Page 10 of Backwater Boogeyman

My hands roam over her, claiming every inch of her skin. I can feel her heart pounding beneath my touch, echoing the frantic beat of my own. I trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the delicate rise and fall of her chest. Each touch imprints her deeper into my soul, binding us together in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The scar on her collarbone catches my eye, a reminder of the pain she's endured, the battles she's fought. It fuels my rage, a burning desire to protect her from anyone who would dare harm her again. I would kill for her, without hesitation, without remorse. I would end anyone who tried to take her from me. This primal, protective instinct pulses through me, making my grip on her tighten, my kisses more urgent.

I pull her closer, our bodies merging when I enter her, and the intensity of my desire threatens to overwhelm me. Her scent, her taste, the tightness of her—it's all I can think about, all I want. My world narrows down to the sensation of her, the way she moves against me, the way her fingers tangle in my hair, the soft sounds she makes as we lose ourselves in each other.

Jealousy coils around my heart like a serpent, tightening with every passing second. The mere thought of her with someone else, of another man eliciting the responses that only I should provoke, fills me with a dark, possessive fury. I am the only one who can touch her, the only one who can make her feel this way. She is mine, and mine alone.

The intensity of my obsession is terrifying, even to me. It's a dangerous, consuming force that threatens to engulf us both. But in this moment, with her lips on mine and her body pressed close, I embrace it. I let it guide me, let it deepen my connection to her.

Picking up the pace, I kiss her harder, pouring every ounce of my desire, my need, my obsession into it and she eagerly meets my thrusts. I want her to feel how much I crave her, how desperately I need her. I want her to understand that she is the center of my universe, the only light in my dark, chaotic world. And when we erupt, she bites her lip not to scream, her thighs shuddering around me.

As I pull away, my breath ragged, I look into her eyes. The intensity of my feelings for her is reflected back at me, and it fills me with a sense of possessive satisfaction. She is mine. Body, heart, and soul. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, to keep her with me.

Forever. And nothing, no one, will ever change that.

9.

Mega

I lie in bed, wrapped in Lash's arms, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. It's a strange sense of comfort, a mix of safety and danger. We lie there, our faces inches apart, sharing whispers and secrets in the quiet of the dawn.

Lash's fingers trace delicate patterns on my skin, moving over the scar near my collarbone. His touch is tender, almost reverent, as if he's afraid to hurt me. “I know who gave you this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “How do you know?” I ask, my voice trembling with the weight of old memories.

He looks into my eyes, his gaze steady and intense. “I was there. I saw what they did to you, saw their methods of discipline.” He pauses, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and regret. “When you ran away, I followed.”

Shock floods through me. “You... you were at the reformatory too?” The words come out in a rush, a jumble of disbelief and recognition.

He nods, his jaw tightening as he recalls the past. “I couldn’t stand it there. But I put up with it for the rare occasions I’d catch a glimpse of your face.”

I shiver at the memories, the cold, harsh treatments, the endless days of discipline and pain. “I wish I could kill them all,” Lash says, his voice filled with a dark, simmering rage. “For what they did to you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of shared suffering. I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. “We’re free now,” I whisper, trying to reassure both of us. “We’re not there anymore.”

He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a soft, lingering kiss. “No, we’re not,” he murmurs against my lips.

Tears well up in my eyes as the enormity of the moment crashes over me. I have never felt so safe, so understood. Lash might be dangerous, but he’s my kind of dangerous, and a part of me craves that thrill, that edge.

“Meggie,” he says softly, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “Have I been very, very bad?”

I let out a shaky laugh, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Yes,” I say, my voice trembling with emotion. “Were the phone calls really that necessary?”

”Had to find a way to get close to you.”

”And you couldn’t think of anything more…romantic?”

”I thought that was pretty romantic?” He smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes, but the darkness lingers just beneath the surface. “See, that’s why you never belonged at that place,” he says, his voice hardening. “But I definitely did.”

I shake my head, refusing to let him go down that path. “You belong with me,” I whisper, my eyes locking onto his. ”And you’re not all that bad. Only just enough.”

He pulls me close, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that is both tender and fierce.

We stay like that, wrapped in each other, the past and the present melding into one. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not just surviving. I’m living.

Epilogue-four months later

“I’m telling you, a cat would be perfect,” I insist, grinning at Lash. “They’re independent, affectionate, and they’ll keep the mice away.”

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