Page 89 of Priest and his Anarchist

My finger dances across the side of her neck, her body turning still, but her hips still riding over the length of my cock. The fragility of her pulse quickens against my fingers as her lips slow their movements against my jaw.

She sucks in a deep breath when her eyes land on mine before they close lazily, her lashes fanning over her cheeks. “Don’t…” she whispers, pleading. “You don’t have to.” Her lips brush mine gently as her hand slips between us, shifting her underwear to the side. She directs me between her damp slit, seizing my muscles.

“Fuck me, Rabbit—just me, okay?” Her body shudders as she swallows me inch by inch, each time only tightening the tension already between us. Leaning forward, I catch her mouth with mine, nipping at her bottom lip. She shifts, and with one final weighted drop, my fingers dig into her thighs when she buries me deep inside her warmth.

“Fuck, Madness…” I don’t recognize myself when I fall against her chest, my fingers spreading over her back to draw her closer.

She lifts her hips before gliding back down. I wait for it. For years I thought it was a one-off with her and that it was only because of the anticipation she created, but when I fucked her all those years ago, it never came. That familiar frost of isolation.

She pauses, and I search her face. “Scared?”

Her fingers needle the back of my neck, holding me in place. “Yes.” Her eyes flick between each of mine. “Because I know you.”

“Is that right?” Seconds pass when I lose myself in the depths of her eyes. With both hands gripped on her thighs, I flip her to her back.

“Priest…” The purr of my name leaving her further tugs the leashed animal buried deep inside. The one who seems particularly obsessed with her.

I lose my thoughts…

Priest.

Priest.

The snow is thick. Too thick for me to run through, but I have to get her out of here because if they see her like this, they’ll think it was me. Everyone will always blame me for anything that happens, especially when there are dead bodies. I may be young, but I know that the moment our parents see the two dead bodies in the kitchen, they’ll blame it on me.

Luna is seven years old. They’ll never think this crazy fucking bitch killed him.

I lower her down on the pillow of snow. She’s so stupid. Why the fuck am I even saving her right now? She isn’t even going to be with us when I take over as King.

Why the fuck am I saving her.

Her skin is pale against the snow, making her hair darker and her cheeks bright red. Her lips look cracked and frozen, but it’s the blood that’s spilling through the white snow that has me second-guessing. She is hurt. Somewhere. She has to be, right? She couldn’t kill him without injury, surely…if so, the Brothers of Kiznitch are weak. I could take them out myself.

I—my heart feels weird. It’s beating faster than usual, like when I’m running or lifting weights.

I should leave her here. Why am I not moving!

Fuck.

Frustration tugs at my insides, and I bury my fingers in my hair, pulling hard before my knees sink into the snow beside her. It is dark tonight. Too dark. But the snow is so fresh that it reflects off the moonlight in an ocean of powder.

I stare down at the annoying girl below. Her hair is everywhere, all over her face. I want to touch her. She’s always clung to me. Annoying and chatty. At first, I found it exhausting, but it quickly changed to counting down the months before I’d see her again. No one else likes her. But they don’t understand her. Not the way I do.

I should still leave her.

Fuck. I can’t leave her.

But she looks…dead. Heat rushes back to my cheeks, but a chill sets deep in my bones as if I’d bent over and snorted a line of snow. It clings, stuck, unrelenting.

I reach out and touch the side of her cheek. Her mouth parts, turning her head to the side as dark lashes finally separate.

“Priest?” It’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name. She never addresses me. I never thought much about it. “Shit. What did we do?”

“You—” She goes to move but winces in pain. The urgency is potent when I fly to my feet. “—ouch.” She eyes me suspiciously, a slight chuckle. “You’re an asshole.”

“I think you’re hurt somewhere. Do you remember what happened?” I try to roll her to her stomach, but she whacks my hand away, ever the stubborn little shit. Her brows knot together, and when she finally peers up at me, I know. I know that she is my exception.

I have to kill her.

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