Page 54 of Property of Necro
After my time in the basement with Rot yesterday and Necro refusing to come play with us… he also didn’t show up to put me to bed last night.
Or fuck me this morning.
Or watch me shower.
Or hand me a towel and one of his t-shirts after I bathed.
I woke up on my own.
Alone.
My casket was conveniently unlocked, which I’ve suspected it has been for some time now, but I’ve had no reason to test it.
I brought myself up here for breakfast this morning, and now I have to deal with this over a parfait. Them. Fake moans. A shitty attitude.
Normally, I ignore them and toss out the occasional under-breath jab.
Today… Bring. It. On.
Lifting my chin in challenge, I reach out and slap Coffin’s cock, not caring if it hurts or that it swings wide and collides with his hairy, muscular thigh before itreturns where it belongs, pointing straight at me, a bubble of precum on the tip.
His nostrils flare.
Mine do, too.
“Whore,” he seethes, his face turning beet red.
“Bitch,” I bark.
Taking a step forward, he slaps his hand on the top of the island. “What the fuck did you call me?” Coffin snarls like a barely restrained animal.
Cocking my head to the side, I speak slowly so he doesn’t miss what I said a second time. Somebody is missing a few too many brain cells this morning. “I. Called. You. A. Bitch. Bitch.”
A growl rips from Coffin’s soul as he seizes my throat, and I’m airborne for half a second before he chokeslams me onto the floor, knocking all the air from my lungs. Everything whiteouts for a moment. Then there’s pain, so much damn pain, as it explodes in the back of my skull. Blood saturates my mouth as I bite my tongue. Trying to draw breath, I frantically scratch at his arms as he looms over me, blotting out the world with his massive naked body.
I’m going to die.
I can’t breathe.
Tears matte my eyelashes as my heels dig into the floor, scrambling to gain purchase.
Coffin’s eyebrow raises. Only one. Followed by an arrogant smirk.
I want to tell him to go to hell.
I want to tell him that it sucks I have to see his stupid face as I die.
After what feels like millennia, my lungs quit protesting, and I gasp, drawing in the world’s longest, most satisfying breath.
“It’s about damn time.” Grabbing the front of my day-old, dirty shirt, Coffin sits me up and shoves my back against the side of the island, damn near knocking me out a second time. “You good?” he asks, kneeling on the floor in front of me, giving me a clear once-over.
“Fuck,” I force out, then inhale until there’s no space left in my chest for oxygen, and finish with a strong, “You,” on a long exhale.
The smug asshole pats my cheek with two fingers. “Ah. There’s that charming whore. Nice to see you’re not dead.”
I slap his hand away and glare at the bastard. “Funny. You. Want. Me. Dead.”
“Who said that?”
