Page 2 of Behind the Shadows
“You called me.” The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile, but her face remained blurry.
I loomed over her petite figure, casting a shadow that swallowed her whole. “You should be terrified, my little toy. The things I want to do to you … ”
She laughed, a sound like mocking bells. “What makes you think I don't crave every twisted part of you? All of your darkness. Every ounce of your sin?”
With a swift, decisive motion, I grabbed the fabric of her dress, tearing it open down the front with a forceful rip. The tiny pearl buttons exploded in every direction, ricocheting off the floor and skittering away like scattered marbles. Her exposed breasts rose and fell with her ragged exhales. I descended upon her, my mouth colliding with hers in a passionate clash. Her lips parted eagerly, her tongue dancing provocatively with mine as she pressed against me. Her hardened nipples grazed my chest, sending electric currents of heat racing up and down my spine, igniting every nerve inside me.
I traced down her naked back and over the curve of her ass. Her skin was soft and smooth, shockingly warm in the chill of the cell. I grabbed her ass, squeezed, and pawed at her until she grinned. With a quick move, I pinned her against the wall, and my cock hammered against her stomach. Her body was so fucking small. Our kisses grew more desperate while I moved my hand between her parted legs. She wanted me to fuck her. I could tell from the wild thump of the pulse in her neck, the wet slickness between her thighs when I lifted her and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I positioned my hands beneath her ass cheeks and held her as the tip of my cock pressed against her entrance.
She lowered her head and sank her teeth into my earlobe with such ferocity that blood trickled down my neck.
A sinister chuckle reverberated around the room—mine. If she believed she could hurt me, she was sorely mistaken. The scars on my back were jagged, crimson reminders of agony, barely healed, each one a testament to suffering. Nothing compared to the excruciating torment, a deliberate, drawn-out pain designed to shatter my mind long before it would break my body.
With a surge of raw energy, I lifted her and drove my cock into her with unrestrained force. “Your cunt is soaking wet.”
“Fuck me, Kip. Fuck me hard.” She seized the short strands of my hair with a forceful intensity as I plunged into her relentlessly. By the end, every inch of her would bear the marks of our time together. The rough cement blocks tore at her bare back, each scrape igniting a primal thrill inside me. The vision of her skin breaking, the crimson droplets forming, spurred my thrusts, feeding a hunger that roared with an insatiable desire.
“Just like that,” she whispered in my ear.
Her tight walls clenched around me as she braced against the wall, her breasts heaving with each relentless thrust. Butstill, it wasn't enough. I demanded her cries, her screams echoing my name as I drove her to the brink, pushing beyond the limits of her imagination.
“Do you want to play a game, dirty girl?” I asked, slowing my pace. Our gazes connected, and a spark of interest flickered to life in her blue eyes.
She sank her teeth into her lower lip and peered at me through long eyelashes. I was about to fuck that innocent look right off her.
“I love games.” She placed her palms on my shoulders and dug her nails into my skin as I lifted her up and off my cock. I glanced over at the only so-called furniture in the far corner of the room. Before she could ask questions, I led her over to the bench and motioned for her to sit down.
“Part your legs and show me that sweet little cunt.”
Her breath caught, her full tits moving with the motion.
I placed my fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look at me. If she wanted to resist me, she wouldn’t much longer. “Is there a problem?” I growled.
She shook her head and with a submissive gesture she knelt for me like she’d done it a thousand times—like her body remembered even if her face was a blur. I had no fucking idea who she was. Not really. Just a ghost stitched together by my broken mind.
But she was mine.
“You’re my little whore,” I growled, my hand tangled in her hair as I tilted her head back. “Say it.”
Her lips parted, and her reply was soft but obedient. “I’m your little whore.”
The way she says it… reverent. The word burned through me, a prayer I don’t deserve but took anyway. My pulse slammed in my throat, and I couldn’t breathe around the aching need to own every sound she makes.
I dragged my thumb along the seam of her mouth and shoved it between her lips. She sucked without hesitation—hungry, submissive, worshipful. My chest tightened. My cock throbbed. It felt like she was offering me more than obedience; she was handing me her trust, her devotion, and it was fucking intoxicating. For a moment, I wasn’t just a monster. I was her god. Her executioner. Her salvation.
“Good girl,” I murmured. “Open wider.”
She obeyed. Of course she did. I held all the power. I always did.
“It’s time. Lay on the bench.” I walked across the small room to the dark corner where I kept my most treasured possession. My only possession.
It hung from a thick, blackened silver chain—a gothic crucifix, ornate and imposing. The cross was forged from dark steel, etched with filigree that twisted like smoke, delicate and dangerous. But beneath the beauty was the threat: a hidden blade, sharp enough to slice skin, buried where divinity should’ve been.
It wasn’t just a weapon.
It was a promise.
Too heavy to be a trinket. Too wicked to be holy.
