Mind to Bend: Chapter 19

Tim is dead, and despite the gruesome nature of the last several hours all I can think of is my Angel, and how I’m finally getting my hands on her. No matter how impossible it feels right now, I need to be patient. Covered in her late husband’s blood, bits of his muscle tissue and fragments of bone cling to my sweater. I don’t want her to see me like this. That’s how I convince myself to go home first and properly cover my tracks.

I’m bloody, something I hoped to avoid, but Tim’s disposal required some disarticulation. I’m not a murderer by trade or preference, but I must admit how satisfying it was to choke the life out of him and cut him into pieces after what he did to my Angel.

I remove my clothes, carefully bagging them to dispose of later. No one is going to find Tim, I’m sure of it. Deleting the footage was easier than I anticipated, the security office door wasn’t even locked. I’ll have to circle back to his truck but I’m certain it’s hidden for now. If they ever come here looking, I don’t want to give them any excuses to tie me to him, not when there’s nothing left anywhere else.

I climb into my shower and meticulously wash every inch of my body. There’s more blood in my hair than I realized. It’s black, so I shouldn’t be surprised it didn’t stand out. Images of sawing Tim apart and dropping the pieces into vats of farming acid fill my mind. I don’t feel guilty, perhaps a little irritated that it came to all of this when he could have, and should have, just left her.

No matter. There’s no use crying over spilled milk.

I spend more time than I’d like on my fingernails before I settle on cutting them down so far they nearly bleed. I force myself to take my time cleaning myself, the shower, and the drain, ensuring I’ve covered all bases. When finished, I leave my apartment, climb into my car, and head over to Seraphina.

I don’t bother parking down the street or with any other sneaking measures I’ve taken all the other times I’ve visited her home. Instead, I stride up the path to the red front door like I own the place, and for all intents and purposes, I do. It’s Seraphina’s home, and she is mine.

The door is unlocked, giving way easily beneath my hand. I push the front door open, and the familiar dessert smell that is Sera overtakes me. Her home is so thick with it, and my cock twitches with each breath.

There’s music coming from the bedroom. It’s angsty and loud. The lyrics are something hilariously maudlin about a wedding for dead people. She’s something special, my Angel. But, beneath the melancholic notes, there’s another sound, running water.

I hate fucking in water.

I race through the house to the master bedroom and find Seraphina standing in the ensuite with her bathrobe draped around her. Steam fills the room while she stares at the running shower but hasn’t yet stepped inside. She looks awful. I never imagined I could think that about her, but there’s no denying it. Her face is gaunt, her eyes hollow, eyelids red and puffy like she’s been crying for hours. Her lips are a similar color with angry chapped lines.

I hate that I have played a hand in her being this upset, and I’m enraged that another man could have this effect on her. I don’t give a fuck that he was her husband. I will be her everything.

She doesn’t hear me as I creep up behind her. I’m not trying to be particularly stealthy, but her music is loud, and the water is running. I imagine her as a teen girl wailing along to this song and feeling more seen than she’d ever felt before. I don’t think she heard it as a teen, though, not with what I know of her upbringing. So when did my little Angel develop this taste?

She screams as I wrap my arms around her. One hand goes to her mouth, cutting off her protests. The other moves to her waist and quickly slips beneath her robe as she struggles in my grip.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

“Shane?!”

Seraphina whirls around, pushing free of my arms. I let her go and she presses the button to kill the music.

“What are you doing here?”

“Tim came to see me, and I was worried.”

Her face falls, and a little tear gathers on the edge of her lashes.

“Oh. And?” She’s miserably failing at sounding nonchalant.

“He was beyond upset. He told me he wasn’t coming back after what he did to you the last time…”

Her face stills. “After the last time. So, you thought Tim might be planning to kill me,” she supplies.

“I knocked, but since no one answered the door, I came in.”

It’s wrong to lie to her, but I haven’t come up with many good answers, and the truth is a sticky situation at best.

“No, I’m not a corpse.”

She’s trying to diffuse the tension with self-deprecating humor. Something she often does and makes me angry every time. I won’t have it.

“Are you okay?”

She turns to me, training those pale green and yellow eyes on me.

“You’re the expert, Shane. What do you think?”

“I think you’re suffering, and I can’t stand it.”

She pauses and drags in a noisy breath. I step into her, desperate to close that distance. Instead, she tries to take a step back.

That isn’t going to work. I crowd her space, pushing her up against the counter. She looks up at me, and I can see the depth and complexity of her emotions. My Angel is in agony, but her pupils are wide, and I can see her fluttering pulse at her throat.

“What do you know or care about my suffering?” she bites out as she looks up at me. “You know what we did was wrong, and you still did it. I-I-”

“You what, Seraphina? You feel guilty because I did for you what he never could? Because you can feel how right this is, just like I can?” I press against her, my warmth pouring through the silk of her robe. She gasps at the contact, and before she can come up with any other arguments to upset herself or piss me off, I crash my lips to hers.

She makes a startled choking noise in the back of her throat, and I’m sure she has never been kissed like this before. She’s tentative at first and then messy as she melts into me. She’s unpracticed, but her raw enthusiasm makes up for what she lacks in skill.

She tastes sublime, and my cock is aching with each pass of her eager tongue over mine. I can taste the sweetness of her sorrow, the tang of her guilt. Every complicated or painful thing she’s feeling is so delicious I want to eat them all out of her and leave her light and unburdened. I didn’t lie when I said I hated her suffering, but to be the one who slays her dragons, they need to exist in the first place.

A woman like Seraphina doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t need anyone or anything. If she only believed in herself, she could take on the world. I want to see her that way. I want to watch her scorch the earth in her fire. The only catch is that I need to trick her into believing she needs me with the same intensity I need her. Because as much as she is mine, I am utterly hers.

I fist my fingers in her long blonde hair. It’s so silky and soft. The smell of her shampoo permeates the air as I tighten my grip and tip her head back, deepening our kiss. She’s moaning into my mouth, the robe falling open, exposing her parting thighs.

I slide my knee between her thighs to support her as she slumps. Her bare cunt catches on the rough denim of my jeans, and she cries into my mouth. My lips and tongue bat away the sound as she grinds her wet little pussy on me.

“I’m not even inside of you, Seraphina. Feel how right this is.”

I grind my leg against her, and her eyes roll back.

“This doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’m breaking every vow I’ve ever made. This is wrong.”

I slip my fingers between her parted lips and find her clit, pressing the tiny nub firmly.

“Then why do you like it so much?” I roll my thumb, and she whimpers.

“Sin is supposed to feel good. That’s how it tricks us into doing it.” Her pretty white teeth press into her lower lip as I work her closer to the edge.

I pull away from her and watch her face, her fluttering pulse. Then I lean in and whisper in her ear.

“Do you think it’s going to feel good when I lay you on that bed and take your virginity in a few minutes?”

“You can’t.”

“I’m going to, Seraphina. Now are you going to be a good girl and let me work you up to it, or am I going to have to take it?”

She startles.

“Take it?”

“Yes, Seraphina. Hold you down, shove your thighs open, and steal the virginity other men wouldn’t let you give away.”

She flinches, and I know my words are a slap to the face, but I’m not in my right mind tonight. I killed a man, for fuck’s sake, and instead of building an alibi that has nothing to do with him, I’m here, about to fuck his wife and leave her virginity on the bedspread.

“I’m sick,” she finally says.

“Why, Seraphina? Because you’re wet for me, and I’m not your husband? Because you’re a filthy little sinner?” I’m not trying to be a dick, but I can’t help it. I want to degrade her as much as I want to build her up. I want her to depend on me as much as I want to see her strong and flourishing. Cognitive dissonance and I are old friends.

“No,” she whines. Her hips buck into my hand as I work her higher and higher. “Because I want you to take it, just like you said. I want you to force me.”

Fuck me.

“Tell me a word, something to say if you want me to stop,” I bite out, doing my damndest to keep my head when all I want to do is lose it and take, take, take.

“I don’t need a safe word, and I don’t want to consent. I want you to take what you want.” Her pupils are blown wide with lust.

“What if I want more than you’re willing to give?”

Her eyebrows raise, and I wonder if she has any idea of my wanting to own her body, mind, and soul.

“Then I’ll know for sure that this only feels right because—”

I reach out and grip her throat, cutting off her words but not her oxygen.

“Let me make something clear,” my voice is serene and contrasts with the way I hold her to remind her of my ownership. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to choke you, hit you, spit on you. I’m going to shove my cock between your thighs and take your virginity, and when I do, it will not be soft and sweet. It’s going to be me claiming what’s mine. And Seraphina, I will never let you go once I claim you.”

She looks terrified, but she’s incredibly aroused. Her cunt is gleaming in the light from the modern yet feminine chandelier.

“Why do you want to hurt me?”

“Because I know you’re going to love it.”

“I don’t—”

She screams as my teeth sink into the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. It’s brutal and vicious. Then, pretty much like I thought, she moans and writhes against me.

“Fuck,” she utters, low and guttural, as I sweep my tongue over the injury and soothe the hurt.

“Don’t tell me my hand around your throat isn’t part of the reason you’re wet, Seraphina. You’re going to love every minute I force on you.”

She says nothing.

“Admit it, or I won’t fuck you.”

“I want it, but please don’t make me repeat it.”

A single tear drips down her cheek, and I lick it off.

“Angel, I won’t make you say you want it. I’m going to make you beg for it.”

With that, I shove my fingers into her cunt.

Fuck, she’s tight, and I feel what’s left of her hymen breaking further. It’s an odd little bit of skin people obsess over, though it is possible to have sex many times without entirely breaking it, just as it is possible to tear to shreds on horseback.

“Shane, oh my God!” she screams as I push in up to my knuckles. It’s too much, too fast for her tight little cunt, but her muscles are twitching and pulsing around it, and she’s gasping through a torrent of moans. As I thought, my Angel likes to play rough.

I pull my fingers out and turn her around with a hand in her hair. My fist forces her face against the cold countertop, not hard enough to hurt her but enough to remind her of the weakness of her position. She’s trembling, and I’m sure this isn’t the romantic deflowering she imagined she and Tim would share. But no matter how much I scrub, his blood will remain on my hands, just like hers will coat my cock. There’s nothing romantic about this aside from the fact that I’m confident I’m meant to love her. This is a feral claiming.

I work my fingers back into her, and the noises she makes are a mix of pained cries and moans. Her eyes are screwed shut, and tears slip from the corners. My cock is a lot bigger than my fingers, and I need her ready.

“Look at me, Seraphina.”

She opens her eyes and her lips form an “o” as she meets my gaze.

I pull my fingers out of her, but the hand in her hair doesn’t loosen. Lining the crown of my cock up with her tight cunt, I apply the slightest pressure, and my sweet Angel doesn’t look away.

“You are mine now, Seraphina. Nothing can change that.”

There’s a flash of fear in her gaze, and I’m glad for it. She should realize how serious the situation she’s gotten herself into is, but I don’t give her a chance to change her mind.

I push my hips forward while holding my cock steady. Seraphina is so goddamn tight that I see stars before I’ve managed to pop the fat head inside of her. I grunt at the distinct change in pressure as I work past her opening and sheath myself in her.

She’s crying softly. I’m big, and though I fingered her until she was soft and ready, I didn’t give the dirty girl time to adjust to my full length. She told me she wanted me to take her virginity, and I have. I sink into her inch by inch until her virgin cunt is entirely stretched over my cock.

“You look so pretty crying on my cock, Angel. Now let’s see you come on it.”

I drive my hips into her, listening to her moans, gasps, and pants. I find a rhythm she likes, and I consider playing with her clit until she makes a mess all over me, but I have a better idea for my dirty Angel’s first time. The hand in her hair tightens as I pull her head back, revealing the length of her throat. I run my free hand along her lips, and my perfect slut opens her mouth for me.

Slipping two thick fingers to the back of her throat, she gags and tightens around my dick. My balls draw up, “Fuck”, I hiss as I breathe through the sudden and overwhelming urge to come. Not yet.

Pumping in and out of her mouth, I test the tight ring of her throat. She’s crying from the overstimulation, but her cunt is twitching like I’m electrocuting it, so I know she loves this. She gags, and I feel her throat working around my fingers.

“Breathe,” I coach her as I shove my fingers deeper. She might puke, but not before she comes. She breathes through her nose while I continue my assault. I am aware of her clamping down on me and her not-so-subtle muscles tightening as her orgasm explodes through her. Her broken cries vibrate around my fingers, and I plaster her insides in thick white.

I’ve never come so hard. My balls are buzzing along with every inch of my skin. I feel more alive than I ever have.

I pull my fingers out of her throat, and she rushes to the sink like she thinks she’s going to vomit. She dry heaves, but nothing comes up other than drool, and I couldn’t be more proud.

“God, Angel, you’re going to be my perfect dirty slut.”