7. Micah
PLOTS AND BACKSHOTS
Running isn’t my ministry.
I was the kid in gym class who walked the whole mile during the presidential fitness test. Then I turned into the freshman in college who took the walk portion of my Walk, Jog, Run class seriously.
But when the stony voice on the other side of that mask uttered, “ Run ,” I took off like someone fired a starter’s pistol.
I don’t know what’s worse, the way my thighs are chafing or the relentless burn in my lungs.
Honestly, the fact that I can’t see in front of me or behind me is worse than all of that.
Total darkness descended the moment I reached the perimeter of the graveyard behind the manor, so the stars twinkling against the inky sky are my only hope for light.
I don’t know where the man chasing me is or if he’s made it out this far. And I’m not going to stop running long enough to listen for his footsteps either.
There are no woods. Just vacant, desolate land with the random tree here or there breaking up the monotony that stretches farther than my eyes can see.
When he said he wanted to chase me, I never asked if he meant outside or through the house. I just flung the back door open and sprinted down the steps like I knew what the fuck I was doing.
Now I can’t breathe, and every crunch of dead leaves beneath my shoes sounds like approaching footfalls.
I’m so keyed up the sound of my own ragged breathing is spooking the hell outta me.
You’ve gotta start making smarter choices, Micah.
Damn near wheezing, I don’t even believe the chiding voice in my head.
Because I never learn.
Somewhere on the other side of town, my grandma lifted me up in prayer before she went to bed tonight, and here I am, letting a stranger chase me in the dark with the promise of orgasms.
“Damn, pet. I know you got more than that.” The ominous voice is behind me. Above me. All around me.
Where the fuck did he come from?
“The way you took off, I thought you were going to make this fun for me.”
My heart is skipping beats in my chest when I try to speed up, but my right calf tightens with every stride until I’m forced to slow to a walk, stumbling over fallen branches and the fragments of my wounded pride.
It feels like someone is poking me in the ribs with the claw of a hammer until I finally cave, stopping to soothe the ache with the firm press of my fingers.
I never thought Halloween would be the day I regretted paying for a gym membership I never use, but here we are.
And before I can filter through another thought, a hand wraps around my box braids, pulling until my eyes water.
“Ahh!”
My scream evaporates into the night air as a deep, growling laugh replaces it.
“Why you screaming, pet?”
Chills, chills and more chills coat my skin as he rounds me like prey.
I can’t see him, only the outline of him as he walks in a tight circle around me.
His presence is taunting and tantalizing, and the quiver in my knees is telling.
Because I like this shit, and I’m not ready for it to end.
With that being the only thought in my head, I wait until he’s in my blindspot again and take off running back in the direction of the manor.
This time my lungs don’t burn and my legs don’t ache. Adrenaline coupled with the sound of his dark displeasure push me past my limits.
I know for a fact this man is going to catch me. I want him to catch me. But he’ll never be able to say I didn’t put up a fight.
Too caught up in my self-placating thoughts, I don’t realize how much danger I’m in until my feet leave the ground and I’m running in place like a cartoon character revving up before an escape.
Except there is no escaping the man with his forearm locked around my waist, effortlessly holding me against him as he zigzags through the plots in the graveyard without a word.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
His heart beats furiously against my back, the only evidence of his exertion. He’s not out of breath, and I don’t even know if he was running to keep up with me.
My pride won’t let me believe anything less than a fair chase, but judging by his physique alone…
“That was fun, pet.” He hikes me up further against his front and I yelp at the collision of my softness against every jagged part of him. “I usually don’t have to work so hard for it, but you got some legs on you, mama.”
I try not to get caught up in the richness of his voice or the warmth of his skin on my back. Yet arousal hums through my veins until I’m sure it’s seeping out of my pores.
I was right.
This man can fling me around like it’s nothing, and the reality of it is making my thighs slick with desire.
Without warning, I topple to the ground, knees first before I reach out to steady myself on my palms.
This nigga just threw me.
If all the air hadn’t just left my lungs in a harsh whoosh, maybe I’d be doing more than trying to stand up right now.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spit, shoving against the wall of his chest.
Those shoulders move up and down while laughter slips free. “I wanted to see you on your knees, pet.” He pushes my braids out of my face in a move that’s more tender than I expect. “You mad?”
“Fuck you,” I fume, all other words failing me.
A vise is around my jaw in the next second, locking up the last of my retorts as his fingers dig into the sides of my face.
“I promise I plan to fuck you, pet. But we need to work on that attitude.” He squeezes my jaw until a sharp gasp colors the air. “Why you talking to me like that?”
Feeling chastised, I don’t try to form a retort. Instead, I silently stare up at him, wishing for the first time tonight I could see the man behind the mask.
“What did you ask me for before I told you to run?”
My face flexes when he releases me and I want to whine at the loss of his brutal grip.
“That I don’t want you to be gentle with me.”
“What else ?”
Swallowing around an annoying lump, I clear my throat. “That I want you to tell me what to do…”
“Because that’s how much of a needy slut you are, huh?”
Again, he’s fingering the braids clinging to my damp cheeks and the touch feels like foreplay.
“That’s what it is.” He swipes at a tear I didn’t know had fallen, his warm fingertips coasting over my cheek in an exploratory caress. “You’re so damn desperate for somebody to take care of that pussy you don’t give a fuck what I do to you.”
“ Please .” I break.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
Something snaps inside of me and my pride blurs into a need so deep it fills me with a physical ache.
More tears leak against my cheeks and I need him, I need him, I need him.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.” I gasp on a sudden sob. “I just need you to fuck me.”
“You need it so bad you’re crying for me, pet?” Still grazing my cheek, he continues to taunt me, and I continue not to give a fuck.
“What do I have to do? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
The man before me scoffs. “I kind of like how pathetic and scared you look right now.”
Then he shoves me forward, away from him and toward a tombstone I can barely see through the fog of my tears.
“Bend over, pet. Grab your ankles.”
Without another second wasted, I do what I’m told and it feels so good to obey. Like I was made to take orders from him and love it.
Bent over, a shudder sweeps through me when my soaked thong is yanked to the side. All I get is his thumb at first, teasing me with strokes against my swollen lips.
“I owe you seven orgasms,” he says, slipping a finger past my folds.
My whimper is all that surrounds us. And he does it again and again and again.
“Let’s see how many times I can make this pussy cream for me before I deep stroke you with this dick.”
My heart skips a beat in my chest but the pulse between my legs thrums with renewed intensity.
Yes.
Finally . I’m getting what I want. What I deserve.
Two fingers deep, he praises me for how well I’m taking it and my pussy responds by gripping him tight. It takes effort for him to pull his fingers out of me and a stinging smack lights up my skin in the aftermath.
It doesn’t hurt, it only intensifies the pleasure coursing through me and I want more.
“What the fuck you got between your legs?”
My grip on my ankles and reality is slipping by the time he starts stroking me again, his knuckles grazing my clit from the back with every thrust of his hand.
I can’t help the needy little wine of my hips or the way I start pushing back on him.
“I asked you a question, pet.” He sounds far away and I don’t know if it’s because of my position or the rush of blood in my ears. “Why the fuck your pussy feel this good around my fingers?”
“Because I need you,” I cry, shameless and proud when another smack lands on my ass. “Fuck!”
His fingers speed up and it’s all I can do to grab the tombstone a foot from me for leverage.
I’m so wet, my pussy gushes with every intrusion.
And then I’m coming, my legs shaking and my throat raw from the screams I let out.
Lifting my head, I focus on the manor in front of us, noting the amber glow filling each window. A thrill runs through me at the thought of someone watching us like this.
Pussy throbbing, I start throwing it back harder, riding his hand like it’s the only thing I’m good for. Right now, it is.
And I’m on the brink of coming again when his hard timbre cuts through the air.
“Count for me, pet.” He stops finger fucking me but keeps his fingers deep inside of me, stretching me and filling me. “Every time you come, I want you to tell me what number it is.”
“O-one,” I stammer.
“Six more to go.”