$ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘɪᴇ // $ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇʙᴏʏ$

Chapter Eleven

I halted about three paces in the motel room, all the things I thought of to say to Ruby in the bathroom now sliding away from me. They just went in one big rush, and I was left transfixed by the sight of him, stood in front of the full-length mirror.

It was alright, though. He couldn't see me making a girlish fool of myself like this, eyes on him as if I couldn't bear to ever look at anything else again. He was too busy looking at his own reflection as it twisted and turned before him, in just the way I'd imagined, when he had told me he couldn't stop checking out the marks on his ass.

His body just eased around at the waist, and then he could see what I'd done to his back. Four distinct marks on either side, all not half as vicious as I'd thought they were a second after I'd made them. They had seemed very red and cruel through the sagging daze I'd found myself in, so much so that I had spent the last five minutes in the bathroom trying to think of a way to apologize for them.

I mean, he asked for the other stuff. He had the opportunity to do vital things, like say no. But he didn't have a chance to do anything about this. I just did it, like a reflex, and now he was marked from the nape of his neck to the backs of his thighs. I had left a trail of destruction everywhere, and though I knew how normal people felt about that I couldn't see any evidence of such on his face.

He didn't look disturbed, I knew. He looked proud that I did that to him, and proud that he could wear it so well. And all I was left thinking after that was, I had never felt that way. I didn't look at myself in the mirror, as though the marks had somehow made me more beautiful. I didn't know what that emotion was like, in truth, or if I was capable of it.

I didn't know if I was capable of feeling anything at all when I really thought about it. Most of me just seemed frozen the second he finally caught me looking, next to his reflection in the mirror.

"Have you seen what you did to me?" He asked, voice some sort of unholy mixture of disapproving and delighted. "I'm like a fucking hot griddle pan."

Of course my immediate reaction was to laugh, because really- what a ridiculous thing to say. And it was just so typically him too, to talk like that while his cock stuck out at me like an accusing finger.

He hasn't had any fun yet, my mind reminded me, but doing so just made me go over to the bed and start doing something odd, like smoothing my hands over the sheets. By the time his focus was all back on me, I was actually primping the damn thing. I was making hospital corners, and fussing over the edges of things, and as I was doing that I became more and more aware of the white robe I'd found in the bathroom that I definitely shouldn't have put on.

The second I bent over I knew what he was looking at. I could practically trace his sightline all the way down to the open V over my bare breasts, and though he had just spent a good three minutes with his face buried in my cunt, there was something very... exposed about that.

I wasn't in my jacket, shirt, skirt and shoes anymore. I was barefoot and doing a series of weird things, and all the while he was watching me. He followed me all the way around the bed to where I had set my phone down at some point, which I picked up and fiddled with.

Despite the fact that I wasn't even looking at anything particular on it.

"Are you okay?" He asked, but I really, really needed to concentrate on looking at my phone for no reason. It was vitally important to my mental wellbeing. "Do you maybe want to go back to the bus?"

I stopped then and glanced up at him, my phone and mental wellbeing briefly forgotten, because it was a question I wasn't sure how to answer. I mean, it was hard to come to a decision on something like that when he seemed to have stretched himself out on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, cock still jutting up at me all thick and faintly glistening.