Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

I switched to the other leg and repeated the process, that time keeping my focus on her face.

Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back. A sharp hiss mixed with a sigh as she exhaled.

I moved lower and cut a third time, just as superficial.

It seemed to take as much effort as everything else in her life, but she lifted her lids to watch me work. She didn’t rush me. She didn’t tell me to get it over with to put her out of her misery. She didn’t tell me to stop.

No, with her chest rising and falling, her legs relaxed farther.

Giving me a view of the wetness that slicked her upper thighs and made her simple yet insanely sexy cotton panties damp.

Fuck.

If irritation wasn’t a reaction I saw in my targets, arousal sure as fuck wasn’t.

Inching up, I positioned my hand against her panties as I pressed the blade to her skin. As I moved it, careful not to pierce the skin, I dragged my knuckles along her slit. Her wetness coated my glove.

I wanted more.

“Out,” I ordered.

She jolted, her eyes going wide. “What? Why?”

“The angle isn’t working.”

It doesn’t let me touch you enough.

She stood on shaking legs, and I helped her climb out. The blood from the shallow cuts was already dried by the time I got her positioned on her bed and kneeled between her spread legs.

A fucked-up worshiper praying at the altar of a damaged goddess.

Putting my hand between her thighs, I pressed the side of it to her pussy and skimmed the razor enough to draw blood. I eased back, barely teasing her slit with my knuckles as I teased her thigh with the dull edge.

I repeated the pattern again and again. Hard enough to draw beads of blood then light as a feather.

While I played with her, she didn’t verbally speak, but her body said a hell of a lot. Her hips lifted, pushing herself closer as her wetness slicked her thighs.

She wanted more.

I held the razor away as I covered the top of her pussy with my hand, slowly working her clit through her panties with the heel of my palm. Without the distraction of pain, I kept my touch light in case she freaked out or told me to stop. She didn’t do either. She rocked herself against me, starting slow and tentative before growing more demanding.

Giving in to her silent plea, I increased the pressure as I sliced along her inner thigh—deeper than the others but not by much. She let out a soft moan as her movements turned desperate.

Eyes locked on the crimson dripping down her pale thigh, I roughly bit out, “Shirt off, Briar.”

She didn’t question why as she yanked it over her head, leaving her in only a pretty bra and soaked panties. Her objection came when I took my touch away, making her shoot forward to reach for me.

I’d thought her look of admiration was an unbeatable high, but her reaching for me was almost enough to make me lose the tight control I had over myself and her.

“Settle, flower,” I whispered as I tugged my gloves off, needing to feel her without the barrier.

Risk be mother-fucking-damned.

I dragged the dull side of the blade up her outer thigh, watching her breath come faster and her nipples harden under her thin bra. Sliding it under the side of her panties, I pulled the fabric taut and cut through it before repeating on the other side.

The ruined fabric slid down, leaving her bare and spread and so fucking perfect.

Stretching my body over hers, I used an arm to hold myself above her so we weren’t touching. I teased the razor’s handle up her stomach and under her bra before cutting it away, too.

I was about to shift back when she moved, gripping my forearms as she lifted her hips to press herself against me. Shocked as hell, I nearly put enough force on the blade to slice between her perfect tits.

Based on her wide eyes and parted fuckable lips, it was clear she was just as surprised by her action.

But she didn’t back away. She didn’t release me. And she didn’t stop tormenting me with that pretty pussy rubbing against my torso. Even once I repositioned myself so it was my fabric covered dick hovering over her, she ground herself harder. Her moan of frustrated pleasure mixed with a gasp of pain—likely from her raw cuts rubbing my pants.

That wasn’t enough to make her stop. It was the opposite. She wrapped her legs around me, squeezing her thighs to increase the sting.

Giving her my weight, I took her mouth in the bruising kiss I’d been fantasizing about since the first time I saw her in that clinically cold therapy room, damaged and sad and checked out. There was nothing checked out about her right then. She gave back as good as she got, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood.

I reached between us to undo my pants but froze when her pussy rubbed against my hand. Twisting my wrist at a painful angle, I didn’t give a damn if I broke it so long as I felt her. I ran my middle finger up to circle her clit before sliding into her tightness.

Fucking Christ, I’m gonna come from touching her.

Doing something stupid—and not giving a damn—I set the closed razor to the side so I could free my cock without having to pull my finger out of heaven. Briar didn’t seem to notice I’d put it down much less reach for it.

I tore my mouth away from hers as I put my hand on her inner thigh, spreading it wider so I could watch while I fingerfucked her. I ran my thumb softly along one of her fresh cuts… But it wasn’t fresh enough.

My hobby brought me satisfaction. It was never sexual. But it was different with Briar. Every-fucking-thing was different with her.

You sick fuck.

Grabbing the blade, I flipped