Page 18 of Grave Love
My hands shudder. The only thing more insane than his proposition is the fact that for a few seconds, I actually thought he was making a real offer.
He’smockingme. Playing with my desires. Acting as if my whole life is a joke.
I ball my fists.
“Go to hell,” I say under my breath. I shake my head, finally stepping away from the wall. There’s nothing left to talk about. I cross the main road to my car.
“Already there. You know that,” he shouts. “And remember, little corpse: if you tell Denise, I will too.”
I twist around and stand on the edge of the street. The moonless sky casts Blaze in an eerie glow, a blue mist shadowing his pale face. A black, long-sleeved shirt hugs his shoulders, highlighting his broad chest.
I have no idea what he did before working at Last Spring, but it’s clear that he’s physically strong. And a part of me—buried underneath everything sane—wants to know what that strength feels like.
He winks, then uses the back of his hand to shoo me away.
“Give me your final answer soon, love,” he shouts. “I’m getting impatient.”
I shake my head furiously this time. This isstupid.There’s no reason to even entertain the idea of us working together like that.
“There is no final answer. I’m not doing anything with you,” I yell.
He lifts his shoulders, his lips pulled into an irritating smirk. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
Still here.
I bite my lip, breaking the skin, the tang of metal spreading over my tongue. I spin away, then run to my car. He’s right. By arguing with him, I’ve considered his idea for too long.It’s insane.I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. And no one needs me.
Not even Blaze.
I pull out of the parking lot, then glance over my shoulder. Blaze slants against the mortuary, lazily watching me drive away. He raises his hand, my clothes dangling in the air, the pant legs swaying like the rope of a noose.
Chapter8
Blaze
My little corpse goes home,so sullen and shocked by the entire affair. It’s intoxicating, knowing how much she’s affected by this. She knows what she wants, and eventually, that chaos inside of her will dominate her decisions.
It always does.
Once I’m sure she’ll be in bed, I drive to her house and park two streets down. I hop the fence until I’m outside of her bedroom window. Inside, her hands are at her sides like a corpse in a casket. Her chest rising and falling. Unconscious. Asleep.
An empty bottle of vodka rests on her nightstand. My corpse always has a backup plan to get her to sleep. I open the window. Crawl over the ledge. Her legs are spread—this time not covered by a dress—and the scent of her musk overwhelms me: the sourness of her adrenaline masking her inner sweetness. The hunger settles inside of me, eating me alive. She’s not a traditionally attractive woman by any means, butfuck,my dick gets heavier just smelling her. Ash and rancid fear. Sweet and coarse. A need to have her, to use her cunt, to make her die for me, controls me like a finger pulling back the hammer of a gun.
My boots crash onto the floor. I roll my eyes at the excessive noise; my horny self is getting the best of me. I need to be more careful. Ren groans as she flips onto her side. My cock hardens. Soon, she’ll get that never-ending bliss. Soon, she’ll be mine forever.Soon.Whether she likes it or not.
But fuck me—I want her tochooseme. I want to know what it’s like to fuck chaos until it submits. Until it gives me exactly what I want.
A door creaks, muffled by the walls. The grandmother’s bedroom. My veins throb as the staggered footsteps of the grandmother leak through the house. I slide under Ren’s bed, my shirt scratching against the hard carpet.
The bedroom door opens, socked feet shuffling forward. The grandmother scans the area, analyzing whether there’s any danger.
A few seconds pass. Then she closes the door, leaving me alone with Ren. She doesn’t care about the open window. The empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand. The barren pill container. The grandmother only cares about herself. I can hear it now, the calming thoughts she must tell herself:I must have heard the neighbors. Ren is sleeping. Everything is okay.
Ren’s sleeping breath levels. She’s found her serenity again, and she’s so vulnerable that my cock twitches awake. I unzip my pants. My fat dick springs forward, the tip scratching against the jagged bed springs above me. I rub my palm along my length, using the dry friction, my fist pumping into the coils each time I reach the head. I picture Ren with a bag covering her head, like a prisoner waiting for her torture. Only aware of the distorted world in her bubble.
I imagine her blood spilling onto the fabric. Drenching her in it.
I grunt as the vision changes: I rip that canvas bag off of her head, see her expression as she comes before dying and leaving this fucked up world, and it pushes me over the edge. Forces the orgasm out of me. Come drips over my hands. The liquid oozes down, coating my skin.
