Page 46 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Desperate for air, I clawed at his wrists. My bulging eyes teared up, my nails drawing blood.

His hips jerked and he held me hostage with his dark gaze, watching the light fade as he shuddered through his release. Then he leaned in close and blew on my blue-tinged lips before dragging his tongue over the curve of my chin and mouth.

His cock twitched inside me as he nailed me to the car.

“My whore,” he whispered in an affectionate tone, at odds with his cruel words.

His next words dripped with danger, “Fucking mine.”

I slumped to the ground when he dropped me like a sack of potatoes and stepped back, pine and mud sticking to his loosely tied Doc Martens.

He zipped his dick away and stared down at me like he enjoyed seeing me freshly fucked and ruined amongst the sticks and stones, with leaves stuck to my matted hair and tears trailing down my cheeks.

Walking up to me, he put his muddied boot on my chest and pushed me back against the damp, mossy ground, the cold seeping through my dress.

He stared down at me from beneath the mop of dark hair that fell over his eyes, and I held my breath as he applied pressure to my sternum.

The sole of his shoe left a footprint and then he stepped back. “Look at the car. Look at what you fucking did.”

My head rolled to the left and tears poured freely from my eyes as I gazed at the burned-out car. His damp, dirty shoe came down on the side of my face, and the odor of rotten tree bark and sticks embedded itself in my nose. My clit pulsed between my legs as he stared down at me with a cruel smirk.

“Ready to admit what you did?”

He pushed down farther, and I moaned, whispering, “I didn’t do it.”

“Sweet fucking lies.”

My legs fell open and the skirt slid down to the apex of my thighs.

“Isn’t that true, little killer? You’d rather stay here with me and be my little whore while I pick your friends off, one by one, than admit the fucking truth.”

“Yes…” My voice shook. I stared blindly at what remained of the front wheel. “At least I’m not the wolf in this story.”

“No, you’re the whore. The naïve little girl in a red hood who lets her own worst nightmare devour her beneath the protection of night.”

I trailed my finger down to stroke my aching clit. What did I have left to lose? Nothing. Fucking nothing. I was the Harley Quinn to his Joker.

No, that wasn’t right either.

Only one Joker existed in these woods, and it was me.

“Are you gonna run again?” Nate asked, removing his foot and digging out a cigarette packet from his back pocket. He lit one up, the embers glowing orange.

“No, I won’t run.”

“Good.” He flicked the ashes over my face, and I watched as they sailed through the air, dusting my lashes and cheeks. “You won’t run from me, because if you do, I’ll steer you back onto the path to Grandma’s house, and we both know how much you like to hide in the shadows.”

More ashes. I blinked up at him, slipping a finger inside me. “I won’t run.”

He hummed as he took a drag. “Your cunt sore?”

“Yes,” I admitted, inserting a second finger despite the sting and a moan danced in the air, teasing the darkness in his heated gaze.

Nate crouched beside me, holding the cigarette up and gazing at it intently while I finger-fucked myself. “Do you know how it feels when flesh burns? When it melts?” He smirked at me, bringing the cigarette dangerously close to my face. So close, the heat licked at my skin. “It’s the worst pain imaginable.”

Tracing the burning embers inches from my lips, his eyes flicked to mine. “You’d scream yourself hoarse if I marked your pale skin with this.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end at the threat in his voice. Nate breathed a soft chuckle through his nose, then pinched the filter between his finger and thumb and brought it to his mouth.

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