Page 51 of Grave Obsession

“Are you holding out on me, baby?”

“Yes,” she exhales.

“Why?”

“I don’t want this to end,” she confesses.

“Never. You and I will never end. I promise.” She nods.

“Give it up to me, Mallory. Give me what I’m owed.”

I spank her clit, then spit back down onto it and slap it again, the saliva amplifying the sting. She finally lets go and shatters for me. I follow her over the cliff immediately.

She's clawing at my chest, “Come here,” she begs, trying to pull me to her by my chest hair. Please stop, that fucking hurts.

I hover over her as her palms skim my flesh.

“Kiss me,” she pleads.

I’d give her anything she wanted. She knows it, I know it, and I do. My mouth is featherlight against hers as I kiss her soft and sweet. It’s everything I’m not, and everything I aspire to be. Both halves of myself melding into one perfect person for her.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mallory

Sirens. Again with the sirens. Could he maybe pick a less fear-inducing alarm clock sound? I stir, not wanting to open my eyes in case he never put the mask back on. Ghost is wrapped around me, sleeping like the dead. How anyone can sleep through a blaring alarm is beyond my comprehension.

I nudge him. Nothing. I do it again, more forcefully. He grumbles and squeezes me tighter. Fucking adorable.

“Ghost, your alarm is going off,” I protest.

“Five more minutes,” he groans.

“Shut off the phone or I’ll do it...and I have to see to do that,” I counter. That gets him moving rather quickly. I can feel him unwrap his arms from me and the mattress dips and shifts as he rises from bed.

“You can look.” I open my eyes, my breath hitches as I take in every inch of his exposed physique.

Intricately crafted ink paints up both arms and down his ribs. Some realism, some American traditional style, it is all black and grey scale though and it matches him perfectly. He has a section dedicated to horror movies on his right arm. I can make out Billy and Stu on either side of a bloody Ghostface mask, Chucky, Pinhead, Leatherface and Freddy are there too, with Amityville looming large in the background. “Does it hurt?” I ask, entranced by the man before me.

“What?” Raising my eyes to the mask, “Getting a tattoo?” he asks. I nod. I’ve wanted one for so long but have been held back by my past and the fear of it being excruciating.

“It can, some places hurt worse than others. I find it cathartic. An outlet for pent up energy and emotions,” he explains and I absorb everything like a sponge.

“Where did you go? Yours are really well done,” I ask. Maybe one little tattoo in a low pain place wouldn’t be so bad.

“Why? Trying to find out who I am before I’m ready, little siren?” I can hear his worry under the guise of a light hearted quip.

“Huh? No, maybe I’ll get one.” He pulls up his pants and the clinking of his belt is loud in the quiet atmosphere. He moves closer to me and crowds my space.

“And mar this beautiful porcelain skin?” he says, pulling the blanket away and running his hands up my thighs to my abdomen. Stopping to cup my breasts and tweak my nipples between his skilled fingers. My body fires to life beneath his touch. “Tell me, Mallory… What would you get and maybe I’ll allow it.”

This fucker can’t stop me from getting anything. “I'd get Ghostface, right on my ass,” I laugh and he thrusts his fingers into my sore pussy, slow and hard.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Thrust. “Like to kick the hornet's nest and prey you don’t get stung?” Thrust. I know he’s trying to intimidate me but it just won’t work. Do your worst, Ghost.

“I’m funny, and you know it.” My confidence wavers as my hips rotate, chasing the orgasm he’s dangling in front of me.

“What’s funny is this…” He pulls his fingers out of my needy cunt and I whine. God, he can be such an asshole.

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