Page 47 of A Voice In Chains
“You like that, don’t you?” he whispers, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. “Come for me, Ark.”
The windows have fogged up even more. Zach jerks me without ever letting his heavy eyes leave mine, not for a split second.
“Come for me,” he says again. “Come all over us.”
The pleasure builds and mounts until I’m quivering beneath him, my exposed chest damp with sweat. I grunt, lost in Zach’s seductive gaze, and then my cock erupts, pulsing thick ropes of cum between us.
A husky moan rips from my chest, and Zach’s lips spread into a wicked, filthy smile.
“You never come this hard for anyone else, do you, baby?”
Another hot squirt of cum sprays between us. I shake my head, arching my back with a groan while he steals my soul with wicked strokes designed to wring me dry.
Only you.
When I finally slump, Zach looks down at my chest, at the milky cum. It’s on his T-shirt too, but he doesn’t seem to care.
He drags his tongue through the wet patches on my chest, his hot breath heating my skin. “You taste so good, Ark. Like the best kind of snack.”
His eyes gleam with a sinful sparkle as he makes a show of swirling his tongue through a pool of cum. He scoops his fingers through it and dips them into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat. When I gag, he says, “You’re so damn sexy. God, I just want to fuck you up.”
My mouth fills with drool, an erotic string of saliva connecting my bottom lip to Zach’s wet fingers as he finally pulls them out.
He grips my stubbly chin with his damp digits and kisses me long and hard, exploring my mouth with greedy sweeps of his tongue before he sits back and turns the ignition.
“Get dressed,” he says. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Arkin
Ashort drive later, we pull down a small dirt road. Weeds sprout from the grooves in the soil, and branches of silver birch slap the side windows. My body jostles as the car rocks gently on the uneven ground.
Zach pulls up in a small clearing, cuts the engine, and unclips his seatbelt. “It’s a short walk from here.”
We exit the car. Tall trees tower over us, their leaves rustling softly overhead in varying shades of green.
“This way,” Zach says. He saunters ahead down a small trail surrounded by a carpet of wild blueberries. Twigs break underfoot as I soak in my surroundings, amazed by the beauty. The forest stretches endlessly, a sea of towering trees with trunks as wide as barrels and bark roughened by time. Mushrooms grow on some, while invasive vines crawl up others. The air is fresh, scented with pine and damp leaves.
Where is he taking me?
We reach another clearing. “This is our town’s little secret. Not many people know about this place,” Zach says, a blush heating his cheeks.
He quickly turns away and walks ahead, but I stay where I am, staring after him until he spins around again.
Behind him, nestled in a cluster of cedars, the old ruins of an abbey rise like a shadow against the blue sky. The walls, fractured and hollow, jut toward the sky like skeletal remains.
What is this place?I wonder as the soft trail underfoot makes way for cracked and uneven cobblestones.
Zach reads the question in my eyes. “The abbey was once known as St. Conwyer’s Sanctuary. The monks who lived here were said to be healers and scholars. Pilgrims traveled here to bring gifts to the abbey’s altar, where a sacred relic was kept, but then, according to lore, whispers of darker practices began to spread.”
As we walk closer, I glance up at the ruins.
Arched windows, empty of glass, stare out like vacant eyes, and ivy crawls over the broken stones, entwining the past and present, like Zach’s fingers threading through mine.
Then what happened?I want to ask, but when I try to form the words, panic slithers through my veins instead, so I stay silent, letting the squeeze of my hand be my voice.
Zach squeezes back. “Some claimed the monks performed rituals in secret beneath the abbey’s foundation. Others spoke of strange lights in the forest at night and pilgrims who never returned.”
