Page 26 of Trick or Treat: The Rebirth
"I came to see you," I reply, feeling the blade shift against my skin, urging me to comply.
“Why are you back here where you don’t belong, Hunter?” Her anger is potent, and it’s the very fire I need.
"I saw the cross and my curiosity got the better of me," I growl, spinning to meet her gaze with my own knife pressed dangerously close to her throat. “You really had to bring them here? You dug up their bodies?”
"I dug up their bones," she whispers, pressing into the blade with a reckless defiance in her eyes. “That’s all that was left of them.”
No further comment is made regarding my question about the bodies, and I don’t push it. There’s an edge to her tonight, and I have a vested interest in staying alive—for now.
In a moment of recklessness, I grip her throat, pressing my knife against her lips, and bend her over the wooden cross. Dressed in a long t-shirt and delicate black lace underwear, I rip her shirt apart and slice through her underwear, feeling the warmth of her pussy as I swipe my hand against her wetness. Dripping.
Stepping behind her, I kick her feet apart and pull my cock out, the blade resting against her throat. She arches her back, presenting herself fully and pushing her ass back against me, the moonlight cascading around her dark curls like a halo.
We are suspended in a moment that feels raw and primal, the electricity between us thickening. I can feel her teetering between fear and something darker—something intoxicating and inviting.
“Look at you, all ready,” I murmur, a low chuckle escaping as I press the cool steel of my blade harder against her throat, areminder of the control I wield, igniting that flicker of rebellion in her eyes. “You want this, don’t you?”
Her breath hitches, a sharp intake that pierces the chill in the air. We’re caught in a dangerous game, a dance straddling the line between desire and danger, sanity and madness. My blood races with adrenaline, heightening every sensation—the way her body trembles beneath me, the intoxicating blend of fear and arousal we can’t seem to resist.
“You’re insane, Hunter,” she whispers, her voice layered with defiance that almost makes me smile.
"I prefer the term 'passionate,'" I reply, my words laced with darkness. As I press the blade a little deeper, she shivers beneath me—her body betraying the thrill of the moment.
“You’re playing with fire,” she warns, her eyes flickering between dread and reckless excitement—a spark that pulls me further into her orbit.
"Then let’s see if we can’t create a blaze," I say, a wicked grin spreading across my face as I twist her hair, pulling her head back slightly. The thrill of it all envelops me; the madness feels intoxicating.
“Maybe I’m not the one you need to fear,” she retorts, her eyes daring me to continue down this chaotic spiral.
It’s in that moment I see it—the flicker of her own unhinged nature. She may think she can seize control, but we’re lost in a twisted dance, pushing each other to the very edges of our sanity.
“Keep talking, Bones,” I urge, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But remember who holds the blade.”
With that warning hanging between us, I loosen my grip on her hair and slide the knife down, tracing her collarbone before letting it rest against her exposed skin.
“What do you want, Scarlett?” I murmur, leaning closer to breathe in her scent—an intoxicating blend of fear, longing, and danger that pulls me deeper into her world.
Her eyes, wild and tempestuous, hold a multitude of emotions, and for an instant, I yearn to navigate the labyrinth of her thoughts.
“You know what I want,” she exhales, challenging me with her words.
And just like that, she tilts her head slightly, offering me the gentlest invitation to explore the delicate line between pleasure and pain. Everything else fades—the cemetery, our haunted pasts, the shadows of others who once consumed her. It all collapses into the pulse that connects us, raw and exhilarating.
“Show me,” I demand, my fingers trailing down her back, savoring the thrill of her challenge, the adrenaline intertwining with a deeper need.
As she complies with a heavy breath, I sense we're on the brink of something irrevocable—a dark descent into oblivion where salvation and damnation blur. And as we plunge into the abyss together, I realize I don’t just want her to forget them. I want Scarlett to remember only me.
When I slide into her, pressing on her lower back as she rises on her toes, her pussy swallows me in a vise grip, my fingers sinking into her hip. She moans. I growl. My eyes roll back in my head with each thrust. She rocks with me, slamming back against me so my cock goes as deep inside of her as it can.
But just as the rhythm between us begins to take on a primal cadence, the haunting memories of their names etched into the wooden cross invade my thoughts. Blade, Saint, Nixon, and Riley—shadows of her past that cling to her like a fucking shadow.
“Forget them,” I hiss, the words half a plea and half a command, as I plunge deeper into her cunt, trying to drown outtheir presence with every thrust. “Forget them and remember me.”
Her body responds, arching back against me, her moans intertwining with the whispers of regret that linger in the corners of my mind. Each beat of our connection chips away at the memories she clings to, like waves eroding the shore. I want to be that shore—solid, unwavering, providing her sanctuary from the storm that brews inside her.
“You think you can erase them, don’t you?” she breathes, the defiance still dancing in her voice, though it is laced with uncertainty. “But they were part of me, Hunter. You can’t just make me forget.”
Her words linger between us, ache-this knowledge of their weight, the truth woven through her painful history. “No,” I murmur against her ear, peppering the words with urgency. “I won’t let them keep controlling you. You’re stronger than this, stronger than them.”
