Chapter 9
9
T he night clung to every corner of the cemetery like a shroud, the air heavy with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. The distant glow of the manor barely pierced through the thick canopy of trees, leaving the world outside our little pocket of existence entirely forgotten. Time seemed to slow, each second dragging through the dark as I lay beneath Atley, my heart hammering in my chest, the ground cool against my back.
Atley was all shadows and strength, his broad form eclipsing the stars as he loomed over me, his hand still pressed firmly against my throat. The weight of his body pinned me down, an intoxicating mix of power and control that sent a shiver through me. His eyes, dark and unreadable, bored into mine, holding my gaze with an intensity that made my pulse race.
Atley’s lips twisted into a wry smile, the tips of his fingers brushing over my jaw with a gentleness that belied the earlier roughness of his touch. “You’re still fighting,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the sound curling around me. “I like that.”
He slowly lifted his hand from my throat, the warmth of his skin lingering there. My breath hitched, my lungs greedily drinking in the cool night air as I searched his face for any sign of what was to come. But Atley was unreadable, his expression a mask of dark amusement as he watched me, waiting.
The ground beneath me was cold and unforgiving, the ground still slightly damp from the evening dew. It clung to my skin, grounding me in the moment as my mind raced to keep up with the whirlwind of sensations coursing through me. The fear that had gripped me moments ago was now mingled with something else—something raw and primal that I couldn’t quite put into words.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife.
My throat was dry, mouth barely able to form words, but I managed a nod, eyes locked on his. There was something about Atley—something in the way he carried himself, in the way he looked at me—that had always made me trust him, even with my life.
The grip on my jaw tightened slightly, enough to make my breath catch in my throat. “Good,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that sent a thrill of both alarm and arousal through me. “Because we’re just getting started.”
With a swift movement, Atley’s hand left my jaw and moved down my body, his touch igniting a spark in me that spread like wildfire. His fingers brushed over the curve of my hip, his touch both gentle and possessive, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
The night was thick with silence, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Every touch, every movement, felt magnified in the darkness, as if the cemetery itself was holding its breath.
Atley’s fingers made quick work of the overall clasps before sliding down the worn denim and exposing my tits to the air. His fingers were cool against my heated skin. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second, every inch of my body. My breath hitched as his hand moved lower, his touch firm but teasing, his thumb grazing the underside of my breast.
My heart pounded in my chest, my mind struggling to keep up with the sensations flooding my body. The fear that had gripped me earlier was still there, but now, it was tempered by something else—something darker, more dangerous, something infinitely more seductive. Even though Atley had fucked me brutally earlier with his fingers, this gentleness was undoing me.
Atley leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and something darker, more predatory. “Are you scared, little saint?”
I bit my lip, my body shaking beneath him. I was scared—terrified, even—but it wasn’t the fear of what he might do to me. It was the fear of what I might want him to do, the fear of how far I might be willing to go.
Atley’s lips brushed against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine. His hand moved higher, his fingers teasing the edge of my nipple, the touch sending jolts of electricity through my body.
My breath came in short gasps, my mind a whirlwind of emotions and sensations. Every touch, every whisper, felt like a challenge, a test of how far I was willing to go, how much I was willing to give.
And I wanted to give him everything, give them all everything .
Atley’s hand slipped fully over my breast, his fingers curling around me, his movements both firm and gentle. My back arched involuntarily, my body responding to his touch in a way that felt beyond my control.
“You’re mine tonight,” Atley murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill of excitement through me, “Every breath, every thought, every part of you, belongs to me. To us.”
His words sent a jolt of adrenaline through me, my heart racing as I felt the weight of his promise. There was something intoxicating about his claim, something that made me want to submit to him completely.
But there was also a part of me that wanted to fight back, to challenge him, to see just how far he was willing to go to prove he could break me. It was a dangerous game, one I knew could end in disaster, but it was a game I couldn’t resist playing.
Atley’s lips found mine in the darkness, his kiss hard and demanding as his hand tightened around my breast. I responded instinctively, body arching up to meet him, my fingers digging into the dirt under me as I kissed him back with equal intensity.
The taste of dirt and leaves mingled with the taste of him, creating a heady mix that had my head spinning. Every touch, every movement, felt like a battle, a struggle for dominance that neither of us was willing to concede.
Atley’s other hand moved to my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me closer, his body pressing down on mine with a possessiveness that sent a rush through me.
“Are you going to fight me?” he asked, his voice a low, teasing growl as he broke the kiss, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “Or are you going to submit?”
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but one thing was clear—I wanted this. I wanted him. I wanted to see just how far I could push him, just how much I could take before I broke.
But most of all, I wanted to see what would happen when I finally let go.
“I don’t submit,” I whispered, voice breathless but defiant, eyes locked on his. “Not to anyone.”
Atley’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile, his hand sliding down my body to my thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “We’ll see about that, little saint,” he murmured, his voice dark and filled with promise. “We’ll see.”