Deviant

Chapter 10

DEVIANT

Callie Hart

Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

CHAPTER TEN

 

 

ZETH

 

This girl's a ticking fucking time bomb, and she's about to go off in this bed. I'm gonna make sure of it, if only to reward her for not pissing her pants when I told her I killed someone less than a month ago. Most girls would have reacted, but not her. I'm not blind—I know that I scare her. That just means she's not a fucking moron, though. There are a small percentage of women out there who wouldn't care that I take people's lives when the occasion calls for it; they're the ones I like to term fucking mental. Why would I want to screw an unhinged person?

Sloane has a healthy fear or me, and that suits me just fine. She doesn't know what she's just signed herself up for, though, not really, which positively fucking thrills me. I'm still sticking to my scare the living shit out her plan, but the greedy side of me wants her to enjoy it a little first. I might just enjoy it a little, too.

I smile like the cat that got the fucking cream when she tells me yes. I knew she would; there is no reality in which she was ever going to say no. I stand up, leaving her rigid on the bed, and walk over to the doorway.

"Stand up," I tell her. She moves slowly, watching me, like she's waiting for me to morph into some kind of monster or something. Poor pet. She should already know this is what a monster looks like. Once she's standing, I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms across my chest.

"Strip."

She wants to say no. I can see it on her face, but she's trying hard not to upset me, too. She takes a hold of the hem of the tiny, skin-tight black dress she's wearing and hikes it up enough to show me that she's wearing proper stockings and a garter belt. I'm fucking crowing on the inside. No girl wears that shit unless she knows she's getting fucked. Sloane can deny it all she wants to, but she knew this was happening tonight. Her fingers move carefully over the catches on the suspenders and then she props her foot up onto the bed, gently sliding the stockings first down her right leg and then her left. Her measured movements aren't because she's a master of strip tease—they're because she's shitting her pretty little lace panties—but she's having the same effect on me regardless. My dick is throbbing in my pants as I watch her, but I don't touch it. I won't touch it for a while yet.