Page 52 of Behind the Shadows
“You gave it a good try, little ghost. Just not good enough.”
She stilled against me. “What do you want?”
“Answers but first …”
I threw her onto the ground, savoring the sight of her crawling away from me as fast as she could. Survival instinct was an interesting thing. She knew without a doubt she couldn’t escape me, yet she tried regardless.
With a swift move, I grabbed Holland and rolled her onto her back before I pinned her arms over her head.
“Why did you change your name?” I asked.
She swallowed hard before she answered. “I was running from someone. Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job though.”
“Why were you running?”
“He’s a dangerous man. Evil. He made Cooper look like an angel.”
I tugged on my cross, the breakaway chain giving way. I forced my knee between her legs, forcing them apart and allowing me the access my dick was begging for.
Her eyes followed my movements as I placed the crucifix against her pussy.
“Do you remember?” I was curious how much she thought was the Ambien.
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with need. “I thought it was a dream until I saw the bruises on my thighs the next day.”
I placed my hand on her chest and held her down, my fingers digging into her flesh as I rubbed the cross against her pussy through the thin fabric of her shorts. My cock was rock hard, almost painfully so, but the ache would be worth it once I claimed her.
“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.” My tone was clipped and authoritative with no room for arguing. I flicked open the blade of my knife, the cold metal glinting in the dim light, a silent threat if she dared to resist.
Her chin quivered as she stared at the weapon, fear dilating her pupils. But when she lifted her hips, it wasn’t just terror guiding her—it was need. A shiver rippled through her as she slid off her clothes, her thighs parting in invitation even as her eyes screamed conflict.
I dragged the cold silver over her slit, watching her breath stutter, her juices slicking the metal. My pulse thundered. She wasn’t only scared. She was turned on—wet, desperate, and trying to hide it.
The realization lit me up from the inside out. She might fight me, but part of her wanted this. Wantedme.Holland had a darkness in her that matched my own, a desire to dance with the devil. And fuck, that made me harder than ever.
I roughly spread her lips and thrust the handle into her wet pussy, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, and her hungry cunt drew the metal deeper inside.
“You’re such a dirty whore, fucking a cross. You like it. You like breaking the rules, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she panted as I picked up the pace.
“What did this man do to you? The one you changed your name to avoid?” My thumb rubbed over her clit as I waited for her to answer.
“I can’t tell you.” Her hips lifted off the ground as she moved in sync with the crucifix. “It’s too dangerous.”
I smirked. “More dangerous than the devil breaking into your house, killing a man, and then chasing you through the woods?”
She nodded, a soft moan escaping her.
I wrapped my hand around her throat, her pulse quickening against my palm. Her scent was intoxicating, a potent mix of fear and arousal that sent my senses reeling. I flicked her clit with my tongue, a light tease that made her hips jerk as she clawed at me, nails biting into my flesh as she struggled for breath. I glanced up, seeing shiny tears form in her eyes, which glistened under the dim light.
As I pressed my palm harder against her throat, a flicker of clarity cut through the haze. The fury I felt for Holland wasn’t hers to carry—it was Mother’s. Her voice had been whispering in my head for years, twisting memory into knives, painting Holland as the enemy until I couldn’t tell truth from lies. For a breath, I saw it. I knew it.
And still, I couldn’t stop. The bile rising in my chest wasn’t just desire or rage. It was the sick realization that every thrust, every choke, was me trying to exorcise my mother’s poison from my dark soul, to silence the lies she’d carved into my flesh and mind. My grip shook, my vision swam, and the brief clarity splintered into static. I was slipping again, dragged back into the madness, the edges of reality fraying until all I could taste was Holland’s fear and my need to break her. If I couldn’t silence the ghosts in my head, then I’d silence her cries instead. I bentlower, drawn to her like a starving man, needing to devour, to consume.
I licked her pussy, a long, languid stroke, savoring the taste of her on my tongue. She would rethink who the real monster was. Draco was nothing but a shadow, a weak and pathetic excuse for a man.
I loosened my grip just enough for Holland to drag in a breath, her chest heaving, but I didn’t let her go. Couldn’t. The feel of her trembling under me lit a fire I’d spent years trying to smother. With one hand, I removed the cross from her and set it beside us in the dirt. With my other hand, I worked my jeans open, buttons snapping, my cock straining for her.
