The Laughing Man, Book Two: Goner

Chapter Thirteen

Harley's lips descended upon Mr. J's mouth, devouring his voice before he could whip up some witty words to wrest her from her lust. Greedy fingers tore at his shirt to find skin, his blood gathering under her nails as she raked them across his fresh wound. Unlike her, pain wasn't a pleasurable sensation for him and she felt his muscles tense under her from the onslaught, although he showed no outward sign of discomfort. Turnabout was fair play, she thought, as she licked at his lips. He was barely responding to her advances, his head turning with her lips as she kissed his scars with passion. His heart wasn't in it. But the slight movement from him was encouragement enough and it placated her.

Straightening up, she looked down at her prize with glee. He was not pleased with her, she could tell, but Harley was not put off by his disappointment. She had the power. His hands twisted within the cuffs, staring at her as though deciding how best to dissect her, his eyes occasionally flickering down her body with disinterest. Placing the edge of the blade at hollow of his throat, she smiled, reminded of their first lust-filled moment in her office when she made a tiny slice on his throat and followed it up by licking the wound with vigor. He hadn't expected the gesture and the arousal that he felt from it had been extremely evident, at the time. Ever since, it had become a ritual with her whenever he'd allow her access to his knives. Tonight, though, she would forgo it. Harley was determined to make this experience different than anything they'd ever shared before.

"I wonder if you still taste like pudding," she said, lifting her hand from his chest and sucking her blood-soaked index finger into her mouth.

"This isn't doing a thing for me, Harley," Mr. J said, his eyes as cold as ever. Stubborn Mr. J, always wanting to ruin her fun. To take control in the only way he had left and he was damn good at controlling his body's reaction to her.

Disappointed, she pouted down at him. "I guess I'll have to work harder then, Mr. J."

She ripped the knife down the front of his shirt, tearing the fabric away, his scarred chest revealed to her eager eyes. His skin was magnificent to her, serving as a blemished reminder that she wasn't the only freak in the world. Crimson smeared all around his torso from her hands, turning him in a god of blood. She adored every curve of him, every flaw, worshiping his very existence.

Harley paused for a moment, distracted by a thought that crossed her mind. "Have you ever thought about piercing your nipples? That would be hot. I could do it for you, if you like."

"No," was all his said. His tone was unhappy, bordering on hateful even.

"Your loss," she said. Stretching down over him, she directed her attention his belt, deft fingers removing it with ease. The leather slapped deliciously against the hard wood floor as it landed behind her. A quick flick to open the button on his black jeans, and then she eased her lithe body up an inch to lower the zipper. She shifted herself down his muscled body, pulling the pants with her as she went. Mindful of his free legs, she pinned them under the weight of her torso. She didn't want him flailing about while she was pleasuring him. It was amazing that an instrument that could bring forth such beautiful ecstasy was as delicate as it was.

He met her eyes, and she felt herself melt inside. Since the beginning, it was his eyes that took her in, made her obsess over him, eventually desire him. His eyes that never left hers as she gave herself to him.

Lifting her mouth from him, a wicked smile playing across her lips. "You seem to be enjoying this now, Mr. J."

"A common gutterslut could do the same." His words were harsh but the demanding look of sheer need in his eyes told her everything. He desired her warm body pressed against him. "I am anything but common."