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Bloody Fingers & Red Lipstick

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Dolores Lane

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“We cut together, you take the blood, with your tongue." He captures my hand, placing the blade gently between my fingers. With deft precision, he grips both my hand s and the shimmering steel and cuts into his neck. The skin breaks, exposing the underlying tissues. Almost instantly, blood starts seeping from the injury site, escaping, gradually forming a glossy sheen over the cut. He spins me swiftly, my breasts colliding with his chest. Drawing me near, he envelops me in his embrace. I study the wound, a silent storm brewing in me. Instinctively, my lips find his neck, pressing softly against the fragile skin. My tongue flicks out, gathering his blood like children gathering the Halloween candy from each house. His taste is metallic, slightly salty, and somewhat bitter. I pull my lips from his neck, and he catches my chin, bringing his mouth to mine.”

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“If you keep wiggling on my dick like that, you’ll end up impaled on it like a fish on a hook.” She froze for a second. “But… fish are pierced through.” “Exactly.” I smirked darkly. “Think about it.” Her body stiffened and I felt her embarrassment radiating through her skin as her cheeks flushed a deep red. Beautiful. “You’re a maniac,” she whispered sharply. “Me? No, I’m not…” I let out a low chuckle, leaning closer to her ear. “I’m a succubus demon, remember? Fish memory, ashpetal?”

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“I can make it feel even better. I can add my tongue. Do you want that?” “Yes,” I cry out, my feet digging into the mattress. “And what do we say when we want something?” he taunts. My eyes widen and my eyebrows furrow. “Bloody bastard. Just do it already,” I snap. “Nah.” He shakes his head. “This is payback for when you held a gun to my head and made me fuck air. Such a big mouth you had then. Such confidence. Where is that now, Lucille?” If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. “Why do you like to mess with me?” “Because I like that burning fire in your eyes. And it makes your pussy that much wetter.”

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Book:Bloody Fingers & Red Lipstick
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“Your leg hurts?” He asked politely, but I was beyond confused by his behavior. “Your head hurts?” I asked him. “What?” He looked as puzzled as he sounded. I almost laughed, but kept my cool. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?” “Oh, I will,” he said, and stretched his neck and shoulders on both sides. I could hear the sound of his bones cracking, and I could tell it felt good. Then suddenly his face grew serious and he looked at me with those predatory eyes, and whispered, “In a while.”

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