Chapter 5 #4
My hands grip her hips, dragging her closer, pinning her between me and the cemetery wall.
Rain slicks her jacket, her fishnets, the bare skin where her shirt is still pulled low from the chase.
The tiny cut I left on the curve of her breast is smeared with rain now, red diluted against pale skin, but it’s still there.
Mine.
A little line that says she let me close enough to put it there.
I shove my hips harder into hers, letting her feel exactly how fucking hard I am for her.
Her breath catches.
“Fuck. That’s it,” I murmur against her ear. “Feel that?”
Alice goes still for half a second, nails digging into my shoulders like she’s trying to hold on and shove me off at the same time.
My mouth curves against her wet skin. “That’s what you do to me.”
“Jagger—”
“No.” My hand drags up her side, rough and possessive, stopping just beneath the cut.
“You can glare at me all you want. You can call me insane. You can tell yourself this was a mistake when you’re back in your room pretending you don’t still feel me.
” My thumb brushes just under the thin red mark.
“But right now? You’re not pretending shit. ”
Her eyes flash, sharp and furious, but her hands don’t let go.
That’s the part I like.
Alice doesn’t give in pretty. She fights it. Fights me. Fights herself harder than both, like if she keeps her mouth mean enough, it’ll cancel out everything her body already admitted.
I lean closer, my mouth brushing her jaw. “You wanted fear with a choice, ghost girl. You wanted me to chase you. You wanted to know what happened when I finally got my hands on you.”
Her breath catches.
“So now you’re going to find out.”
“Fuck you,” she whispers.
“Already working on it.”
She makes a broken little sound, half anger, half something else, and it goes straight through me.
I catch her chin when she tries to turn away.
“No hiding.” My thumb drags over her bottom lip. “You wanted the monster to look back, Alice. Now keep your eyes open and deal with him.”
Her lashes are soaked. Mouth swollen, and her body is pressed against mine like she forgot how to hate me properly.
I want to ruin every excuse she has left.
I want her walking back to her shitty little apartment, with my mark her across her tit, my cum dripping down her thighs, and my name stuck in her pretty little throat.
I want Johnny to look at her once and know he got there too late. I want him to smell me on her, to know that I’ve claimed every inch of her.
The thought makes my grip tighten and my cock ache.
Alice feels it. Her eyes flick over my face, sharp even through the rain, her back pressed hard against the cold stone.
Her breath catches. I like that sound too much. Every shaky inhale. Every pissed-off little gasp.
“Look at me,” I tell her. She glares, stubborn as hell, soaked hair stuck to her cheeks.
“No hiding now. No camera or lens. No bullshit little project to stand behind.” I drag my thumb along her lower lip, forcing it open.
“Just you and me, and all those bad choices you keep pretending you didn’t make on purpose. ”
“Jagger,” she whispers.
“There.” My voice drops rougher. “Say it again.”
She shakes her head, but I don't give her the chance to retreat. I slam my body against hers, pinning her into the stone, and dive my hand down the front of her soaked skirt. The fabric clings to her curves like a second skin, but I rip it aside, my fingers finding the damp lace of her panties.
I don't ask. I just tear at the fabric, and shove two fingers deep inside her.
Alice lets out a sharp, strangled cry, her back arching off the wall. Fuck, she's already soaking, her pussy clamping tight around my fingers.
I fuck her right there in the rain, my fingers curling and hooking, hitting her spot with a brutal, rhythmic precision.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” I growl against her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to mark you so everyone knows who you belong to.”
“I hate you,” she gasps, but her hips are thrusting back against my hand, begging for more.
I pull my fingers out with a wet pop and immediately reach for my belt.
I free my cock, thick and pulsing, the cold rain hitting the head of it.
The Prince Albert piercing glints in the dim light, the metal cold against my skin but the blood beneath it screaming for her.
I grab her thighs, hoisting one of her legs up over my hip, exposing her wide open to the storm and my gaze.
I don't ease in. I drive my cock forward in one heavy thrust, burying myself deep inside her.
Alice screams, the sound swallowed by the rain.
The metal of my piercing scrapes against her sensitive walls, adding a sharp, electric friction to the intrusion.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, drawing blood through my shirt.
I don't stop. I start to hammer into her, my pelvis slamming against her clit with every guttural thrust, the piercing grinding deep inside her with every stroke.
The sound of our bodies colliding—the wet, slapping noise of cock hitting pussy—echoes against the stone.
I reach up, grabbing her hair forcing her to look at me while I fuck her. I want her to see the ownership in my eyes.
“Whose are you?” I demand, my voice a low roar. I drive deeper, bottoming out, feeling her internal muscles spasm around me. “Tell me you want me to fill you up. Tell me you want my seed deep inside you, ghost girl.”
“Yours,” she sobs, her voice breaking. “I’m yours, Jagger! Fuck... please, just don’t stop!”
That’s all I need. I accelerate, my thrusts becoming violent and fast, the piercing stimulating her deeper than any flesh could. I drive her higher and higher until she shudders, her pussy gripping me in a series of intense, crushing orgasms
A groan rips out of me, my own control snapping. I bury myself one last time, pinning her flat against the wall, and blow my load deep inside her.
I pump into her, filling her womb with hot, thick cum, imagining it marking her from the inside out.
I want her leaking me for hours. Then I there for a moment, breathing hard, feeling her heart racing against my chest before slowly pulling out, the piercing sliding out with a wet sound, leaving her dripping and trembling.
I pull back just enough to see what I’ve done to her, and fuck me if it isn’t the prettiest sight.
Alice stays against the wall, soaked through, hair stuck to her face, mouth swollen, eyes still sharp even when the rest of her looks wrecked. Her jacket hangs open, her dress is twisted, and the little cut on the curve of her breast is smeared dark from the rain.
Looks good on her.
Worse than that, it looks fucking right.
With a smirk, I drag my fingers between her thighs, slow and possessive, pushing what’s mine back where I left it, making damn sure she feels every second.
Her head falls back against the stone, a broken little groan slipping out before she can swallow it.
Fuck.
That sound.
My mouth curves as I press closer, keeping her trapped there with my body and my hand.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Take it.”
Her fingers clamp around my wrist, tight enough to bruise, but she doesn’t pull me away. She just holds on, trembling, whimpering under her breath like she hates that I get to hear her like this.
Too fucking bad.
I heard it. I fucking own it now.
I lean in until my mouth brushes her ear, voice low and rough enough to scrape. “You’re going to feel me all night, ghost girl. Every step back to that shitty little apartment. Every time your thighs press together. Every time you try to pretend this didn’t happen.”
Her breath shakes.
My fingers move once more, mean and slow, and her whole body goes tight against the wall.
“Tomorrow too,” I say. “When you’re sitting in class acting bored. When you’re hiding behind that camera. When some poor idiot talks to you and you can’t focus because you still feel me exactly where I put myself.”
She makes another soft, wrecked sound.
I smile against her skin.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper. “Hate it all you want. You’re still taking it.”
That gets another sound out of her, softer this time, and it hits something ugly and satisfied in my chest. The part of me people dress up in softer words. Loyal. Protective. Attached.
They make it sound harmless, but it isn’t.
When I get attached, I get mean. When I want to protect something, I stop caring what I have to become to do it. And when something starts feeling like mine, I don’t loosen my grip just because it would be smarter.
Alice Aster is under my skin now.
In my head.
In my fucking blood.
I fix her clothes just enough to cover what I marked, then tuck myself back into my pants and step close again instead of away. My thumb brushes beneath the cut on her chest, not gentle enough to be sweet, not rough enough to make her pull back.
She watches me like she knows this changed something.
The rain falls harder around us, dripping from the trees, running down her face, washing mud around our boots. The mask lies in the dirt near my foot, white horns smeared brown, black eyes staring up at nothing.
I pick it up and shake the rain off.
Alice doesn’t move from the wall.
Doesn’t run or tell me to leave.
She just stands there with my mark under her shirt, my name still caught in her mouth, and that look in her eyes like she knows she should regret this but hasn’t figured out how yet.
My first claim.
And the sickest part?
She wanted it just as much as I did.