Contains sexual content, but it is censored starting from "I hear a cupboard door creak open behind me."

Censoring here means I do not name genitalia and use indirect descriptions of hands touching the most intimate places.

You can pay $3 to unlock the uncensored version of this chapter and all explicit extras on my Patreon https://www.patreon.com/collection/LoveInTheBlue

Danm. How long had I zoned out…

"What was it you said earlier,” Mark says to himself. He runs a finger around the top of the wine glass and the motion somehow accentuates the nearly invisible scars on his hands. The more I observe, the more I see them, the accumulation of his pain mapped along his body. “Ah yes, my textbook pretty blue eyes. I must admit your flattery is unique. Most say I have killer looks, that I’m dangerously attractive, or my stare is downright unsettling.” He chuckles to himself and lifts the glass. “Most people wouldn’t dream of touching someone who tried to kill them, Janie. So I can understand if those looks you gave me were a mistake.” Huh..

A ring. On his hand that holds the glass is a thick yet plain metal ring. My lips part, the shocking question formed- “Are you married?” -and he smiles softly to himself, accenting an old pink scar across his lip. My mind wars between wanting to feel that scar and half shock that he might flirt in such a situation.

He lifts his hand and rubs the ring. "No. It's not so romantic. No, it contains poison, the kind that lets you sleep forever. Not so uncommon." He slips it off and sets it down. We look at it a while before he turns and holds out his palm. His blue eyes appear darkened. “Come here. The wine isn’t going to pour itself.”

A shiver nearly runs down my spine. Nearly. Devilishly, I walk past him with the bottle and pick up the wine opener for myself, open the wine and pour messily into the single glass held in his hand until it’s nearly overflowing - a few red flecks landing on his white knit shirt. I lean forward and cup my hand under his to lift and take a sip from his glass.

“Or maybe,” I say, backing away from the drink. “I really like mistakes. But as my friend Donnie once told me, if you're not begging on your knees then… you aren't hard enough.”

He looked forlornly into the overfull pool of wine. “Ah. I’m not trying hard enough, you say.” He says this like he hasn’t been listening, like he wasn’t the one who had brought up the topic. “And how does one try for your affection?”

I lean back against the counter, hands braced. “As I said, they beg. Desperately.”

“And if I tell you, I might die tomorrow and just want some company.” He peers over the wine glass. I smile at the manipulation. Still…I turn slightly away, ready to brush him off, when fingers touch my cheek and slightly- not painfully- curl and grip the side of my hair to prevent my retreat. “So mean,” he leans forward to whisper into my ear. “I spent all this time thinking about you, about us tonight. I risked a lot for you, pretty doll, so don’t go now.” He loosens his hold to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, eliciting a gentle prickle. A breath escapes that I had not known I was holding and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the warm hand left flattened against my cheek.

My spine itches. I’m intrigued. He isn’t begging at all, but still making me feel important...How to describe it? I turn to him. My hand covers his, which is over my cheek. “Maybe you should put the drink down,” I suggest, not sure if he will understand the intention.

“Without a taste?” he says, but he has already set the glass gently on the counter so as not to further spill the contents- its presence no longer required. His hand slides around to cradle the back of my head as he pulls me into a soft, shy kiss only for a moment. He pulls away to look into my eyes, gauging my reaction. I’m satisfied.

I slip both my arms around his shoulders casually and lean into gravity, closing my eyes and meeting his lips with slow, deliberate kisses. The hand at the back of my head tightens before it slides down my spine. Lips caress as his hand curves over my ass, squeezing playfully. I run my fingers into his hair, tightening my grip and biting down on his lower lip as my eyes open and stare into his with desire. We breathe together.

He leans in. Lips meet again. Soft. Caressing like the hand rubbing my thigh. Then deviating and sucking a patch of skin on my neck as I press fingers into his shoulders near-painfully. He hums and licks beside my ear like a starved beast wanting to devour me. I turn my head and recapture his mouth, lest it roam too far from my control. My tongue grazes the tops of his teeth and he allows my tongue to plunge in, but grips my hair and turns me till my back hits the counter, sucking gently back as my tongue ravages his mouth.

His hips press against my knees. A soft-yet-hard bulge is constricted between us. My hand drifts from his shoulder, down the soft knit shirt, and tugs at the button holding his pants. His hand quickly follows, setting himself free before using that hand to rub over the fabric of my shorts, between my legs- inducing a growing warmth. My fingers cling to the bottom of his shirt in frustration as his lips connect with mine harder, seeking to win our game of possession until I yank his head back hard by his hair and…he chuckles.

He drops gracefully to his knees, smirking and never breaking eye contact until he flips his knit sweater over his head. Hot hands land on my hips and glide up to meet my bra. He pauses there threateningly, burning eyes gazing up.

My thumb the side of his cheek adoringly. His lips part, but before he can say or act out any more fantasies I lift my leg and pin him back against the cupboards- a foot against his shoulder- his bare chest now fully open for my viewing pleasure. Ragged circles and lines stand out against pale skin. He looks gorgeous. “Want to…do it here…or…” I leave the sentence open.

“Bedroom.” It's an easy reply. His eyes are shining with lust. A wicked smile teases his intention- he already knows exactly what his body will do to me. “Or…” he continues, “Are you not letting me up until I kiss your feet?”

“Would you?” I tease.

“Would I?” he drawls back. Of course not. You would have done it already. I smile slowly.

“Fine, but you better be naked by the time I get there,” I say. “I will join you in two minutes, so figure out how to present yourself.”

I let him go, not paying attention to his retreating back as I pick up the wine glass and take a sip of the sour drink. Goodness. What was I getting into with this controlling man? I suppose I could change my mind, but… him trying to hold back was also hot. Like trying to tame a wild thing. I wanted to f**k him.

I strip to my underwear, bring the wine glass and saunter to the bedroom where Mark is indeed naked, his hands casually propped behind his head up on a pillow, as though entitled to what will come next. I expected it, the ‘now what can you do for me?’ pose.

“Good job.” My praise is monotone, what he deserves for presenting me with the bare minimum. Then- I dump the full glass of wine, red liquid coating his softly defined torso and soaking his sheet. He doesn't even flinch. I start to expect that he has done this before and feel honestly impressed.

“I've decided I'm going to need to be drunk for this,” I say. Without further ceremony, I straddle him and lick his sweet wine-soaked chest, arching my back like some cat in heat- giving him every bit of showmanship he had been expecting. I knead my fingers into the muscles of his chest as my licks and kisses continue. Not only does he taste good like this, but his slightly firm body is a feast to my senses. Something soft bumps my thigh, but I ignore it.

I suck a particularly soft spot, hearing him moan as my hands slide up to wrap his wrists and I lean forward to inhale against his neck the alluring scents of musk and gunpowder. A blue haze catches my attention. My eyes shift to the blue glow of numbers on the side table's digital clock. His heart thumps beside my ear, his breath tickling the back of my neck. A thought interrupts. How many lasts had he taken? How many last times did he have? “Are you running out of time?” I ask seriously.

The air around us shifts. I let him break my weakened hold on his wrists; his wide hand brushes against my hair and pulls my head down solidly against his damp, warm chest, and the slightly loud beat of his heart fills my head. I lay there, still, oddly comforted. “Not because of you.” His voice vibrates in my ear.

“But you meant what you said,” I confirm. “About the possibility. The last time being with someone.” The blue numbers are all I see- ticking on without us.

“Everyone dies, Janie.”

“But…”

“No,” he cuts me off gently. His other hand, the one not cradling my head, is tracing a circle at the base of my bare spine. “I’m not so incompetent. I’m not so defenceless as to f**k you over behind your back. I’ll do it to your face, darling.” He grips my ass. “So you know…I still want this.”

Slowly I lift up, again straddling his hips. Moisture from the spilled wine drips down my front. His hand rests on the small of my back and I feel akin to a kitten confusedly perched on the lap of a stranger…expecting something.

“Sorry. I sort of…killed the mood,” I admit.

“Well..since you're in the business of killing, would you mind finishing me off?” he teases.

My heart warms at his joke, but it is no longer in my control. I feel like I've misplaced it somewhere and there is only this lump of clay in my chest. “I don’t know why I feel…I feel awful,” I say. I had wanted this.

Fingers grip my chin and force me to look back into his eyes. “Oh, but you do. You know exactly why, my sweet. And you…are quite privileged to be here on this bed because I know precisely how to get a confession. Do you want my help? I can take care of you.”

I blink.

He’s a stranger. I always knew that. I know that, but his hands are grounding. His words are sincere. His intentions are as clear as the raised thing that brushes my stomach. My lips part, my mind struggles to parse the words, “Ah, I… Pl…Please help me.”

I was flipped and my back splashed into the sheets, my head slightly dizzy from the fast transition, rationality falling past me.

He pulled my underwear down, the fabric bunching and edges catching against my elastic skin. His tongue brushed against my inner thigh. Wet, shockingly sweet. He sucked the skin there. Strong fingers slid under my back and gently massaged the muscles around my lower spine as his mouth worked. A half sigh, half moan slipped out as my unknowingly tense body finally relaxed.

A drawer slid open. A prickly solid edge jolted my attention when it touched my bare leg. The smooth crunch of parting fabric and snap of tension on my underwear clued me to what he had cut. Slightly shocked, I dazedly watched him set the scissors on the side table. He picked up a bottle of lube and coated his fingers where I could see him. “Not to worry, darling,” he said. He set down the lube and licked between his coated fingers. “After all, I got you pretty new ones.”

I laughed so suddenly because of the mental image. Him picking out frilly underwear. Gosh, I must have been tired.

“Now,” he trailed a finger down my stomach, and with no further ceremony, his fingers were petting and striking my sensitive spots. "Uh..mmmm," I arch and moan. Finally, I think. “If you take me in nicely, I might buy you more presents to loosen you up next time. Would you like that?” he asks, clearly amused.

“Shut up,” I mutter, “What next time?” He just needed to f**k me. Who said there would be a next time? I drink in the sight of his sexy chest as my lower body aches into him. I let my legs fall open further. “Nngh~. Uh-gh, ahh.”

Yes. More. My mind begs while my lips are silent.

“Is it good?”

F**ck. Cool drops hit my stomach and I moan again, knowing what hangs over me.

I hear the rustle of a package, see the edge of the metallic square gripped between his teeth when he tears it open, and can feel him smoothing the sheath over his weapon.

I grip his thighs, digging my nails in, willing more of him into me. His comforting presence hangs hotly above as he slowly melts me. I stretch and pant, but I’m suddenly left empty. He shifts into position to initiate our connection, but meanly I grab his chin and force him to look at my face. My eyes half-lidded and words sounding drunk. “Hey, where is my interrogation?” I tease.

He chuckles. Leans forwards and captures my lips. I relent my hold and his warmth slips between my legs. I quiver and moan, and grip the sheets as waves of pleasure rock through me. I moan. He moans, and it's the best sound I've heard all week.

He leans in and starts nipping and lapping at my neck like some starved animal as he f**ks me proper. And gods, it turns me on to feel him losing himself to my body. Somehow he gets tighter, bigger.

“Mmmm” he hums pleasurably.

He stops nibbling my neck to raise his torso, firmly grasp my thighs and begins a punishing pace, deep and relentless. Sweet sweat rolls down my skin; I squirm and mewl under him.

“Take it.” His words hit almost as hard as him, stabbing deep, practically an order that I suddenly want to obey so badly.

I cry out in ecstasy and jolt against him as he releases, during which his palm rests on my sternum and fingers rest near my throat. I shudder. Before I can gather breath to tell him off for restriction play, the hand near my neck is removed and he has gently slid himself out, warmth radiating down from the flushed body above me. He presses an innocent kiss on my forehead.

“Now for your interrogation. Was it so awful? Or did you finally forget those awful things in your head?”

I gaze at his dark ceiling and groan. I feel honestly amazing. “You're an ass,” I reply.