“I am,” she insists, though her voice is breathless, and another tremor is working its way down her spine.
I hum, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.
Again, she shivers.
“Then show me, my little ghost.”
Molly
Present
2022
I have tunnel vision.
There's only a sliver of light, the small orb blurring as I process his challenging words.
Then show me.
Show him years upon years of practice that I never utilized because I refused to put myself in a situation where I'd have to. Yet here I am.
A dangerous man at my back demanding to see what I'm made of. The honest answer is trauma, sadness, and scars that I can't bear to look at. But I still feel them.
Just as I do the predator breathing down my neck.
I wait a few moments, each second ticking in my pulse, and then I'm twisting at the waist and sending my elbow flying toward his mouth.
He jerks back, and I only manage to clip him, but that was only a distraction. Before he can prepare for anything else, my heel smashes into his foot, causing him to stumble. Then, I'm advancing on him, keeping light on my feet as I strategically strike him in succession, meant to both keep his attention on my hands and lull him into a pattern.
I send my fists flying toward his head, which he blocks, but my foot is already hooked around his ankle, and the next second, his legs are in the air as he slams flat on his back.
I'm straddling him before he can process it, and a grunt bursts from his mouth. But he recovers quickly, flipping me onto the plastic covering before I can blink.
A breath escapes me, and I kick up my legs until my tailbone is lifted, wrapping my legs around his head to keep him at arm’s length.
I squeeze my thighs tightly, and he curls his lips into a salacious smile.
“Can’t say I’m mad about this development,” he rasps.
Before I can respond, he grabs my sides and squeezes, hitting a ticklish spot that causes me to jump and loosen my thighs. He makes quick work of slipping his head free and flipping me onto my stomach.
I manage to make it to my knees before he bars his arm across my throat and holds my back against his front tightly. His other hand sensually glides up my stomach, stopping short of my breasts. Though it doesn’t stop my pussy from tightening in anticipation, searching for something to fill it.
“You’re wound so tight, baby. Need me to help loosen you up?” he instigates, his deep voice wicked and rough, sending a tsunami of chills down my spine.
Panting, I still, my brain circulating over the different moves I could make. His hard cock is pressed against my backside, showing me just how much he’s enjoying the fight.
Snarling, I send the back of my head flying into his nose, eliciting another grunt. His arm relaxes just enough for me to slip out from beneath it, spin, and tackle his ass, straddling him for a second time.
A bead of crimson trails out of his nose, yet somehow, it only makes me more ravenous. Just like my pigs, the sight of his blood makes me feral.
His hands grip either side of my hips, and he pulls me down against him as he grinds his cock against my clit, sending a shock wave of pleasure shooting up my body.
A quiet moan leaves his throat, a sound that I'm instantly swallowing as I crash my lips against his.
I know the breath was knocked out of his lungs, and I don't intend to allow him to have it back.
A growl builds in his throat and reverberates beyond my teeth, followed by a sharp nip to my bottom lip. It only makes me kiss him harder, in which he returns with tenfold the passion. His hands are plunging into my curls, fisting them tightly, using his grip on them to anchor my head and move his lips over mine however he pleases. Before I know it, he’s taken over completely, and I’m helpless to stop him .
I’ve worked hard to defend myself against a man’s touch, but one kiss from Cage is fucking paralyzing.
Just like he swore, he acts as if he’s starving, devouring me as he plunges his tongue into my mouth and curls it sinfully against mine.
I’m entirely lost to him as he tears at the white tank top, ripping the fabric in half and roughly pushing it off my body. My sports bra is next to fall victim to his fiery touch, pulling it over my head and flinging it into the unknown.
Instantly, his hands are cupping my breasts, gnashing his teeth against mine.
“Let me taste,” he demands roughly, his voice sounding as if his soul has been possessed by the king of hell.
I crawl up his body just enough for him to wrap his hot mouth around a nipple, his tongue swirling around the tightened bud before his teeth bite into the soft flesh.
My back bows while my hand flies into the short strands atop his head, crying out as the sting worsens.
Just when it becomes too much, he releases me only to suck my abused nipple back into his mouth, easing the pain with long, thorough licks.
The sounds coming from my throat are raspy and broken with pleasure. If my body was a kingdom, he'd be waging a celestial war against me where I'd easily crumble beneath his forces. The gods within have grown tired, and it's a relief to succumb to an inferno the devil created just for me.
Cage retreats again, and just when he begins to dish out another command, blood splatters across my face, neck, and side, and across his chest .
A startled scream leaves my throat, and I look over to see Chili tearing into the thigh of the butchered woman.
Mouth open in shock, I turn back to Cage, only to find him peering up at me with an emotion I don't know how to name. But what I do know is that it's powerful, unrestrained, and unlike anything I've seen before.
“You're fucking incredible,” he says, his tone hushed.
Instinctively, I peer down at myself, where trails of blood paint my breasts, the valley between them, and my stomach.
I should be horrified, yet when I lift my stare back to Cage, I feel anything but. My clit throbs and arousal gathers deep in my core. The urge to grind against his cock is overwhelming, but I refrain for now.
Something wet splatters onto my face, then trails down my cheek before a crimson bead drips off my jaw and lands on my breast, all of which Cage watches intently.
His hands cup my hips, and he squeezes tightly. Feeling invigorated, I brush a black-painted nail across my nipple, my mouth parting in wonder as his stare drops to my chest. His eyes darken like a forest fire within, blackening with a hunger as potent as the flames. I’ve never been so ready to walk into a wildfire.
Teasingly, I smear the crimson over the swell and down to my ribs, where a macabre bird with its wings wired onto its body is tattooed.
The black-and-gray artwork snags his attention for a moment, but inevitably, he refocuses on my finger once it reaches the waistband of my shorts.
“Stand up,” he rasps, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. He doesn't seem inclined to stand with me. Instead, he props up on his elbows and reclines back on them. He stares up at me with a reverence that can only be captured by the human eye. Nothing—not even our own hands—could recreate that image and do it any justice.
I do as he says, though my knees tremble and threaten to crumble as tragically as if they were an ancient monument.
“Take it all off, baby. I need to see everything,” he commands hoarsely.
My heart pounds in my chest as I hook my thumbs beneath the fabric of my shorts and panties and slide them down my thighs. I kick them to the side where the rest of my clothes lay.
Insecurity and forced confidence battle for dominance. From his position, I know he can see the scar on my hip—a perfect imprint of teeth from when Dad bit me years ago. Sadly, it isn't the only bite mark forever marring my flesh. They're also on my biceps, stomach, thighs, and of course, my face.
He left them everywhere, sinking his teeth so far into me that I passed out from the pain. Most of the bite marks eventually faded, except the ones now on full display, crimson smeared over them.