Violet knows that she should be upset, about the fact that she’s frickin’ dead for god’s sake, and that she cannot leave the house.
Well, the latter doesn’t bother her as much as the former really, because she hasn’t left the house in two weeks and it’s not that big of a deal. She also knows that she should be upset for her parents, for she knows how much they love and care about her, but she doesn’t.
Not at the moment, when her head is spinning and her heart is pounding, as Tate makes his way down her breasts and onto her flat stomach, his tongue leaves hot and wet trails that set her skin aflame. Not at the moment, when her back arches instinctively against his touches and her hands pulling and ruffling and making a mess out of his hair, as that professional tongue of his enters her center, eating her inside out eagerly like a five-year old kid.
“God. Tate.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but it sounds sensual and undoubtedly turns him on. Out of curiousity, he bites at the sensitive skin between her thighs before lapping it with his tongue, and she lets out her orgasm with a loud moan and a throaty whimper.
Tate crawls on top of her once again, a razor blade in his hand and a twisted smirk on his perfect lips. The sight of it brings a seductive smile on her face, and when he captures her lips with his and slowly pierces her skin with the razor blade, she doesn’t think she mind it so much. He’s hurting her and she likes it, because it makes her feel alive and warm. He slides into her, quick and rough, but she doesn’t mind because it makes her feel complete and not just a marionette tied to his fingers.
She’s dead, and that’s… kind of hot, actually.