Page 2 of Beneath the Dirt

She shakes her head.Yes.

“How badly do you want it?”

“So. Fucking. Bad.”

I shift to my knees, giving myself the room I need to undo my belt and lower my pants. Once my cock is freed, I reposition myself over top of her. Reveling in the fact that I can feel her body and willpower dwindling by the second. She’s too weak to fight this—orme. There’s no stopping this. This needs to be done. It’s the only way to move on. To heal.

An irritating symphony of scoffs and whines fill the air as she turns her head to the side, away from me.

“Oh no you don’t. Eyes up here. You look at your big brother when he’s talking to you.” I redirect her attention to me, this time prodding her chin with the tip of the knife. Her breath hitches, fearful that I’ll let the blade slip and that’s the only reason she obeys and cranks her neck back to face me.

With our gazes glued to one another, I lower the blade as I embark on a slow descent from the column of her throat to the swell of her breasts and continue the sadistic trek until the sharpened edge hovers her torso.

I keep it there, applying some more pressure. Not hard enough that it’ll cut her but enough that those pesky fucking clothes of hers—or what remains of them—stand no chance at remaining intact or on her body. I already did a number on her pants, shredding the fabric to make access to that cunt of hers easier.

“There we go,” I beam with pride as I tear off the remaining barrier separating me from naked skin.

I didn’t go through Hell and back to get her to come here again, to the only spot on this property that brought her peace—the fucking graveyard of all places—to waste our precious time in the grave our flesh will soon rot, to be clothed. Her bare flesh, bloodied and writhing beneath mine, is a sight I not only want, but deserve after everything she’s put me through.

Keeping the knife handle clutched in one palm, I skate my free hand to her breasts and cup one in my hand, kneading the perky, full flesh in my palm.

A moan slips her lips, finally accepting that I’m not letting her go. There’s no fighting this. No escaping one’s chosen fate. Might as well lay back, spread those legs wide, and enjoy the performance before the show comes to an abrupt and suffocating end.

I do her a favor and guide the snake off her legs, freeing her of its stronghold on her limbs. The audible relief she has as she sighs is laughable. I didn’t free her from it to ease her fears. I did it to make accessing that greedy sinkhole she passes for a cunt easier for me to dip into.

Her hips lift, bucking and humping at the air in need. Waiting for me to put her out of her misery and fill her with the last cock her warm cunt will ever have.

I know she wants this just as badly as I do. Yet her will hangs on like an impenetrable fortress, as soon as her mouth opens to speak. “Why are you doing this?”

A pointless question.

“Because I have to,” I deadpan. I tug at the edge of my mask near my jawline, wanting to pull it up onto my head, so I can clamp my teeth down on her erect nipple, but it won’t budge. The heat penetrating my entire body acts like a glue, adhering the mask to my skin with no hope of letting me go. The uneven and cracked plaster of my mask scratches my face becoming one with my skin. Transforming me into the role I was destined to play. Her Ferryman.

Fatum enim eligimus.A familiar voice whispers from within. Reminding me that my fate and hers has already been chosen.

“Fine,” she surmises. “Don’t bother, it won’t come off.”

I know. No thanks to you.

She navigates her hand through the dirt and latches onto my wrist. Guiding my knife-laden hand up to her throat.

With our connected grip, we fight for dominance with two differing goals. Hers is to have the knife pierce through her flesh, swift and steady and on her terms. While my goal is to grant her that desire when I see fit. She owes me. Therefore, all her breaths, even her last, are on my time. Not hers.

“Almost time,” I try to reassure her, but the added force we share on the handle, moving back and forth, causes the blade to nick her skin, drawing a thin line of red. Relief loosens her shoulders as she relaxes her hold on the knife handle, giving me full power over it and overher.

I drink her in. It’s impossible not to. Every inch of her is a canvas dying for my claim. No amount of resentment I harbor towards her could change that. There’s no denying her serpent-like charm. She’s as exquisite as she is diabolical. A curse with no remedy.

Knowing what’s coming next, accepting what has to be done, she parts her legs, spreading them wide. Laying in willing silence, with knees bent high, waiting for me to take back what’s mine.

Soil continues to fall, clouding the air around us, reminding me we’re running out of time.

I release a wad of spit onto one hand, wetting it enough that I can glide it on my shaft, lubricating it. My other hand, still with the knife in it, lifts so the blade hovers the column of her throat.

We exchange a heated look. One that says a thousand words without muttering a single syllable, and I lose all willpower. All. Fucking. Control.

I slam my cock into her, eliciting a screech from her that’s both inviting as it is damning. Thrust after thrust, the force I plunge in and out of her needy, tight cunt synchronizes with thepressure I increase on the blade. The tease on her flesh draws a smile on her face that I’ve never seen from her. It’s enough to make me come right now.

“Why now?” A ravenous groan vibrates against the knife hovering her airway. “Why after all this time?”

---