

His deep moans fill the silence, falling into mine like a crafted symphony until Tyson clears his throat, redirecting our focus to the center of the room, and the ridiculous excuse of a man dangling from the rafters.

“Wake up, asshole.” Tyson slaps the side of his head a few times, forcing his return to consciousness, and as his eyes flutter open, then shut, a certain giddiness flows through my veins as I jump off the table, throwing Jasper’s t-shirt over my body.

“Tyson,” I moan, my eyes scanning the room with an endless loop of possibilities on the tip of my tongue, but every thought is overwhelming, and I decide to give up control to the one person who can handle it.

“Yes, baby girl?” He asks in a teasing tone, crossing the room in quick strides until he’s right beside me, curling his fingers under my chin.

“Put me into one of your poses,” I plead, batting my eyelashes at him as if I’m asking for the world, rather than one of his favorite pastimes.

Without hesitation, he places his hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes, likely debating what he wants to do with me, and that thought alone has my heart thrumming so hard in my chest, I’m afraid he can hear it.

Tyson and Jasper are so in tune with my body, my thoughts, and my desires, like they’ve taken college courses that required endless studying, but in reality, they just love me.

I’m the luckiest girl in the universe because to be loved is to be known, and I’ve been endlessly studied by the two best men on the planet.

FORTY-FOUR

TYSON

I’ll admit, torture is kind of fun.

Of course, it’s not something I’d like to partake in as often as Massi and Carter, but releasing pent up anger on someone who deserved it feels like a high dose of clarity.

I’m capable of being vicious, of turning into a bloodthirsty devil, but I can control it, only choosing to get my hands dirty when necessary.

Still, the idea of hurting someone, and seeing their blood, has its chokehold on me, so I left my two vampires to play, like taking little kids to their favorite park.

Since I’ve rejoined the chaos, I decided to wake up the half-dead man, choosing to remove the gag and seeing whether he begs for forgiveness, or barters his way to the guaranteed execution looming on the horizon.

Eventually, he gains his bearings, eyes landing solely on Carter as she stands before him with arms crossed, radiant blood-stained skin, and Massi’s t-shirt dangling from her body, a bored expression haunting her beautiful face.

“Come on, please! You don’t have to do this, Carter,” Vincent pleads, never making eye contact with Jasper or myself, the disrespect evident as he doesn’t even attempt to look in our direction.

“Don’t speak to her. You don’t deserve to even be in her presence,” Jasper spits, landing one punch to his jaw before I urge him back with one stern look.

“I’m sorry about that, Vin. My boys are a little protective.” Carter steps in, neither of us wanting Massi to rip his head off before we get to the desperation, crying, and begging that’ll bookend this beautiful night, right before Carter ends his life as she so chooses.

“Do what you want to me, Carter, but we both know you can’t kill me. Your father won’t allow it,” Vincent mutters, a smug, satisfactory smile on his face as he switches tactics, a classic stance that most men take before their life begins to flash before their eyes.

“Soon enough, my father will join you in Hell … but I don’t answer to him anymore,” she says slowly, all of us watching as the fear returns in his eyes, the message crystal clear, making these last moments the easiest I’ve ever dealt with, especially since I tend to leave the room at this point in the theatrics.