“Ohh, like a safe word?”
More like a break from my darkness. But I nod. “Yeah, a safe word. What do you want it to be?”
“Violet,” she says without thinking. “I don’t like it as a color. It’s less superior than purple.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you’re starting to get to know me. Congrats on becoming a VIP.”
I flick her across the forehead teasingly, not hard enough to hurt.
She slaps a palm on the assaulted skin. “What was that for?”
“For your smart little mouth.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment—oh no!” She stares up at the sky as it opens and rain pours out. “My hair. Come on, England. Damn it.”
She runs to the door that leads downstairs with her hands covering her head.
Upon finding refuge in the doorway, she looks behind her to find me standing where she left me.
I’m staring up at the sky, letting the rain soak me in seconds. I close my eyes and allow it to wash over me.
I’ve always loved the rain.
It rained when I woke up in the hospital that day and the day I met Mum and Dad for the first time. In a way, rain rinses away everything.
Including a bloody past.
It gave me a new beginning, even if only temporarily.
“Creighton, what are you doing?”
“Feeling the rain.”
“But you’re all wet!”
My lips tilt in a smirk. “Is that comment supposed to be about me or you? Last I checked, your cunt was all wet after I punished it.”
“You…damn sadistic pervert.”
“And that’s ten.” I open my eyes, cock my head in her direction, and extend my hand. “Come here.”
“If you think I’m stepping out in the middle of that rain, you’re crazy.”
“Isn’t craziness normal in this crazy world?”
“Nuh-uh. I spent two hours fixing my hair to look this gorgeous.”
“If you keep hiding from the rain, you’ll miss out.”
“I’d rather miss out than ruin my hair and clothes. Even all the food is destroyed.”
I lift my shoulder and close my eyes again.
Annika’s probably flying downstairs to dry her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a change of clothes lying around somewhere. She’s always prepared for these types of situations.
Always strives to look her best, as if anything less is a direct insult to her personality.
Slow classical music fills the air before a small hand slips into mine and the scent of soft violet fills my nostrils. “If I’m going to ruin my hair, you better dance with me.”
I open my eyes and stare down at her petite face that’s all soaked. Droplets of water slip across her cheeks and to her neck. Her white top has become transparent, molding against her strapless bra and revealing a hint of her round, perky tits.
I make a mental note to give her my hoodie before we go down so that no one gets to see her like this.
“I don’t dance,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.” She places her hand on my shoulder and plants mine on her waist, then starts to move slowly to the rhythm of the music.
She feels so small and right in my arms.
The need to feast on her, devour her, eat her the fuck up pulses inside me like an urge.
On.
And on.
And fucking on.
She must see the animalistic need on my face, because her lips part. The air constricts, shifting with unbearable tension that’s been growing ever since I spanked her and she came from it.
Not only did she not mind the pain, but she was also turned on by it.
I wonder how far I can push her before eventually finding her limits.
I wonder if I’ll stop at such limits.
“Now you make me spin,” she whispers, her voice sounding too loud in the silence. Then she uses my hand to twirl her body with the grace of a feather.
I’m trapped by her elegance and how right she feels in my arms, how I want to keep her pressed up against me, so I pull her back and she crashes against my chest.
The moment she gasps, I lower my head and capture her lips with mine. Annika goes slack against me, her mouth slightly open, probably due to shock, and I use the chance to thrust my tongue inside.
I feast on her as if I’ve been starving for a taste, a sip.
A kiss.
My lips pressing into hers, my tongue confiscating hers, licking, sucking, biting and biting and biting.
She whimpers, her hands going limp on my shoulders, and that might as well be an invitation to eat her alive.