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She continues slicing something on the chopping board, using the precision of a sushi chef. I glance over her shoulder to see what she’s cutting, and my heart stops. It’s a severed penis.
She’s like a cat that’s eaten the proverbial canary and gives no fucks that it has feathers sticking out of its jaw. At the third bite, something inside me snaps. I close the distance between us and pry the shit out of her hand. “You are not eating a cock sandwich,” I snarl. “Not in this house.”
“A man came to the window,” she says, her voice distant and flat. “He was rude.” “He touched you?” “I stabbed him in the eye.”
“You can’t go around stabbing every man who shows you disrespect,” I say. “Why not?”
This reaction to nearly killing him is unexpectedly arousing. I want to do it again.
No part of me finds being burned alive while clinging onto another man arousing, but my libido thinks anything Seraphine does is a sexual wonder.
“You’re mine,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Who do you belong to?” “L-Leroi,” I reply with a whimper. “Good girl. See how well you’re gripping my cock? That’s your cunt inviting me in, welcoming its new owner.”
While I’m taping plastic wrap to the floor, Seraphine returns with a nail gun. I raise a brow. “You should see all his tools,” she says, her cheeks flushed. “He has so many.” “Can you do something for me?” I ask. “What?” “Don’t touch his cock.” Her brows pinch. “Why not?” “If you touch him like you did that other guy, I’ll put a bullet through his head.”
“And you love me, too,” he says. “You’re wrong,” I snap. “Every man who has ever touched you is either dead or disfigured,” he says. “Yet I’m still here with only a stab wound. You purposely missed my vital organs. That’s your way of showing me love, angel.” “That’s stupid.” He chuckles. “Is it? You’re holding this scalpel to my throat and not cutting it. That’s your way of saying you want us to be together.”
