Chapter 15 Chloe
CHLOE
Ithink I’m dreaming. It feels like a dream. This decaying cabin that’s somehow swept and tidy on the inside, the dim light from the faded, floral curtains covering the window. The glass of water, which tasted faintly steelish, like the lake.
A fucking murderer ripping my clothes off me like a hunting dog trying to get to its prey.
It’s exactly how I’ve always wanted to be fucked. Violently.
Now I’m naked on his sofa, the fabric rough against my bare back. My clit is throbbing to be touched, but Theo just stares down at me. He’s still fully dressed, still in that T-shirt and jeans, and I’m completely vulnerable. Completely at his mercy.
The idea makes my clit throb.
I think of all the terrible hook-ups I’ve had in my life, chasing a moment like this and never finding it.
“Please,” I whisper, hardly aware of my lips moving. Or my hand, for that matter, reaching to get at his cock. “Please.”
I still can’t bring myself to say it, though. I’ve never been able to. Please fuck me so hard it hurts. But I think he understands, because his eyes darken, and he shoves his fly down and reaches inside, rearranging things. Then he pulls out his cock.
It’s big. Big, and so hard that the skin seems to shine as it stretches around his thick girth. He’s almost as big as my dildo, the one that looks cartoonishly huge but is the only thing that’s ever come close to giving me what I crave.
I whimper softly, imagining how beautifully that cock is going to hurt. Even better, I think Theo likes it, because he smiles: a devilish, evil-looking grin. I wonder if he grins like that before he kills people.
I wonder, fleetingly, if he’s going to kill me. And to my shame, lust floods into my clit.
Theo growls and grabs his cock at its base and slides it between my folds, running his head up and down, gathering up the moisture seeping out from between my legs.
He’s going too slow, although when he brushes my clit, I cry out and arch my back, and he stays there, grinding his cock down on me.
I moan, my eyes rolling back, legs trembling, waiting for him to shove himself inside me.
But he doesn’t. He strokes my clit with his cockhead, moving in quick, swiping motions. Heat builds in my belly, hot and molten, and I lift my gaze to him again. He watches me intently, those icy blue eyes bearing into me as he starts to slap my clit with cock. My body jolts.
This is what I need.
“H-harder,” I pant, digging my nails into the couch.
He smiles again, dark and wicked. Then he quickens his pace, smacking his cock down over and over against my inflamed clit. I shriek, bucking into the pain of it, the pleasure building fast.
He’s going to make me come, I think in a daze. I wonder if he can sense that, too.
“Use your hand,” I whisper, hardly believing myself. I never ask for what I want. It’s never worth it.
But Theo’s eyes blaze with hunger, and then he strikes my pussy hard with his palm. I groan and arch my back, spreading my legs wider and rocking my hips, and he keeps striking me, the soft smack of his skin against my wet cunt echoing through the room.
My orgasm hits fast, almost out of nowhere.
I scream out, half in surprise and half in pleasure.
It wasn’t just the pain but the threat of him, of all he could do to me, that got me soaking.
I thrash against the couch, and Theo pins me down at the shoulder.
He growls again, a sound far more animal than human, as he rubs his cock against me, plying my walls open
I pant, my vision dotted as the last waves of orgasm pulse through my body. Theo’s eyes burn into me.
Then he thrusts himself inside my cunt.
It hurts. It doesn’t matter that I’m drenched or even that I’m still coming a little. He’s so big, and he stabs me with his cock like he’s stabbing me with a knife, and it hurts.
But fuck me, I like it. I like how Theo’s eyes flutter closed, and his fingers tighten on my shoulder, digging into my skin, like a threat of more violence.
I like how he moans wordlessly, how my pussy can barely stretch to accommodate him.
I like how he buries himself inside my trembling body and then looks at me and bares his teeth, his breath fast and heavy, matching mine.
As he ruts into me, I reach up and cup his face, spreading my fingers over his cheek.
I don’t know why; it just feels right, like he’s the beast and I’m the beauty who can soothe him.
As soon as I touch him, his eyes widen, and he makes a rough, frightening sound in the back of his throat, and he fucks me harder.
I moan, sliding my hand up until my fingers are tangled in his hair, and drop my head back, baring my throat to him as I languish in the painful pleasure of his thrusts.
He bows his head over me, kissing my face and then my neck, which makes me spark with a fear that pulses straight into my clit.
It’s not long before his kisses turn to sharp, nipping bites that leave bright spots of pain all the way down to my breasts.
When he drags one of my nipples into his mouth again, my body clenches around his dick. Again. I’m going to come again.
“Don’t stop,” I pant, tugging on his hair. “Don’t fucking stop. I’m so close.”
He grunts into me, rolling into my pussy in a way that means his big, painful cock is sliding very not-painfully against my G-spot.
My body shakes. I dig my fingers into his shoulder and hook my legs around his hips, dragging him down to me, holding him in place.
Then his teeth clench around my nipple, and I howl and then I come, the hot pleasure pouring through my limbs as the pain in my breast explodes outward.
He releases me and buries his nose between my breasts and makes more of those throaty, desperate sounds as he keeps stroking me through my orgasm, like he’s trying to drag it out as long as possible.
I’ve never felt anything like this before; this constant, rhythmic surging, as steady as the lake waves lapping against the shore, not even when I fuck myself.
I’ve never come so hard that it hurts, like I’m doing now.
But god, it’s the best kind of hurt, like the hurt of his cock and the hurt of his teeth.
His thrusts quicken, turning erratic, and his face is still buried between my tits so that his breath is warm and damp on my skin as he pants.
I roll my eyes up to the ceiling, the exposed wooden beams crossing overhead.
A loose veil of cobweb flaps back and forth, catching the lemony light of the sun, mesmerizing me as I come down from the burning intensity of my orgasm.
Suddenly, Theo roars, and I don’t care about spiderwebs. He tosses his head back, his hips shuddering against mine, and I know he came inside me. I don’t care.
I like it, even.
Theo breathes heavily, his chest pressed against mine, the fabric of his T-shirt damp with both of our sweat.
I don’t know what to say. Or do, for that matter. I honestly just want to stay like this, his cock softening inside me, his firm, heavy body crushing me into the couch. I think I would give anything to be crushed by him for real.
Eventually, though, Theo lifts his head until our eyes meet. They’re as pale and icy as ever. I think of the photograph of Theo Shorn in the newspaper. Of him, decades ago.
Penelope’s going to kill me when she finds out what I’ve done.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice shaky.
Theo tilts his head, studying me. Then he pulls back. Pulls out of me, his cock slapping wetly against the inside of my thigh.
“I thought you wanted to do that,” he says. There’s a long pause, his hands lifted but unmoving. Then: “I sensed it.”
My heart flutters. So he does feel it. My arousal. My desire.
“I did want it,” I whisper back, and it feels vaguely shameful to say it out loud.
Theo keeps gazing down at me, like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to take apart. He drops one hand to my cheek, brushing it with the back of his knuckle. I tilt my head into the touch. I wanted it. I wanted him, and I still fucking do.
It’s the way he looks at me, I think. Men don’t look at me like that. All that Hunter’s intensity, directed right at me.
But Theo jumps off the couch, his eyes fixed on the door.
“What’s wrong?” I sit up, my heart pounding.
“Get dressed,” Theo signs. “Oliver’s here.”
A new panic slices through me. I scramble off the couch, grabbing my clothes as I can find them. Theo hurled them all over the room. My panties, of course, are little more than rags.
He leaves me alone, the door slamming behind him as he steps out on the front porch.
As I get dressed, I try to work out what exactly I’m going to say to Oliver.
Obviously, I can say I was here to return the boat, but how do I explain getting the boat in the first place?
How do you explain stalking to a ten-year-old?
I pull my shirt on over my head, rake my fingers through my hair, and step out onto the porch just as Theo and Oliver step out of the woods.
Oliver’s eyes get huge when he sees me, and he waves his hand around excitedly and runs up to the porch. Behind him, Theo catches my eye. There’s a soft expression on his face. He’s almost smiling.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver asks. “Theo said he met you yesterday. I told you he’s nice!”
Heat rises into my cheeks, and I glance back at Theo, watching us from where he’s standing beneath the low-hanging branches of one of the trees.
“Yes, Theo introduced himself yesterday,” I say carefully, speaking the words because it’s easier.
Less chance of me messing up. “But he left his boat, and I had to return it.”
Oliver laughs and whips around to look at Theo.
He signs something, although I can’t see all of it, despite how animated Oliver is.
But Theo peels himself away from the tree and answers in a slow, laconic sort of way.
“I got scared,” he says. “I don’t like strangers seeing me.
So I swam home.” He lifts his eyes to mine, and they flash like diamonds.
“Chloe was very kind to bring the boat back.”
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Oliver whips around to face me again. “Now we can all be friends. Right?”
Oliver’s eyes brim with excitement. Hopefulness, too. My heart pangs. He’s lonely. I knew that already, but this just seems to bring in such stark relief. He’s lonely. Probably neglected, which gives me another pang.
But he’s still staring up at me, clearly expecting an answer. “Yes,” I sign. “Yes, we can all be friends.”
Oliver beams, then pushes past me and flings himself on the old porch swing and starts digging through his backpack. Theo crosses the lawn. His eyes never leave me, like he’s waiting for me to do something. To say something to Oliver, maybe.
But then he lifts his hands and says, “I hope you mean that. About us being friends.”
His eyes sear through me, making my breath catch. I think of his rough hands on my body, his mouth on my mouth, his violent and shuddering thrusts.
“You want to be friends?” I sign back.
Theo steps onto the porch and stops near me, blocking the warm stream of sunlight. Behind me, Oliver rustles papers around, clearly impatient.
“I would like that very much,” Theo says. “I would like to see you again.”
Oliver stomps his foot on the wooden slats of the porch, trying to get our attention. But Theo’s gaze never leaves mine, and I feel like I’m on fire. I don’t dare ask if he means what I think he means. Not with Oliver here.
Still, it doesn’t change my answer.
“I’d like that, too.”