"You just want my fucking attention."
Who wouldn't? He stood 6'4 chest puffed out, oozing confidence. Waist dangerously slim in comparison to his thick thighs and that fucking attitude of his..almost as if he was begging you to let him fuck you into submission. It was really all you wanted, for him to take all his frustrations out on you. So you push those buttons you've taken note of over the years.
Paying attention to the things that make his eyes twitch, his muscles spasm when certain things about him would be mentioned--like his mother instance.
"If that's what you want you got it."
Ghost tone gruff, accent pouring from those luscious lips as he lifted his mask to the bridge of his nose, eyes full of hate as he cocked his pistol back. The metals clicking into place with the bullet sliding into the chamber, curling his index finger on the trigger while letting it rest to his side.
You roll your shoulders, soft jaw slightly lifted higher, lips pressed into a fine line. Eyes meeting his with the same intensity, he doesn't chill a bone within you—quite the opposite.
His bedroom eyes glide the match along the striker igniting a flame that threatens to spread like wildfire. Your muscles stiffen when he closes the distance, towering all his advantages, head pushed forward to level himself with you.
"I'd have an easier time getting attention from your dead mother."
Your head lifts more, eyes locked in a battle of dominance and damn was he winning. His brown ovals darkened like wet sand, breath steady like the eye of a storm and yours rapid like the outer bands, and with a comment like that, his lids lower into something more sinister--his hand swinging the gun pressing it right into your temple.
"Take me out my misery, I beg you."
You speak sarcastically as if he bores you, your lips roll over your teeth into a smile—his finger twitches against the trigger along with something else. Something he'd want nothing more than to be pushed so deep inside you, begging him to not stop. The thought draws all his blood to his center and stiffens his length against his thigh. He had a thing for woman that begged--defiant, woman that held no fear in their heart when he's near.
"What's a scary movie without the buildup?"
He walks into you, pushing you backwards until your flush against the stacked tires. He keeps pressing until your squished, calves flexed, on your tippy toes like a ballerina and his chest pressed to your collar.
It shortens the expansion of your ribs, lungs struggling to fill. It excites him—the way your body fights to take a breath and pushes him back ever so slightly. The way you stare up through those long lashes, he'd love nothing more than to coat them and watch them stick together.
Your hands reach for his chest to push him back and he quickly swats your hands—it stings, it makes you drip like a broken faucet. You fight the urge to bite your lips, opting to dig your teeth into the pink flesh inside your mouth instead.
Each breath he takes heats your face, like skin to close to a furnace, it dry's your throat—the air thickening like a humid day in the dead of summer. He presses on, proceeding to smush you, pressing something so deliciously hard into your lower stomach—your hips grind.
A faint groan escapes his throat, makes your ears perk and your pupils dilate observing his lips part. You need him to touch you—he won't, he'd never give you the satisfaction. He brings the pistol to his lips, warning you to be quiet, to shut your fucking mouth and you being the disobedient brat you are. You speak.
"Fuc—"
He moves the pistol just past your ear and pulls the trigger 3 times, you flinch each time the bullet escapes the barrel and it makes the corners of his lips pull into a menacing smile. Makes his cock twitch—leak a clear stringy fluid that deserves to be cleaned by that dirty mouth of yours.
He brings the hot barrel to your neck and pushes it into your skin. The heat of the barrel seers your skin creating a blistering circle and you hiss in pain, squirm against the non existent space. He's absorbing all the friction, swatting your hands away each time you try to push him away.
"Stop Ghost!"
"Beg me."
He bites his lips fighting the urge to match your deliberate movements against him. The barrel cooled long ago and he sees your pores open, sweat dipping down your silk skin. You're close—he's oddly right behind you.
Tongue pressed on the bottom of his teeth hearing you moan when the tip of his head catches that sweet spot, he feels you tense up and pulls away—only inches, enough space to bring the boiling water to a simmer.
"You make me fucking nauseous."
"Fuck you."
You spit in his face, and he stills. The burn on your neck begins to pulse with an annoying throb, the breeze hitting the wound causing it to hurt more. He shoots the pistol again unloading the clip into the ground and quickly brings it to your lips, pushing the barrel past until it touches your tongue.
You muffle a cry as your tongue attempts to move out the way, your hands trying to remove it from your mouth, eyes widen when he his finger curls on the trigger.
He grinds his waist against you watching as your hands fall to your sides—your hips match him. He smacks your face before he grabs and you smile laughing when he removes the pistol from your mouth.
"Fucking crazy bitch."
"It turns you on, doesn't it?"
It does, more than like to admit. He tosses the gun to the ground and his fingers dig into your neck, sends a full body sensation throughout before it gathers to your clit. You can feel his length pulsating through his jeans and you take advantage.
Grinding your hips, getting the friction you need to build the pressure, his grip tightens, your lips part—just a little more and you'll get what you want.
He's holding his release watching your eyes water, face pinken.... redden... spit splattering on your lips as you gurgle breaths. Your body trembling, convulsing from your release seeping out of you. Your eyes roll back, your face swells and he holds you there to fucking turned on to let you go.
His grip loosens as he unbuttons his jeans letting them fall.
"On your fucking knees."
You get yanked down by his hand sliding to the back of your neck and you waste no time tasting him, his tip glistening with a clear fluid similar to aloe, it allows it to slide past your lips and down your throat. His hips buck as he gathers your hair into his fist, your hands on his thighs feeling them tremble beneath your fingers.
His groans quickly turning into cursing whimpers, his head dropping back as he releases you to do what you please with him. You take him in completely, sticking your tongue out and moving it along his balls, which sends him over the edge.
It slows the movement of his hips from thrusts to short and shallow as he seeps into your throat. You swallow it all, not a drop to waste, a smile forming on your lips as he pulls out of your mouth all sensitive.
