Page 12 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

I trusted them enough to know that.

So, I pushed against the rotted wood, using all my strength to shove the coffin’s lid forward. Dirt sifted in, in heavy drifts with every slight movement, and I coughed as it landed in my face. When I had the space, I brought my knees to my chest andplaced my bare feet against the lid. I kicked, and that, finally, made the most headway. I don’t know how long it actually took, but it felt like endless years.

With a final, desperate push, I broke free from the coffin, coughing up soil and gasping for breath. The fresh air was like a balm to my lungs, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet, clean taste of it. One breath, two, three—I couldn’t get enough. I was alive. I was free. Relief flooded through me, the adrenaline high almost intoxicating as I savored the sensation of being above ground once more.

But my relief was short-lived.

Before I could fully regain my bearings, a large, rough hand clamped over my mouth, silencing the scream that rose in my throat. The pressure was suffocating, his grip iron-tight, and I could feel the weight of his body pressing down on me, pinning me back to the dirt. I struggled, thrashing against him, but my strength was sapped, my limbs weak from the effort it had taken to dig myself out.

His voice was low, a rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Not so fast, little saint,” Atley murmured in my ear, his lips so close, I could feel the scratch of his stubble against my skin. His breath was hot, brushing against the curve of my neck as he pressed his mouth to the shell of my ear. The scent of him—earthy, masculine—mingled with the lingering smell of dirt, grounding me in the terrifying reality of the moment.

My body trembled beneath him, a mix of fear and something else, something dark and thrilling. The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins, heightening every sensation, every touch. I was caught between the urge to fight and the intoxicating pull of the danger, the edge of fear that had always been my addiction.

Atley’s hand tightened over my mouth, his grip firm but controlled, and I could feel the power he held in that single gesture. I was at his mercy, and we both knew it.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” he asked, his voice a velvet purr that was both mocking and seductive. “Did you think we’d let you go so soon?”

My heart pounded against my ribs, the rhythm matching the relentless thrum of adrenaline in my veins. I tried to speak, but his hand muffled any sound I might have made. Instead, I could only stare up at him, my wide eyes meeting his in the dim light. There was a gleam in his gaze, a dark satisfaction that sent another shiver through me.

His hand slowly slid from my mouth, trailing down to grip my throat, his fingers curling possessively around my neck. He applied just enough pressure to remind me who was in control, his thumb brushing against the rapid pulse at my throat.

“We’re not done yet, little saint,” he whispered, his voice a promise of things to come.

9

The night clung to every corner of the cemetery like a shroud, the air heavy with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. The distant glow of the manor barely pierced through the thick canopy of trees, leaving the world outside our little pocket of existence entirely forgotten. Time seemed to slow, each second dragging through the dark as I lay beneath Atley, my heart hammering in my chest, the ground cool against my back.

Atley was all shadows and strength, his broad form eclipsing the stars as he loomed over me, his hand still pressed firmly against my throat. The weight of his body pinned me down, an intoxicating mix of power and control that sent a shiver through me. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bored into mine, holding my gaze with an intensity that made my pulse race.

Atley’s lips twisted into a wry smile, the tips of his fingers brushing over my jaw with a gentleness that belied the earlier roughness of his touch. “You’re still fighting,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the sound curling around me. “I like that.”

He slowly lifted his hand from my throat, the warmth of his skin lingering there. My breath hitched, my lungs greedily drinking in the cool night air as I searched his face for any signof what was to come. But Atley was unreadable, his expression a mask of dark amusement as he watched me, waiting.

The ground beneath me was cold and unforgiving, the ground still slightly damp from the evening dew. It clung to my skin, grounding me in the moment as my mind raced to keep up with the whirlwind of sensations coursing through me. The fear that had gripped me moments ago was now mingled with something else—something raw and primal that I couldn’t quite put into words.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife.

My throat was dry, mouth barely able to form words, but I managed a nod, eyes locked on his. There was something about Atley—something in the way he carried himself, in the way he looked at me—that had always made me trust him, even with my life.

The grip on my jaw tightened slightly, enough to make my breath catch in my throat. “Good,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that sent a thrill of both alarm and arousal through me. “Because we’re just getting started.”

With a swift movement, Atley’s hand left my jaw and moved down my body, his touch igniting a spark in me that spread like wildfire. His fingers brushed over the curve of my hip, his touch both gentle and possessive, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Every touch, every movement, felt magnified in the darkness, as if the cemetery itself was holding its breath.

Atley’s fingers made quick work of the overall clasps before sliding down the worn denim and exposing my tits to the air. His fingers were cool against my heated skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second, every inch of my body.My breath hitched as his hand moved lower, his touch firm but teasing, his thumb grazing the underside of my breast.

My heart pounded in my chest, my mind struggling to keep up with the sensations flooding my body. The fear that had gripped me earlier was still there, but now, it was tempered by something else—something darker, more dangerous, something infinitely more seductive. Even though Atley had fucked me brutally earlier with his fingers, this gentleness was undoing me.

Atley leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and something darker, more predatory. “Are you scared, little saint?”

I bit my lip, my body shaking beneath him. Iwasscared—terrified, even—but it wasn’t the fear of what he might do to me. It was the fear of what I mightwanthim to do, the fear of how far I might be willing to go.

Atley’s lips brushed against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine. His hand moved higher, his fingers teasing the edge of my nipple, the touch sending jolts of electricity through my body.

My breath came in short gasps, my mind a whirlwind of emotions and sensations. Every touch, every whisper, felt like a challenge, a test of how far I was willing to go, how much I was willing to give.

And I wanted to give him everything, give themalleverything.

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