“Oh, God, stop, it hurts!” The branding device she has held over the stove’s open flame in the kitchen is still hot enough to scorch my flesh as she presses it into my chest, searing her brand right above my heart.
“Take these, love,” she presses more pills between my lips and I gratefully accept them, swallowing them down with the water she offers.
I try to look down at my chest but my muscles won’t do what I want. My voice comes out in a strained whisper, “What is it?” It’s the last thing that escapes my lips before I pass out from the pain. When I awaken later Georgia is smiling down at her handiwork, the wound she managed to bandage while I was unconscious.
“It’s the name you gave me, darling—Femme Fatale. You branded me with it in the press and now you will carry it, too. Remember how the press started calling me the Femoral Fatale?” She rolls her eyes before looking at me gratefully. “You knew I deserved better than that horrible, unimaginative pun. You told the press I was a real, live Femme Fatale, and they loved it. Ate it right up, didn’t they? Much classier, I think. So it’s only right that you see it every day for the rest of your life. Just think…” she runs a finger down my chest and her eyes light up when I gasp at the contact with my bandaged wound. “Every time you’re naked, you’ll think of me. Mmmm…I bet you’ll like that.” Her hand slides lower, moving across my lower abdomen and through the patch of dark hair that leads to my erection. She caresses my length with long, leisurely strokes, then takes me into her mouth, rolling her lips and tongue around the tip before sinking all the way down my shaft to deep throat me.
It’s sick that I’m enjoying this but, sweet Jesus, her mouth is perfect, her lips are perfect. I always knew this would be perfect. Perfect…
My mind is bleary from the narcotics but my body is wide awake and ready for her.
“You’re mine, love, there’s no denying it,” she says serenely, flicking her tongue up and down the sensitive vein that runs along the length of my engorged cock. She sits up and strokes me, asking indignantly, “Do you really believe I’m going to let them put me back in prison?! It really doesn’t matter what they do. Because I’m in here.” She smiles and presses a fingertip to my chest, just below the brand. “And here,” she whispers as she strokes a fingertip over my temple.
She applies herself to her task, using both hands now, frowning earnestly as she watches her hands move apart and together in slick slides against my heated skin, over and over. Her strokes become frantic and my hips buck wildly into her hands, the orgasm building at the base of my spine. “You’ll never be able to shake this darkness that we share. Why, we’re a match made in…hell.” At that, I surrender the last vestiges of control and can only stare helplessly into the lovely, empty eyes that will forever haunt my dreams. The orgasm rips through me and I come in a gush that feels endless as it spills over her hand and onto my stomach.
“Rest now, love. You’ve made me so happy, agreeing to bear my mark,” she purrs as she rubs my cream into her breasts in slow, languid strokes. “So you see, no matter how this ends, I’ll be with you and you’ll be with me…forever.”
She’s even crazier than I thought. She actually believes I’ve agreed to her scarring my body.
My body gives in to the numbing effects of the narcotics she has fed me so relentlessly. I lay my head to the side; I’m so tired. I can breathe easy now. Maybe if I give in to sleep, when I awaken this will all just be a dream.
An excerpt from Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2) available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Steele/e/B00C9L6YRQ
©2015 Suzanne Steele