Chapter 15 #2
My back is pressed against his chest, and his lips brush the shell of my ear. “You think you can run from me, Doe-Eyes?” He twists me around, so I’m facing him. “You knew it would always come to this, sooner or later.”
“I prayed it wouldn’t.” I’m between him and the wall now, and I lean back as much as I can, trying to maintain as much separation as humanly possible.
“Pray all you want. But God can’t save you from me,” he says with a chuckle, the deep rumble tricking down my spine and into my bones. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. I must be crying, because my cheeks feel cool and wet.
I hold his gaze, determined not to flinch. “Jackson, please. What do you want from me?” It’s a miracle I can even form a coherent sentence, given how scrambled my brain feels right now.
His hand slips beneath my robe, curving over my hip to grab a handful of my ass.
“Everything. Every flaw, every lie, every spark that burns in those eyes. I want every last piece of you, until you’re emptied out and filled only with me.
” The edges of his lips lift into a smile. “Is that too much to ask?”
My God. He’s serious. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me. He wants to own every last ounce of my soul. But what happens if I give it to him? I already know the answer to that. He’ll devour me, ruin me in ways I can’t come back from, and then move on to the next girl on his hit list.
Chanting fills the room as the group of people move in unison, closing around us in a crescent, closing off escape from all sides. Not that I have a chance of escaping Jackson anyway. I’ve already tried and failed.
With his free hand, he jerks my head up, then drags his warm, wet tongue up the length of my throat. The pinch of his thumb, combined with the crude smell of his saliva, sends me spiraling.
“Now,” he says on a breath, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes are dark and filled with something I can’t even begin to understand. “Let’s continue with the ceremony—”
He pulls back slightly to unzip his fly and fist his cock.
My robe is already spread open, so when he steps forward, I can feel the head of his cock pushing insistently against my lower belly.
“This act consummates your forever bond to the society, and to me. After this, there’s no going back, Ava. For either of us.”
I turn my head to the side, so I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t agree to any of this,” I whisper.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking,” he says with a chuckle, pressing his damp forehead against my temple. His hot breath puffs against my cheek, and his spicy, musky scent fills my nostrils.
“Don’t do this.” My back is pressed so tightly against the wall, my shoulder blades feel bruised. I wish I could sink into the wall, retreat further, but Jackson is crowding me, making it impossible to move, let alone escape.
That devilish chuckle fades as he yanks my left leg up and hooks it over his hip while guiding his cock to my entrance with his other hand.
His head tips forward, his breathing coming in quick, hot bursts.
“I’ve waited a long time to be inside you again…
” he mumbles as he drags the head of his cock up the length of my slit, then down again.
“Goddamn, you’re fucking drenched for me. ”
The sheer mortification that slams into me is like a slap to the face, stealing my breath and making my cheeks burn with humiliation.
“I fucking hate you,” I say, closing my eyes, trying with everything I have to shut him out. But Jackson McKnight fills every one of my senses, and there’s no shutting him out. I should know that by now.
“Hate must make you horny as fuck,” he laughs, shifting his hips, forcing the head of his cock past my pussylips. “Because this pussy is begging for my cock.”
Every muscle in my body tightens, knowing what’s to come. With his head still pressed against my temple, he eases his hips forward and slowly, painfully, forces his way into my body.
He’s right, I’m drenched, but his cock is so thick, he can’t push it in all at once. “You’re so goddamn tight,” he says on a groan, sweat dampening his forehead. “Been a while since you’ve had a cock this big, huh, baby?”
Normally, I’d scoff and roll my eyes, but I’m fighting for my life right now. He’s so big, it feels like an iron spike is being hammered into my body. My instinct is to cry out, but he’d probably like that.
His large hands clamp down on my hips, and he uses the pressure as a counterpoint to thrust up, so he can push his cock deeper into my body. And, miraculously, after several punishing seconds, my body adapts, starts opening up. But it’s another several thrusts before he’s fully seated inside me.
Holy shit.
“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, his hushed voice loud against my ear. “Your pussy feels so damn good.”
With every brutal thrust, his pelvis slams into my clit, and the air is pushed from my lungs. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. This is all too much—the creepy ceremony, the masked people still chanting, the way Jackson fills me up and leaves zero room for anything else.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to separate myself from this raw, animalistic act.
From the feel of Jackson inside me, and the slow build of pleasure that my body is reluctantly answering to.
My brain is still shouting at me to fight back, but it’s weakening.
Every inch of me is already yielding, every nerve humming with a slow, relentless heat.
“This is always how it was meant to be,” he says, pulling his head back. Cool air washes over my temple, but I don’t look at him. I don’t dare. My face is still turned away, so he grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. “Look at me, Ava,” he growls.
I try to shake my head, but his grip on my face doesn’t allow much movement. With my eyes still closed, I grate out, “Fuck you.” It’s all I can say, the only control I have right now, and I’m going to hold onto it with white—fucking–knuckles.
But even as I try to distance myself from what’s happening, the hard, punishing rhythm of Jackson’s thrusts coaxes my clit back to life, and a deep shockwave rolls through my body. Then the head of his cock slams against my cervix—hard—dislodging a sharp, anguished moan from my lungs.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. The chatting gets louder, more urgent. His cock seems to swell inside me, and there’s a steadier rhythm to his powerful thrusts.
“Look at me,” he repeats, squeezing my face so hard, it makes my eyes water. I try to hold off, but finally, the pain and pleasure are too much, and my eyes fly open. He’s staring down at me, an arrogant smile touching his lips. “There she is. There’s my girl.”
Then his thrust become more brutal and precise. I know what’s about to happen, and something snaps inside me. I push against his chest as hard as I possibly can. “No, wait…” I choke out.
He laughs cruelly at my effort to stop him. Then he thrusts into me one last time, taking me deep while at the same time, pulling me into a hot, punishing kiss. This isn’t a kiss from a fairytale—it’s rough and messy and meant to prove exactly who’s in control.
With his mouth still crushed to mine, and hot waves of his cum rush into my body. “That’s it, baby,” he grunts against my mouth. “Take my cum like a good girl. Every last fucking drop.”
A whimper is torn from my throat as his hips roll against me, pushing his cum deeper into my body.
When it’s all over, he pulls away, and I sag against the wall. His gaze is cold, detached, which leaves me feeling hollow and aching, like I’m nothing more than a used vessel.
With a soft cry, I collapse to the floor, my trembling legs unable to support me any longer. He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to help. He just walks away.
The fucking cunt.
Tears streak down my cheeks. Every inch of me feels wrung out—used, discarded.
I get maybe thirty seconds to catch my breath before a rough hand grabs me and yanks me off the floor.
With Jackson’s cum dripping down my inner thighs, I’m dragged to the center of the room, where there’s a gold crown on fire.
What the…?
More chanting. God only knows what they’re saying. And Jackson is leaning over a small table, scrawling his name across a sheet of paper. When he’s done, he holds the feather pen out to me, his face blank.
My voice cracks. “What is this?”
“Sign it,” he says.
I blink down at the document, but my vision is blurry, and the words are swimming, bleeding together like watercolors. I shake my head and try to step back, but there’s someone directly behind me.
“I’m not signing some random piece of paper,” I choke out.
The chanting takes on a lower, more sinister tone.
Jackson steps up to me.
“Sign it,” he repeats, and this time, his voice is low, sharp. Final.
I have two choices—I can either fight and lose anyway, or sign the stupid paper and put an end to this whole fucking nightmare.
I’ll deal with the repercussions later, when I’m not drugged and exhausted.
There are at least thirty people here who can vouch for the fact that I was coerced into signing whatever this is.
With a shaky breath, I snatch the pen from his hand. I’m just about to scrawl my name when his voice cuts through the air. “Your real signature.”
I’m going to murder this cunt in his sleep.
I sign quickly, toss the pen down, and straighten, glaring at him through the fog that’s still clouding my brain. Someone swoops in and whisks the paper away like it’s sacred scripture, off to be sealed in blood or waved around under the next full moon.
“Happy?” I snap, bracing myself against the table. “Can we end this now?”
Jackson removes something from his pocket. “It’s already done,” he says, leaning forward to secure something around my neck. It’s a gold necklace with a heavy pendant that settles against my breastbone. “Welcome to the family, wife.”