Page 38 of Beneath Hoof and Hollow
“Don’t lie and tell me it was anything more than basic. The things you let me do to you and the ways you reacted told me everything I needed to know about your flaccid fiancé.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” I try to keep some firmness in my tone but he’s right. Sex with Leed was so far from the experiences I have with Fier. So different that I still struggle to grasp they’re both the same physical act. “It’s disrespectful.”
“Disrespectful? Oh, nightingale. I can show you disrespect.”
Fier grips my hips, lifting me off the ground and pulling me closer.
I wrap my legs around him.
“You would claim my body right in front of his grave?”
He frowns, his carved mouth jutting downward. “Hmm. You’re right. Not disrespectful enough.”
“That’s not what I was say—” I shriek as Fierdon drops us into the grave.
His grin turns wicked. The orange glow within his skull shifts to that familiar vibrant green. “How about on top of him?”
“On top?!”
Fierdon spins us so that we’re straddling the head of the grave.
“Hands and knees.”
The heat from his face intensifies. I don’t need to look to know his cock has grown to its massive size. The press of it against my hips already has my knees widening.
“If he’s staring up from that coffin, I want him to see every wet, overly stuffed inch of the pussy he lost as it weeps my seed onto his worthless tomb.”
“Fucking hell, Fierdon.” What a horribly twisted thing to say. Twisted, but some part must resonate within me. Dampness collects between my thighs, and that familiar pull has me dropping lower onto my hands and knees in invitation.
Fierdon plants his knees behind me, but the next time he shifts his weight, there’s a crack from somewhere below.
Panic fights past my lust. “The coffin is going to break.”
“So what?” Fierdon coasts a vine up my inner thigh.
“So, it’s not a turn-on for me to see a dead, rotting body!”
“How do you know? Have you been in this position before?”
Another crack. “Fierdon!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll just have to put my creativity to good use again.”
I’m lifted off the coffin by a series of vines that wrap around me and slip inside. I glance behind at Fierdon still kneeling on the coffin.
“It can handle the weight of one of us,” he assures me, though the hint of a depraved grin has me questioning his sincerity. A vine slides over my eyes. “But just in case.”
“I can’t see.”
“That’s the point, nightingale. I want you focused on how hard I’m fucking you and not whether your dead lover’s corpse is making an after-death appearance.”
The vines pull tighter, manipulating me into a position of Fierdon’s choosing. I can’t see how he’s done it, but somehow Fierdon has me suspended above the grave. My hands are tied behind my back, knees pulled open.
“But—” I protest once more, but Fierdon’s cock against my lower back cuts off my words.
“I’ll put this here if that’s what it takes to make you be quiet.”
“In myass? Don’t you dare.”
