Chapter 47
CHAPTER 47
BETH
M y heart pounds as we climb into his car, and my chest heaves from how fast we ran from that place, my arms tingling from the insane workout. Turning my head, I look at Oliver, and even though he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, a big smile pulls at his lips.
I’ve…never seen him smile like that. It’s like…he’s actually happy.
His grin is contagious, and when his impenetrable stare meets mine, a full-blow roar of enjoyment flies from my mouth. I nearly rip the hair tie from my hair with a few snagged twigs, and Oliver joins me in my fit of giggling.
“Oh, my God. We almost got caught! This thing brought my chase kink to a whole new level.”
My eyes widen as Oliver goes silent, and I slam my hand over my face. I just said that…out loud.
I’ve always gotten crazy turned on while watching the car chases in cop movies and the scenes where the final girl was running from the psycho killer in the horror movies I used to watch with Shawn. I was always curious about if it was more than just watching it. That was until Nigel and I tested it out the night that he raped me. It was one of the last moments that I didn’t fear him. I’m less scared now, but the fear is always there in the back of my mind.
“You have a chase kink?”
I thin my lips as I pull my hand away from my face. I can’t believe that actually slipped out.
“Go ahead. Make fun of me.” I roll my eyes. It won’t be any skin off my back if he laughs. My desires are valid.
“I’m not going to make fun of you.” I gaze at him and take in the relaxed expression on his face. Oliver offers me a small wink before he adds, “I never expected such a naughty thing out of you.”
Arching a brow at him, I smirk. “We had sex at a carnival, you made me bleed from all three holes, and a chase kink seems out of character? Your head would spin if you heard everything I’m into.”
“Is that so?”
“What can I say? I’m a kinky bitch with a lot of issues.” I shrug nonchalantly.
“Issues are nothing. Some people cope better than others, but we’re all fucked.”
“I would much rather just be fucked in the literal sense, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?” I joke, but his hand lands on mine, and his fingers close around my hand.
“That sounds like a fan-fucking-tastic idea.” He sends me a flirtatious wink before throwing open the car door and climbing out.
The car is shrouded in thick fog–so dense I can’t see where Oliver is or what direction he went in–and his unknown location has my heart racing and my panties drenched. Carefully, I open the door and climb out of the vehicle, my eyes darting around for him, but once I’m out, I can barely even make out the direction of the car.
“Oliver?” I call out for him, but I’m met with silence.
The town psychopath is playing a game, and I’m here for it.
“What? Do you want to play Marco Polo?” I joke as I run my fingers along the chipped paint of his car to guide myself around.
Then, I hear a soft chuckle from nearby, and my head whips around, trying to figure out the direction the noise came from, but it’s to no avail.
“Alright, Mr. Ghostface.” The anticipation glides down my stomach and settles between my thighs, buzzing and burning my pussy, as my breathing becomes ragged, but it’s not with exertion this time. I can’t wait to see what he has planned. “Marco.”
“Polo!”
My head whips around as his voice licks my ear, and I reach out but find empty air.
“Marco!”
“Polo.”
“Marco.”
“Polo!”
“Marco!”
“Polo!”
The muscle beating in my chest slams against my ribcage as I spin around, dashing toward his voice again and again until my eyes can’t focus on anything but the need vibrating within my body.
“Where are you?” After a minute of silence, I concede, but I’m greeted with laughter that zooms by my ear as if he ran past me, barely missing me. My mind whirls and pivots in every imaginable direction, trying to figure out how to catch him.
“Take off your clothes, and I’ll come to you, crazy girl.”
My body shudders as I stick my arms out, trying to find the car so I have some orientation of where I am, but I ran too far.
This little game of Oliver’s is even better than being chased.
I slip off my hoody down my arms, letting it fall to the ground. I push down my pants along with the blood-red thong I have on underneath. I tug my shirt over my head, dropping everything in a single pile, leaving myself completely bare in the dense fog.
At any moment, the fog could clear, and anyone within the vicinity could see me, but this is a small town, and we parked near the abandoned playground.
No one comes here anymore.
My breath catches in my chest with nervousness, but I can’t contain my sass.
Suddenly, he spins me around, wrapping his fingers around my throat, and tugs me against his hard body. My head falls back as I look up and come in contact with his stormy eyes, crackling with emotion. My breath catches as I stare up at him, not knowing what he’s going to do, and not caring if anyone sees.
I’ve never really noticed before, but there’s something different about his hair–something the others don’t have. He has a small strip of naturally blond hair that sits at his temple. It’s not bleached blonde, though. It’s…authentic.
How did I not notice it before? We’ve been as close as two people can be and this is the first time I’ve taken it in.
“What’s this?” I ask as I reach up and touch the hair.
His features tense before they relax. “Birth defect,” he mutters. “My mom is a blonde.”
“A birth defect, you say?” I remove my hands from his face, reach behind my ear, grab the hair there, and lift it for him to see.
I’ve been dying my hair a dark copper for years, but there is one thing that the color never adheres to.
His eyes widen as he reaches out and runs his fingers along the silver strands in my hand, his eyes narrowing in concentration.
“You were born with this?” he asks, his voice low.
“No,” I respond. “I had a string of severe panic attacks two years ago…after my dad died.” I frown as I stare at the hair. “It went silver starting at my roots and grew out like this. I’ve dyed my hair, but it never sticks. It will stay on for a day…maybe two, then it washes out.”
When I look up, his eyes are blazing into me, and he drops the hair before he releases my throat, running his thumbs along my jaw.
“Don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t dye it.” Then, his lips are on mine. The taste of cinnamon and the scent of cologne swarms me until the only thing I can hang onto is him.
His tongue collides with mine, and my fingers tangle in his hair as he hauls me up his body, skin impacting with bare flesh pulled tight over steel muscles.
I have no true orientation with where he moves other than his cock grinding against me until I’m shaking in his arms, and he kisses down my throat. His possessive hands run down my back and over my ass as he moves us to the ground, and suddenly, he’s on top of me.
“Please,” I whimper with desire, and he trails aggressive, needy kisses down my body until his tongue finds the dip in my hips. My entire body bucks from his foreplay. “Stop teasing me.”
My stomach rumbles from his laughter, and his eyes bounce up to me, a challenge there. “That’s not teasing you, baby. This is.” Then, he dives down where I can’t see him from the fog, and his tongue presses inside me.
Throwing my head back, I arch into his mouth and cry out from how sensitive I am, how his taste buds slide along my channel. “Yes!” Butterflies race down south, and my head spins as my orgasm quickly approaches. “Don’t stop,” I demand, but just as my pussy starts to clamp down on his tongue, he pulls back. I scream in frustration, damning him to hell for that dick move, but then he runs his tongue over my clit. He pulls back as the tension builds again, holding me on the edge. “Oliver,” I warn, swearing I will kill him if he doesn’t stop fucking around and make me come already.
“What? You don’t like being edged?” he teases, and I growl.
He licks my clit again, and I’ve had enough of the bullshit. Gripping onto his hair, I wrap my legs around his head and drag him into me. That seems to make him snap because the way he licks and sucks on my clit has my head spinning.
Moaning with my taste in his mouth, his fingers dig into my ass, holding me against him. The pressure builds more and more until I can’t take it anymore, and I explode like a fire hydrant. The scream that leaves my lips isn’t human. Who knows? Maybe that orgasm sent me to another dimension.
My legs fall apart, but he doesn’t stop tasting me.
“Oliver, please,” I plead, and he moves over me, his full lips glistening with my arousal. “I want you inside me. Now.” His mouth slams onto mine, and I taste myself on his tongue as he slides inside me, stretching me in the painful way I have been dying for.
He releases the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, as he takes me hard and unyielding, but his eyes never leave mine.
“Don’t fall in love with me,” I warn breathlessly as his hips slam into mine, pressing in as deep as he can. Dear God, his cock feels so good. The sentiment is a plea, and I expect him to laugh it off or deny that something has been happening here for a while now, but instead, when he opens his mouth, he doesn’t deny it.
“I’ll try my best, crazy girl.” The words could’ve been said sarcastically, which would’ve been expected of him, but they’re genuine.
“My boyfriend’s a psycho. He kills people.”
The look on Oliver’s face is priceless. I know he is fully aware of this, but I thought he would laugh it off. Instead, the man looks offended, his eyebrow arched at me.
“Don’t forget who is balls deep in your tight pussy. I beat your boyfriend on a crazy scale of ten to one.” Then, he’s kissing down my throat and biting on my neck as he fucks me into the dirt, harder, faster, more demanding.
That is one way he beats Nigel that I don’t argue with. Nigel is nothing like Oliver. Not by a long shot.