26. Kennedy #2
He gripped my hips like he owned me, thrusting deep and hard, each movement pushing me harder against the tree. My cheek scraped on the bark, stinging the skin there, but I didn’t care. I was wild for this moment. Addicted to the brutality of it.
“Harder,” I choked out. “ Please!”
Malachi let out another low, dark chuckle. “You should hate me,” he muttered against my ear. “So why are you begging me? Why are you so fucking wet for me?”
My whole body shuddered at the raw filth in his voice. For what felt like the millionth time, I absolutely hated that he was right. Hated that I was this wet, this needy, this willing.
“Please… don’t stop,” I gasped out, leaning right into my sick, shameful desires. “Don’t… stop…”
“That’s right, baby, talk to me,” Malachi growled. “I love how you beg. Love your moans. Love every sound you make.”
I let out a broken whimper in response and reached between my legs, fingers finding my clit as he fucked me with punishing force.
“Listen to how wet you sound,” he said, punctuating the last word with another brutal thrust. “Listen to what a filthy little slut you are for me.”
I still couldn’t respond. I could only nod.
“You were made for this, baby. Made to be my little fuckdoll. Weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I finally choked out again. “Yours.”
“You want to come on my cock?” he snarled.
“Yes,” I gasped. “Please!”
“Then fucking do it.”
That was all it took.
I shrieked as my body spasmed, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through me like a freight train. “Oh, fuck… Malachi! ”
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.
“I told you you’d be screaming my name tonight, didn’t I?” he growled, hips slamming against me.
“Yes,” I whimpered. “Please… give me more…”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”
As he spoke, he pulled out of me with a loud, slick sound. His hand went between my legs, thick fingers pushing into my pussy to gather up the wetness and spread it around my asshole. Then his cock was there, nudging the tight ring.
My breath hitched as I braced for what would come. Pain. Stretching. That beautiful, brutal burn.
My muscles clenched when he finally pushed in, instinctively trying to push him back out, but I forced myself to breathe and relax. He withdrew only to slam back in again, right to the hilt. No gentleness, no patience. Just savage, ruthless possession.
The rhythm he found was relentless, overwhelming, the sharp edge of pain blurring into dizzying pleasure.
“Your ass is mine,” he growled. “Every fucking bit of you is mine.”
“Yes!” I gasped, barely coherent. My head was spinning too much, thoughts dissolving under his dominance. “Fuck me! Fuck my ass!”
He chased his own release like a man with nothing left to lose. Rough. Hard. Unforgiving. Then he tensed behind me, his grip still bruising my hips as he shoved deep inside one last time.
A guttural sound tore from his throat as his cock pulsed, spilling hot cum inside me, and my whole body trembled, nearly collapsing under the weight of it all.
His release. My surrender. Our shared madness.
When he pulled out, I gasped, legs shaking and chest heaving as my body buzzed with the aftershock of what we’d just done. His cum slid down my thighs, warm and filthy, and I knew I’d feel him there forever, even when I finally washed myself.
If I ever had the opportunity to wash again, that is. Given who he was, I might not. I might not even survive another hour in this world.
At that thought, I sagged against the tree, but Malachi caught me before I slid to the forest floor.
“Get dressed,” he commanded.
My limbs felt weak and rubbery, but I forced myself to move anyway.
I grabbed my T-shirt off a nearby bush with trembling hands and dragged it over my head with all the grace of a newborn fawn.
My panties were shredded beyond use, so I left them on the leaf-strewn ground and reached for my satin pajama pants, which were a wrinkled mess beside them.
Malachi didn’t offer help. Just watched.
Once I’d managed to fumble my way back into my wrinkled pants, he stepped forward. Then, without warning, he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
I let out a surprised yelp, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Just started walking, back into the belly of the forest that had swallowed us both whole.
His hand gripped the back of my aching thighs as we moved, fingers pressing possessively into my skin. My hair hung down toward the forest floor, and with every bounce of his stride, my head spun a little more.
I should’ve screamed at him. Pummeled his back and demanded more answers. But I was spent. Totally wrecked.
Eventually, the trees thinned, and Malachi put me down, setting me roughly on my feet. The silhouette of the old house loomed before us, and he put one hand on the small of my back and pushed, silently commanding me to walk toward it.
“This place looks condemned,” I muttered, blinking at the hulking old structure through dazed eyes.
“It is,” Malachi said. “That’s why I bought it. It’s the perfect place for condemned souls.”
When we reached the front door, he opened it and nudged me forward. I walked. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew that if I didn’t, he would make me.
He marched me through the house and down the stairs, and we’d just reached the dim cell on the basement level when it finally hit me.
I hadn’t asked the most obvious question yet.
“Where’s my father?” I blurted, my voice hoarse.
Malachi looked at me, one brow arched.
“That’s funny,” he said, his tone so smooth and casual it made the hairs on my arms rise. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”