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I’m simply fascinated by the stories dead bodies tell. And murdered ones tell the most interesting stories.
“You’re not the Cortez I take orders from. Bark at me again, and I’ll be the one you need protecting from.”
“You can hate me, treat me like a dog, tell me to be a good boy, but where you go, I go. And when shit hits the fan, you’ll be glad I'm in here and not out there.”
“Because when my hands are wrapped around your throat, I’m the one you’ll be praying to.”
“Jesus…look at you fucking your fingers like a desperate little whore. Is it my cock you’re imagining? Stretching you. Filling you.”
“If you ever make me that hard again while torturing someone, I’m fucking you next to their corpse.”
“So, no, Cortez, I don’t want to touch you—I want to fuck you, own you, ruin you.”
“Don’t think for a second that you aren’t the one in complete control. That you don’t have total power over me.”
“I’m yours now, you understand?” he says between grunts and deep thrusts. “Yes, yes,” I cry as he hits a spot inside me that makes light burst behind my eyelids and my clit throb from the inside out. “Say it,” he bites out, jaw tight and sweat sliding down his temple. “You’re mine,” I gasp. “Mine.” “Fuck, I don’t want to be anything else,”
“Wake up, please, I need you. If you wake up for me I swear I’ll fucking marry you. I’ll take you skydiving. I’ll love you with every breath I breathe, every second of my life. Please, just come back to me—”
I tuck my gun away and pull her into me. “I’ll always be your monster, you only have to be my light.”
