Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The circle hisses, smoke curling around us like it’s waiting for the grand finale. Every candle I stuck in my skull mugs are guttering blue now, wax dripping like blood tears, shadows stretching obscene across the walls. My skin prickles. Every nerve is alive. Every muscle trembling.
Their hands are everywhere. Skully’s sharp and mocking, nails dragging across me like he’s leaving graffiti on my body.
Marrow’s velvet and reverent, every touch deliberate, like he’s sketching me in invisible ink.
Bonehead’s rough and greedy, palms big as shovels, gripping me like I’m treasure he dug out of a grave.
I’m dizzy from it. Overwhelmed. Drunk on them.
And then Bonehead makes the decision for all of us.
With a roar, he hauls me off the floor like I weigh nothing—less than the shredded lace still clinging to him, less than air.
His grip clamps around my hips so tight my bones will probably remember it in the afterlife.
Before I can even gasp, he’s lining me up against the thick, blunt weight of him.
No teasing. No hesitation.
He drives into me in one brutal thrust.
It’s unstoppable. Like being split open by a battering ram dipped in gasoline. My scream rips the air in half, nails clawing down his back hard enough to draw blood from his new flesh, but he just pounds harder, chanting, “Smash! Smash! Smash!” like it’s the only word he knows.
My back bows. My tits bounce. My eyes clench shut so tightly I’m seeing stars that may or may not be real.
“Oh my God,” I scream, back bowing. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna snap me in half-”
“Yes!” he roars, hips slamming into mine like he’s trying to break me. “Take it!”
Some girls dream of roses and candlelight. Me? Apparently I dream of being jackhammered into the carpet by a skeleton turned UFC porn star. Figures.
Bonehead finally drops me, but not to give me mercy—no, never mercy.
He lays me flat on the scorched rug, legs wrenched wide, and dives back in with a snarl.
He fucks like he wants to hammer me through the floorboards, down into the basement, maybe straight to Hell.
Every thrust rattles the glass in my neon Rest in Pieces sign.
I can hear the neighbors calling the HOA already: “Yes, Janet, it’s three a.m. and October Halloway is hosting an exorcism orgy again.”
And God help me, my pussy clenches harder at the thought.
Marrow kneels by my head, stroking my tangled hair back tenderly, a contradiction so sharp it’s almost cruel. He leans down, lips ghosting my ear, whispering velvet filth. “Take us, darling. Be split, be filled, be rewritten in flesh and bone. Each cry you make carves us deeper into you.”
I sob and laugh at the same time, because of course I do. Who else gets a pep talk during sex that sounds like a Victorian séance?
My orgasm hits sharp, sudden. It rips through me like an electric chair wired straight into my cunt, body convulsing between their hands. Bonehead doesn’t slow. He pounds harder, cock dragging every last spasm out of me until I’m crying real tears, black mascara streaking like crime scene evidence.
Then he flips me over like I’m a ragdoll.
My knees scrape chalk off the floor, ass hauled high, and his cock slams back into me before I can even breathe. He takes me from behind like he’s trying to staple me to the wall, every thrust a collision, every impact rattling my teeth.
“Good smash!” he howls, biting my shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Fuck!”
I scream again, cracked and raw. “Fuuuuck—Bonehead-”
Skully crouches at my side, stroking himself lazily, grinning like the devil in a dive bar. “Jesus Christ. She looks like she’s being fucking exorcised. Louder, sweetheart. Wake the whole neighborhood.”
Bonehead growls and jerks, hips stuttering as he groans—low, guttural—before spilling his hot seed inside me.
His cock throbs, pumping me so full I can feel the heat seeping down my thighs.
He slams me down one last time, roaring “Smash!” as he comes, then collapses against my back like a golden retriever who doesn’t know he’s eighty pounds heavier than me.
I barely get a breath before Skully snarls, “Up. On your knees. Now.”
Bonehead hauls me upright like a doll, spins me, and suddenly I’m in Skully’s lap. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t give any warning. He simply drives into me the second my thighs hit his legs, lean hips pistoning sharp and fast.
If Bonehead was a battering ram, Skully is a switchblade. Precise. Deadly. Smiling the whole time.
“Fuck,” he groans, tattoos flexing as he slams up into me. “You’re tighter than a backstage bathroom at two a.m.”
I want to snark back. Really, I do. But all that comes out is a sobbing laugh, my nails clawing at his inked chest.
His grin sharpens. “That’s it. Ride me, sweetheart. Ride me like you’re trying to kill me all over again.”
I dig my nails in harder, scraping over inked muscle, and he snarls, hips pistoning harder, faster, like he’s trying to fuck me into the grave.
Bonehead kneels behind, massive hands gripping my hips, steadying me so Skully can spear me even deeper. “Share smash!” he bellows, like he just invented polyamory.
Every thrust punches the air out of me. My moans shred into screams, my thighs trembling, hair whipping.
Skully grabs my throat, hauls me down into a kiss so brutal it’s basically theft. His tongue tangles with mine, his laugh echoing against my teeth, his cock punishing me so hard I swear he’s rearranging my insides like Ikea furniture.
“You’re ours now,” he growls against my mouth. “No excuses. No outs. You’re bound, darling. Bound and fucked.”
Bonehead keeps me steady, his massive hands locked on my waist, yanking me down each time Skully slams up. My body jerks between them as he bites my shoulder, growling like a starving animal. “Share smash! Smash together!”
“Oh fuck.” I sob, head falling back. “Too much—oh God, too much-”
“Not enough,” Skully snaps, sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes are wild, grin sharp, every thrust daring me to survive him. “You’re ours now, sweetheart. You don’t get to beg off.”
His teeth clamp down on my shoulder, the sting mixing with the relentless pace until I can’t tell where the pain ends and the pleasure begins.
My nails dig deeper into Skully’s chest, dragging bloody crescents over ink and sweat. He hisses but doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “That’s right,” he pants, breaking the kiss only to snarl in my ear. “Mark me up. Make it permanent. You’re not walking away from this.”
“I—can’t-” I gasp, every word punched out of me with each sharp thrust. “I can’t-”
“Yes. You. Can,” Skully snaps, his hand tightening around my throat as his cock pounds deeper, harder, faster. His grin splits into something unhinged, dangerous, beautiful. “You’re gonna take every inch. You’re gonna come until you forget your own fucking name.”
The orgasm slams into me like a lightning strike, my body convulsing violently, voice ripping into a hoarse, broken scream. My cunt clenches hard around Skully, milking him until his rhythm falters. He groans sharp and guttural, spilling himself deep inside me as his eyes squeeze shut.
I’m shaking. Boneless. Dripping. And still—still—it isn’t over.
Because Marrow has been waiting.
He doesn’t yank. Doesn’t snarl. He gathers me up slow and reverent, lowering me onto his cock like he’s placing me on a throne. The stretch is unbearable after the first two, my body trembling, but his lips brush my throat, whispering prayers disguised as filth.
His lips brush my throat, his voice velvet and broken against my skin. “Yes, beloved. Take me. Let me carve eternity into your flesh.”
I groan, arms locked around his shoulders, clinging like a drawing girl as he thrusts deep and slow, every movement deliberate, worshipful. Where Bonehead wrecked me and Skully possessed me, Marrow adores me. He’s deliberate, savoring, like he’s writing a sonnet with his hips.
“Fuck,” I whisper, eyes rolling back. “You feel—oh God—you feel like-”
“A hymn,” he breathes, hips rocking. “A prayer. A sacrament. You are the altar, October, and I will bleed worship into you.”
His words alone nearly undo me. My cunt clenches around him like I’m trying to hold him forever, and his groan rumbles against my throat, low and ruined.
Marrow doesn’t slam or pound—not at first. He drags it out, each thrust a hymn, every withdrawal a stanza. His hands cradle my hips like I’m something sacred, his lips ghosting over my pulse as though he’s memorizing my heartbeat.
Tears streak down my cheeks, hot and unending, but I’m smiling through them, my giggle slightly feral. “I’m not a church, Marrow.”
“You are a church,” he murmurs, voice molten. “And I will desecrate you until the Gods envy me.”
That’s when he starts moving harder. Faster. Worship curdling into obsession, reverence into hunger. His hips slam up, driving me down on him until my thighs quake, until my body sings with every brutal stroke. His forehead presses to mine, sweat mingling, breath ragged.
“Yours,” he gasps, eyes wild. “I am yours, October. Flesh, blood, eternity. All of it.”
I claw down his back, dragging lines that bloom red across his pale skin. He moans, deep and guttural, and thrusts harder, faster, until his worship feels just as merciless as Bonehead’s, as Skully’s.
And when my orgasm hits—when it rips me apart with a scream that echoes through the scorched room—Marrow’s right there, kissing the sound off my lips, cock buried deep as he spills inside me.
The ritual ignites. The circle shudders. Candles sputter out and my living room shakes like Hell just signed the lease.
And when everything stills, I collapse in Marrow’s arms. Wrecked, twitching, and sobbing with laughter. Bonehead and Skully loom close, sweat dripping, eyes wild.
Three men. My men. My monsters.
Bound by blood. Bound by lust. Bound by me.
The circle still smokes faintly under us, the chalk burned into my carpet like scars. And I know—I just know—it worked.
They’re mine now.