Entombed In Sin (Graveyard Games Duet #2)

10. Beatrix

10

BEATRIX

M y body feels leaden, but my mind has been set free and is soaring miles overhead.

I killed someone tonight. There'd been no reason behind it being him, except he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My chest tightens as I brace myself for what I should be feeling. Any decent human being would probably be suffering from a bombard of horror, regret, denial, or having an existential crisis. But nothing other than a strange giddiness fills me. I want to laugh, dance, sing… But most of all, I want to cum. My pussy throbs as I sit in the passenger seat waiting for Thatcher to get back and take me home. The crotch of the sweatpants he brought me are drenched. I’ll have to toss them into the laundry basket when I get home.

My thighs clench as a rolling wave of heady desire makes its way through me.

This isn’t right. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know that. I should be worried about the man that Thatcher and Sagan have on the ground beside the burning car. Or what killing that man back in that house means for my soul.

Yet I can’t find it in me to care about either thing.

Tonight, I was in control of someone else’s fate. I wasn’t the one suffering at the hand of another. I had been an unstoppable force that took what I was owed and showed no mercy. And why would I? No one has ever shown me mercy.

Just thinking of the power Sagan had given me only amps up the desire burning in my body. My nipples are uncomfortably sensitive as they brush against the material of the sweater Thatcher brought me. I lean back in my seat, the movement letting the sweater caress them. A groan slips out in response. I’m teasing myself, but I can’t stop. I need to assuage this heat pooling through me.

Is this what power feels like? If so, I never want to be without it. At this very moment, I’m invincible. I’m not this weak woman with a tattered past. The one that flinches if people move too close or clams up in fear when people speak to her. I’m Beatrix Starr, a vengeful spirit ready to strike again if the moment arises.

I reach up and slide my hand beneath my sweater. My fingertips skim up my stomach before they tweak and pull at my right nipple. I groan loudly, unable to stop the reaction. Thank god Thatcher hadn’t brought a bra. He hadn’t brought panties either. I could reach down and…

No, wait… I shake my head, trying to push away the dizzying fog of lust riding me.

Guilt. I need to be feeling guilty . That man was in his house, doing his own thing. Whatever that fucked up two-person prayer group was doing, they hadn’t been bothering me. I reach out, searching for the shame and horror. But I find none. Instead, I feel amused. A laugh slips out of my mouth as I think about how ridiculous I am. Why should I feel bad? They clearly weren’t good people; who cares what I did to them? In a way, they probably deserved it.

Unable to stop myself, I allow my other hand to slide beneath the waistband of my sweatpants and dive between my legs. I’m met with a mess smeared all over my thighs. The arousal between my legs is thick and warm. My fingers slide through my slit easily, becoming soaked with just a single pass through. My hips buck and my pussy clenches. It would be so easy to dive into my core and get off.

But where’s the fun in that?

I tease my clit with arousal and then slide my fingers back through my slit. The breathy moans that fill the cab of the truck are soft, but since they’re the only sound in here, they seem loud. The noise is erotic. My other hand goes back and forth between my breasts to pinch and tweak my nipples. My hips buck again as pleasure dances down my spine.

“Oh… oh …” I groan.

Just as I decide enough is enough, and I want an orgasm, a soft tap on the driver’s side window pulls my attention away from my overheated body. The fog in my head doesn’t urge me to pull my hands away from myself, and I don’t even think about it as I search for the culprit. There, looking in at me, is Thatcher. His arms are braced above the door, and he’s leaning forward, watching me intently. I watch his tongue slide over his bottom lip as he stares at me hungrily. His chest heaves as he breathes hard. There’s tension bracketing his mouth and his brows are furrowed together.

Keep going , he mouths.

“Come here, please…” I beg just loud enough for him to hear. “I need you.”

“Do what he says, Little Viper,” Sagan’s voice says beside me.

I turn to find him on the other side of my window, in the exact same stance and wearing the exact same expression as his brother. A drunken smile pulls at my lips. Feeling brazen, I let my fingers slide through my slit once more before I sink two inside me. My hips buck harder, but I’m slow as I pump my fingers in and out. Arousal drips over my hand. I grip my breast and knead hard, loving the buildup and the eyes that now watch me.

“Please,” I beg the two of them, looking back and forth at them through a hooded gaze. “I need you both.”

Neither one says anything. They simply watch hungrily. Their eyes as they travel over me are like another pair of hands. I swear I can feel them as I work myself up. Thatcher, Sagan, they’re here with me, touching me in all the ways I ache for. I shove another finger into my pussy and apply more pressure to my slippery clit.

“Thatcher. Sagan! My big bothers…my perfect, fucked-up big brothers,” I groan loud enough for them to hear, feeling desperate now to find my release.

I tweak my nipple harder as I curl my fingers inside of me. That does the trick. I cum all over my fingers, drenching my pants and choking on a cry of pleasure.

“Fuck, Little Viper,” Sagan groans as he pushes away from the window. “You’re so fucking enthralling.” He says it like it’s a bad thing before he stomps away.

As I shudder through my release, Thatcher opens his door and slides into the driver’s seat.

“I need more, Thatcher,” I whimper as my pussy flutters around my fingers. Already I can feel the desire rising once again, as if the orgasm only added more fuel to the flames.

“We need to get going. The flames are going to attract attention soon,” Thatcher says through clenched teeth as he watches me discard my sweatpants. “What are you doing?”

“They’re in my way,” I whine. “I need… I need you, please, Thatcher. I feel so crazy right now. I know I should be freaking out about what I did back at that house, but I just… I feel so good. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way, and I don’t want it to stop and… and… Please , touch me, big brother! I’ll show you just how good I can be for you.”

It’s madness, I know. But my thoughts are jumbled, and I don’t quite care. I crawl across the bench seat and reach for the button to his jeans. Thatcher growls loudly, allowing me to undo his pants while he turns the truck back and pulls out onto the street. But as I reach for his erection, he grabs my wrist to halt me.

“ Thatcher —”

“Lay the other way, legs open and facing me,” he orders, his voice strained.

“But—”

“Do as I say, Beatrix,” he commands sharply.

With a pout that has him chuckling, I reposition myself. I lay my head against the passenger door, bend my knees, then let my legs flop open for Thatcher to see the mess I’ve made. He glances down and groans loudly.

“Touch yourself again, Little Sister. Let me see how needy you are for me,” he orders.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. My fingers dive back between my legs, and I cry out as my oversensitive clit throbs beneath my touch. The fingers on my other hand go back to playing with my nipples. The combination of sensations is just as wonderful as it had been moments ago.

The heat in my body is sure to compete with the sun. I’m melting from the inside out and all I can do is giggle and moan. Is this madness? Did killing that man do this to me? If so, I’m going to kill again and again until there is never another ounce of pain and loneliness in my life. I throw my head back and close my eyes as the pleasure comes roaring back.

“You did this to me,” I breathe breathlessly. “You and Sagan. Now I’m going to want to feel like this all the time. You can’t take this away from me. You can’t ever leave me and take this from me, Thatcher. Please let me have this…”

“We’re not going anywhere,” my stepbrother promises darkly. “Here, use this.”

I force my eyes to open to find Thatcher holding his knife out to me, blade first. I reach for it, careful not to cut myself. Confusion mingles with the heady fog.

“You want me to…?”

“Shove the hilt into your pussy. Fuck yourself with it as you scream my name and as you think of your kill tonight. You feel unstoppable, right? Like a god? It’s incredible, isn't it? There’s nothing wrong with being superior to everyone else. Remember who got you to this point, Little Sister,” he says, his voice full of husky desire. “Let your big brothers give this moment to you over and over again. Trust us, Beatrix.”

“I do,” I whisper, gripping the blade carefully as I turn the hilt down to insert it into my body as he’s commanded. “I do trust you.”

I may not have trusted them at the beginning of the night, but after what they’ve given me? This freedom and bliss? I can’t hold a grudge against them. They saw me and my struggles and understood what I needed. No one else has ever seen me so clearly. They are my everything. How could I fault them for something Knox has done?

With that, I sink the knife into my body. The handle is hard and thick, the leather wrapped around it creating a delicious friction as my arousal coats it. My hips automatically rock, humping the weapon without hesitation. I feel so full that I weep with relief. What makes this even better is that I know how important this weapon is to Thatcher. It’s an extension of him.

This is him.

I choke on a cry as I roll and rock my hips. The shaft of the knife slides in and out of me. My pussy clenches down hard around it, desperate to keep it in place. The sharp tug and roll of my nipples makes this feel so, so good.

“That’s right, Little Sister. You’re doing so good. Let me see you enjoy this high. It’s great, isn’t it? It’s so fucking potent and addictive. Just like you,” Thatcher growls. “Listen to your body. It’s so fucking hot how wet you’ve gotten. Was it all that blood you drew from your victim that got you hot and bothered? Or was it the taste of his soul as it exited his body?”

I groan at his words.

“Have you ascended, Beatrix? Are you a god with us now?” Thatcher presses. “You look like one. You’re so fucking hot. Let me hear you cum, Little Sister. Be good for me now, alright? Cum , Beatrix.”

My pussy clenches tighter around the weapon inside me. I choke as I rock my hips faster. I’m so close… Then it happens. The orgasm that ignites and shoots through me expels all the air from my lungs. The tension coiled inside me snaps, and the hard ripples of pleasure cause me to convulse across the bench seat. I can feel my body’s release as I ride each beautiful wave.

“Look at you,” Thatcher whispers in awe, his gaze settling on the mess I’ve made on his leather seats before looking back at the road.

When the pleasure begins to subside, my eyelids grow impossibly heavy. I pull Thatcher’s knife out of me weakly, but before I can let it drop to the seat, Thatcher takes it from me. Through a hooded gaze, I watch as he lifts it to his lips and licks my arousal off it.

I smile and let my eyes close.

“You are incredible,” he murmurs after a stretch of silence. “You’re a good girl, Beatrix.”

I hum, feeling a deep contentment drape over my body. In the back of my head, I realize I should ask Thatcher about the man they dragged from the car that was following us. Why was he watching us? And for who? But the questions get eaten up by exhaustion and as I slip into unconsciousness, I find I’m not worried. Whatever that was about, my brothers took care of it.

Just as they’ve taken care of me.