Chapter 55
Where did he go? Did he go back to those bodies?
I fell back into a fitful sleep only to be awoken by his kiss on my chest, his tongue lightly flicking my nipples.
Sleepily, I allowed him to open my legs, and when he pushed inside me, I held on, lazily participating in his slow fucking.
His delicious kisses filled my mouth, his tongue that tasted like cherries and smoke colliding with mine.
After I came down from another earth-shattering climax, I fell right back to sleep on his sweaty chest.
I stealthily climb out of his bed, not wanting him to wake up.
I need a fucking minute to process the turn of events.
My feet sink into the plush rug covering the floor surrounding his bed, and I spot a black blanket hanging over the only chair in the room.
Bluish light shines through the window. It’s early morning, but I’m not sure of the time.
I can’t even check. My phone must be somewhere.
It was in the back pocket of my jeans. Fuck it.
It may have fallen out, lost somewhere on the forest floor, when I got on my knees and tilted my ass up, permitting Stone to fuck me right into the ground.
My knee caps hurt remembering. I pick up the dark blanket that is crumpled on the floor and wrap it around my shoulders, then look back at the bed one last time.
Last night I sweated over that body, under that body. I held on to those shoulders while he pounded into my body. The thick outline of his cock is clear through the thin sheet. I want to feel it in my mouth again. Flick the piercings with my tongue.
I ease away, tiptoeing to the bathroom he used last night, and quickly empty my bladder.
This time, I look around, taking in all the details that I missed when I was too busy with Stone’s dick in my mouth.
The walls are unpainted wood, rustic, but everything else is pure luxury.
There’s a copper, vintage tub in the corner, next to the shower we used.
The tub is deep enough to fill to the top, allowing the water to reach up to your neck.
I wish I could soak now, but I have no idea what will happen when Stone gets up.
I head to the marble sink to wash my hands and reach back.
I’m astounded at the reflection staring back at me from the vanity mirror.
Jesus. I look like I’ve been in a tornado.
My hair is all over the place, tangled and definitely in need of some loving care from the salon.
It’s been tugged and wrapped around a fist most of the night as Stone squatted behind me.
Recollections from last night rush through my brain at bare-neck speed. Memories of him using my hair to pull me back. The feel of his balls hitting my swollen pussy while he grunted in my ear or when he gripped my scalp, burying his fingers deep while he slipped his tongue deep into my mouth.
The damage to the rest of my body is insane.
Rotating my arm, I observe all the purple blemishes.
I open the blanket, showing my breasts, chest, and stomach.
The cut on my neck aches under the bandage.
I’m not sure if we opened his stitches. We weren’t exactly careful last night while my body was contorted in every possible position.
I take inventory of the number of marks.
It’s staggering. Three purple marks dot my collarbone.
Hickeys. The other, more minor scrapes and cuts on my neck and chest are starting to scab over.
I touch one, remembering how Stone cut me and then licked at the cut.
My eyes travel down to my breasts. The tiny bite marks on the upper curve of my breasts send a tingle through me.
I have bites all over my body, tiny indentations of his teeth that pressed into my skin.
My hips have bruised fingerprints from where he gripped me, holding me steady as I rode him.
I didn’t notice when he was doing it, too busy enjoying him inside me.
My wrists are still bruised and raw from when he caught me.
My tummy is no better. The geography of our night is there too.
White stains cover my stomach. His cum. I open my legs and spot the deep bite mark on my inner thigh.
His teeth. I touch my pussy. I’m still swollen.
I lift my hand, staring at the moisture.
His saliva. My arousal. Who knew sex could be like that?
Sex that is currently making it challenging to walk.
The worst soreness is in my ass. I’ve never touched myself there before, except to clean and use the bathroom, but I let him put the handle of his knife in my ass.
I had anal sex with a knife. Oh no, no regular butt plug or dildo for me.
His fingers and his tongue have also been back there, and heaven help me, I wonder how his cock would feel.
He told me I need to train. I have no idea what that entails, but something tells me it will be a thrilling experience.
Wait until I tell the girls. Wait. No, I don’t know if I want to tell them about everything that has happened in the last 24 hours.
Was it just yesterday that I was staring at the mural he created of me, in disbelief that he drew a massive mural of me as some sort of mythical goddess?
Was it just 24 hours ago that I drove out to find him and got myself lost in the woods?
Was it just 24 hours ago that I stumbled onto two dead bodies?
Was it just 24 hours ago that I let the man I’ve been obsessed with brutally fucked me, ass up, into the dirt like a farm animal, and I loved it, letting him put his dick inside me without a condom?
My pussy pulses, remembering the complete control he had over my body. I close my eyes and remember the way he told me to climb on his cock, after our last round. I was exhausted, and he didn’t give a fuck. He gripped my hair and pulled me down to his lips, growling softly against my lips.
“You do what I say, Countess. I told you I want your pussy again and I don’t like to repeat myself. Now take my cock and put it in your cunt.”
So I did. I lifted my leg and grabbed the base of his cock, feeling those metal balls beneath my fingers, and found my entrance and lowered myself on his thick cock, so sore I wanted to cry, my pussy unfamiliar with the amount of rigor, but his seductive voice made it impossible for me to say no.
So I rocked on his cock, holding onto his chest, while he fingered my ass with one hand and gripped my breast with the other.
I rode that pain-pleasure that I’ve only ever felt with him and let him explode inside me.
Then I let him pull out of me and eat my pussy before he fed me his cum, and I swallowed.
I swallowed greedily when he commanded me to do so.
It was nasty and intense, God help me, because I don’t regret it.
I don’t regret the danger, the roughness of being with him.
He’s addictive, and it’s euphoric. The way he can’t seem to stop.
His intensity matches mine, and I want him with the same level of urgency.
It’s as if our time is running out. Like once the sun comes up, this thing we’ve done will come to light, evaporate, and fade away, and we go back to avoiding each other.
I could chalk it up to good sex, no, I mentally correct myself, great sex.
The wreckage of my body can testify to never having had sex like this before.
I don’t recognize myself. The greedy slutty behavior isn’t me.
Isn’t it, though? A voice taunts. Haven’t I wanted to fuck this man since I met him? I block out the judgmental voice.
The unvarnished truth is that I should be running for the hills, but I’m not.
I gave complete submission to a man who for all intents and purposes confessed to being a killer.
Well, he never said he killed them. He told me the bodies in the forest were his, but the man is a wordsmith.
He’s the most secretive man I’ve ever met, but his words felt like a confirmation that he was the one who put the bodies there.
More than that, I didn’t want to think about it.
Not the fact that their hands and heads were gone.
I hug myself watching him. I fucked a man all night who killed two people, three if you count the manslaughter charge Sophia mentioned weeks ago.
Can I leave? Should I leave? Will he let me leave? I had an inkling of what kind of man he was, and now, I’m not sure. Am I in danger? He chased me down like a criminal.
I know what he sounds like right before he comes.
I know the flavor of his skin, his mouth, and the feel of his fingers in my ass, but that’s all I know.
I have no clue if he sees me as some sort of threat now that I know about dead bodies, rotting in a forest. His forest. Christ. I’m way out of my depth here.
The most I’ve come to being involved in a crime is shoplifting lipstick.
Kingsley and I dared each other to steal when we were 16 from a drug store.
She kept hers, but I snuck and put my back a few days later, unable to live with the guilt.
But I don’t want to put this back on the shelf.
I want to keep him. Hide him away in my room and take him out and covet my prize.
I want this all to myself, at least for now.
Suspended reality with Stone. Stefan Hayes is beyond belief.
I want to stay in this cabin, in this bed.
I want to feel him fucking me again. I want his tongue all over my body the way it was last night.
Is this some sort of Stockholm syndrome shit?
Christ, I don’t know. Even if I leave, I don’t know which way to go.
I turn on the water until just a trickle comes out, too nervous that I’ll wake him and he’ll turn those mysterious eyes on me, and I beg him to let me stay.
I rinse my face as quietly as possible and wash out my mouth.
I sniff my armpits. Not bad. I open his medicine cabinet, moving slowly, praying it doesn’t creak, and spot only a brown bottle of some unknown liquid and Q-tips.
There is also a first aid kit. No extra toothbrushes or sample deodorant.
I guess I should be thankful since it probably means he doesn’t have guests.
Who are you kidding, Cam? He could have a box of toothbrushes and extra deodorant somewhere else.
You have no clue. Jealousy burns inside me that he might have other women who come here, other women who he fucks that way he fucked me, other women who sleep over and stare in this very vanity mirror and think about him fucking them again. Just the way you are.
Shit. You need to focus on something else, Cam. I shake off emotions. I have no business feeling about a man who has made zero promises.
Something catches my eye from beyond the small bathroom window. I peer through the glass, spotting graves. There is a gravestone at the edge of a dark clearing. It’s big like my mother’s gravestone. Weeds and ivy shroud the tombstone. It looks abandoned, neglected. It breaks my heart seeing it.
For years, I cleaned my mother’s grave with Maria. Then, when she retired, I went alone. I haven’t been there in a long time. Too long. Her birthday is coming up, and I need to visit. There’s an impulse to clean this one. I wonder if Stone knows who they are.
I head back into the room to find that he’s still asleep.
I tip down the stairs and slip out of the door.
The grass is covered in dew, chilly on my toes, but I don’t stop, the gravestones in my line of vision.
The trek up the hill makes me pause and take in the surroundings.
The stillness of the forest feels soothing rather than eerie, like it did when Stone chased me.
Stopping at the edge of the tombstone, I kneel on the cold, wet ground and trace the words.
The gravestone is much newer than I thought when I saw it through the window.
I assumed it would be older with the design.
Some long-lost person from the past. But the Stone is newer.
There are two angels etched at the top of the gray Stone.
One is holding the smaller one. Mother and child?
The epitaph is only a message. I think it’s written in Latin, but I could be wrong.
There are no names and just one date. 2012.
Thirteen years ago. “Who are you?” I whisper, wondering why the names are not carved into the Stone.
It’s unusual. There is nothing. No hint at their personality.
Their role in someone’s life. The impulse is there to know, but first the grave needs to be cleaned.
I dig my fingernails in the dirt, pulling, yanking at the widespread weeds.
Some of the roots are stubborn, but soon I have a satisfying pile of branches, leaves, and roots.
I wish I had some flowers to leave behind.
Looking up, I scan the edge of the forest for any color.
It’s no longer Spring, but there may still be some flowers blooming.