Page 32 of Strangled
“Mine,” Lucian grunts, his hips smacking against my ass. I’m dazed all over again, drowning in waves of striking pain and hunger as Lucian claims me.
His arm wraps around my chest, hauling me against his front. I shiver when our skin comes into contact. It’s the first time I’m feeling him—all of him—and I’ve never experienced anything like it.
Teeth score their way across. Every bit of my flesh stings and aches from Lucian’s claim over my body. I cry out, releasing all of it through my endless screams and bellows.
Every yell, cry, whimper, causes his movements to increase, past the point of being frantic. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s clawing at me, fucking into me.
We’re rutting against one another, me slamming my ass back and him sinking impossibly deep. Our height difference does wonders in this position. I don’t have to move at all—his dick is angled just right that he strikes my prostate with brutal accuracy on every plunge. My dick bobs in the air between us, untouched and twitching.
Fingers clasp my throat, squeezing and controlling my every breath as he pins me to his chest. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to—and I don’t.
“Mine. Forever.” Lucian’s words travel down my ear canal and scratch an itch deep in my core. My eyelids crack open through the hazy, lust-filled daze. The window directly in front of me is covered in years worth of grime and cobwebs—no surprise there. Through the glass, I notice the faintest touches of the sun on the horizon.
The light of a new day. Appropriate seeing as I feel like an entirely new life for me has just begun.
The creaking, almost squeaking, I heard before snags my attention now that my eyes are open and I’m not drowning in my own ardor. I drag my gaze around the room—an attic it seems to be based on the height of the window and the depth of the wooded landscape below.
The rafters are low, exposed, and some are barely hanging on.
“Look,” Lucian’s voice booms out, snatching my nape and turning my head to the right with his grip on my throat.
I can fuckingfeelevery last ounce of blood as it drains from my face. Nausea twists in my gut, and every modicum of strength I had diminishes from my limbs at the sight before me.
Bodies.
Four fucking bodies hang from the rafters on the right side of the room.
“No, no, no,” I croak, disbelief the only thing I can feel. The rest of me is numb, even my ass as Lucian continues to plow into me, my body jerking with every brutal thrust.
I stare at them, eyes bulging, as they sway slightly, the plastic encasing their bodies crinkling from the infinitesimal movement.
“They’re one within now,” Lucian’s voice is soft now, a caress against my aching skin.
“W-what thefuckdoes that mean? Get off me! Fucking stop!” My words come back to me in a rush of confusion.
“I thought it was you, that you would be my three, and that would be it,” he muses quietly, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts of his cock in my channel. I can’t think properly with him inside of me.
It’s too confusing.
“Get out of me. Stop, please.” I result to begging, anything to get him to leave me alone so I canunderstandwhat the fuck this is.
Nothing makes sense again. Just as it all started coming together…
I should have known.
He’s a killer.
“You killed them,” I gasp, then moan uncontrollably as he rotates his hips, his head rubbing against my prostate.
“They killed me first,” he counteracts, lips against my throat, blood pulsing between us. His fingers are still played on my neck, his hold possessive—controlling.
“I-I don’t understand any of this,” I cry out, tears leaking from my eyes, blurring the sight in front of me. I can’t tear my eyes away.
Plastic covers every inch of the bodies, cocooning them in white. It’s wrapped so tightly; the shape and curvature of their bodies is vastly distinguishable. They appear to be men, but who, I couldn’t fucking say. Rope hangs from the rafters and attaches somewhere on their bodies, keeping them in place.
I’m gaping. Tears flow from my eyes unwittingly, the droplets sliding into my open mouth, stinging the cut on my lip. Salt lingers on my tongue, drying out my mouth.
That’s when it hits me.
