That Sik Luv

Briony

He stands above me, his over six-foot frame towering over my measly five-foot-five.

He won. He caught me. I thought I’d easily escape my own home by outwitting him. But instead, I kicked him in the face. I cut him. I smashed a bottle over his head, and yet here he stands. Bleeding above me with eyes that burn into mine, like the entire game was simply foreplay to a man from his depths of hell.

Insanity doesn’t even cover it.

“W-what?”

“I said, be a good girl and suck on my tongue,” he snaps at me.

I’ve never even heard of such a thing.

“You want me to…kiss you?” I ask.

I can see his eyes narrow beneath the cracked skull mask.

“No.” He frowns in disgust, as if the idea is sickening to him. “I told you to suck on my tongue. Wrap your lips around it, and suck.”

His words, the way he’s demanding, and the wild look in his eyes, has my forehead glossing over with perspiration and my body tense with a mixture of nerves and impulses that are seemingly out of my control.

Pressing me against the door, I feel the hardening in his pants as he grinds into me. Just the idea that I can cause such a reaction to a man makes my face flush. He leans down over me, tilting his chin out so our mouths are aligned, his shaggy, wet hair tickling my forehead. He smells like wine, leather, and horrible, soul-shattering decisions.

His lips part as his tongue dips out of his mouth, and he waves it gently before me like the deceptive serpent he is. I feel faint as my eyes drop from his eyes to his tongue. Slowly, with staggered movements, my lips finally part and I wrap my lips around his awaiting tongue. Sliding back off it, I suck it like a lollipop, popping off it at the end.

His wet, warm tongue tastes subtly sweet on my lips, not at all how I envisioned the taste of sin. I lean back against the wooden door, gazing up at him, feeling a strange wave of pleasure wash over me from the simple, yet entirely strange act.

“You felt that,” he says, his eyes studying my face. “That tingly sensation that rolls down your spine and travels between your legs, making your muscles tighten and clench up.”

I swallow, frowning at his accurate description before my eyes dart to the floor in embarrassment.

His hand grips my jaw tightly, tilting my face up towards his.

“Those feelings, those thoughts…those desires.” His grip softens as his fingers run down the side of my neck. “They’re entirely ingrained into your genetic make-up. Originating long before men made up rules to control the depths of you.”

I’m holding my breath, just staring back at him as his nose lines up with mine again.

“You’re a woman without a voice, Briony,” he whispers against my lips. “Let me be the throat through which you scream.”

I’m stunned by his words, and I feel almost drunk in his presence. At least, what I’m assuming being drunk feels like. I’m lightheaded, dizzy, and yet every part of my body is alert and alive, swirling in self-destruction, feeding off the personalized scripture he’s professing.

His head tips towards my neck, where I feel his lips feather against my skin. He trails them down my blood-covered chest until he’s kneeling on the floor before me, his face in direct line with my breasts. My heart rate booms through me as both of his large hands splay themselves across my abdomen. He holds them there before blinking and looking up at me through the cracked skull mask.

Evil can come to you in many forms. Seduction. Like a snake, he slithers his way into my veins, finding the depth of me. Reaching those bones, he wraps himself tightly around me until my life is taken hostage, and my only release is through his maze. He owns me. My freedom in his games.

Slowly, his hands slide. One palm ghosting upwards until his ring-covered fingers are beneath the hem of my flimsy top, the other traveling south at the same time.

I should stop this. I need to stop this. Every part of this is vile. It’s indecent. It’s damaging. But I can’t get my mouth to form the words because some self-destructive, dark part of me craves this feeling of the unknown. I’m under his spell, following him into the deep.

My body demands the sensations that have plagued my mind since meeting him. It causes me to throw my head back against the door when his left hand brushes across the aching place between my thighs at the same time his right hand slides up and cups my breast.

A strangled moan leaves my throat, and it surprises me, this complete lack of control.

My nipple is a tight pebble as it slides between his digits. His fingers claw into the flesh of my breast, squeezing it tightly. I feel the brush of his thumb against the swollen bud between my legs and I nearly buckle, my hand grasping the wood above me while the other palm seals back behind me to the door.

“Your mind is telling your body how to react on instinct, seeking that reward,” he murmurs against my exposed thigh before licking the skin there with a long stroke of his tongue.

Said body is on fire. I shudder at the feeling of his tongue so close to the ache. Suddenly, I need to be touched everywhere and all at once. Places that suddenly crave contact with things I’ve never experienced. He grips behind my right thigh, tossing it over his shoulder, opening me up to him.

“That heat you feel right here?” he says, moving his mouth to the swollen place where his finger just brushed.

I drop my head to watch him, struggling to breathe properly. He inhales a deep breath, absorbing my scent before his tongue slips through his lips and I feel the warmth of his long, slow lick over my shorts. The shorts that now feel wet, clinging to me. His tongue laps at that wetness through the damp cloth covering me and I gasp.

“That’s your body priming you for me. That slippery wetness? It’s your body attempting to make it more comfortable for when I decide to fuck you.” His tongue laps up the sensitive area again in a long, hard stroke, causing me to swallow back a moan.

“But it won’t help, Briony. It won’t take away the discomfort you’ll feel when I finally do fuck you. You must learn to embrace pain with your pleasure. To find that you need it to reach that ultimate reward.” He rolls his tongue up the length of me again and my eyes fall closed. “To be my good girl and take that pain and own it.”

His words are sinful all on their own, but in combination with the sensations? I’m falling headfirst into a swirling pit of flames and loving the burn of his fire against my skin.

With his thumb flicking my nipple beneath my shirt, my breaths ragged, he quickly drops his shoulder, causing my leg to fall back to the floor beneath me abruptly. I stumble slightly, needing to grab the door behind me for support when he rises to his feet, towering over me yet again.

He grips my jaw tightly, fingers clawing into my flesh, forcing me to face him when he says, “But only when you’re ready and begging for it.”

I stare at him in disbelief. That evil smirk of his pulls at his lips before he slowly loosens his grip, dropping his hand from my jaw. He pushes off the door, turning to make his way up the stairs.

At the moment, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing. I just let a strange masked man who I viciously attacked in my kitchen touch me in places I’ve never been touched.

The part I despise most is how badly I find myself craving it again.

I turn my head to the side, seeing my reflection in the entryway mirror. My face is flushed and covered in that man’s blood. I don’t recognize this girl. She’s morphing before me into something entirely unknown. Something I told myself I’d never become.

My eyes pull away from my reflection when I hear him descending the stairs. He jogs down them lightly, crunching over the broken glass of the now shattered art, and stepping over the broken frame. I adjust myself to the corner of the entryway as he approaches, cowering away from him. There’s a cigarette behind his ear as his hand holds out the folded-up blade I was threatening him with in the kitchen. The one I cut him with. I don’t even know how he got it or where it came from.

I slowly take it from him, cautious as he stares dangerously at me while his tongue trails along his lower lip, almost savoring my taste that’s branded to him now. He takes the cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. With his tongue, he makes the sign of the cross with the cigarette, a mocking twinkle in his gaze.

Then, like nothing happened, he twists the knob to the front door and pushes past me, vanishing into the night, allowing the door to slam shut as he disappears yet again.