Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2)

Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) by Suzanne Steele Page B

Book: Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) by Suzanne Steele Read Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Steele
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Your body, your heart, and your soul are all mine, baby. This is about me owning you. This is about marking my woman.”
    Her legs are beginning to shake, and I know she’s going to come just from feeling the head of my cock run over her clit.
    “I bet you’d like that cock buried deep inside that hot little pussy of yours.”
    I don’t give her any time to answer. I just keep pumping my cock with my hand, sliding it slowly up and down her slit while I make sure to hit that swollen little clit of hers. She’s so close to release that her whole body is now trembling.
    “You’re going to come for me, all over the head of my cock and then…”
    I watch her claws dig into the wall and her back arch as she plummets over the edge of ecstasy. I continue running my hand up and down my shaft until I feel my balls tighten, and finally, I mark her with my seed. I rub it in with my free hand like some kind of primal beast claiming his mate. In a sense, that’s exactly what I’m doing—marking my wife, my woman, my partner in crime.



Chapter Twenty Six
    Melanie
    His voice sounds gravelly in my ear when he leans over my back, giving me directions on what to do concerning the man lying in the other room. Though his voice is whisper soft, the raspy growl of a man enraged is evident.
    “You. Are. Mine. Now, you listen very closely to everything I tell you because I’ll be damned if either one of us is going to prison. Keep the wig on. When we go back into the room, ignore the guy and wash your hands with the surgical soap at the industrial sink. Don’t do anything or say anything unless I ask it of you. I don’t want you interacting with him at all. Do you understand me?”
    I listen as he cleans me off, but I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to kill the man. Will it be a bloody mess that sickens me, or will it be a clean kill? As curious as I am, I’m too wary of his current mood to ask him. My only reply is nervously biting my bottom lip and nodding my head in the affirmative. My husband isn’t in the mood for any crap, and I have no intention of pissing him off any further. I know him well enough to know he’s angry about another man pawing all over me; I’ve paid my penance by being marked, but our victim has yet to pay his. There will be retribution for touching Black Rose’s property. I’m not dealing with Charles, my husband, right now. I’m dealing with Black Rose . Clearly, my husband is in the mindset of a serial killer. Though I’ve seen what I term as the serial killer drop —his personality after a kill—this is the first time I’ve seen him beforehand.
    I follow him into the kill room and do exactly as he had directed me. My attention is drawn toward my husband as he stands at the head of the table, eyeing our captive. He’s just regained consciousness but is still in a very groggy state.
    “You’ve been a bad boy. Now, how difficult things are going to be for you depends on how you answer my questions.”
    “Who are you, you crazy motherfucker?”
    My husband’s chuckle holds a sinister tone. He quickly goes from laughing to staring him down.
    “I’m your worst fucking nightmare. I’m also the one asking the questions. Where is Becky Woodrow?”
    “I don’t know no bitch by that name!”
    I watch my husband as he calmly wheels over a small steel table like one normally used during surgeries. It holds various implements of torture, and they’re all neatly laid out on a blue, heavy-duty, shop paper towel. Everything in this room is perfectly kept in order and sanitary. Looking around, it’s reminiscent of the operating rooms I have worked in on a daily basis for the past several years. I watch as he picks up a skewer that has been honed to a razor sharp point. It’s evident that a lot of time and precise attention have been given to even the smallest detail. I’m finding out very quickly my husband is even more meticulous than I ever could have suspected. I’ve always known he was

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