Chapter 34
Maddy
The harvest moon hangs over Wardour Castle, surrounded by the thick, English clouds that can’t even contain its intensity. I am standing here, staring at the crumbled history illuminated by the moon goddess herself and looking up at it, I wanna fucking howl. So, I do. “Ow ow owwww!”
I hear Jett start howling too, as strong hands come around from behind me, one gripping my hip, the other slipping over my pussy, currently covered with fleece-lined black leggings. I gasp out a breath that hangs in the air in front of me like a misty white cloud.
“Do you realise how deeply I respect you, darling?”
I shudder. “Y- yeah. Of course. Why?”
“What I'm about to do to you, Baby, the way I'm going to fuck you. It won't seem like it. Making sure you remember.”
I just nod, pulsing under his fingers, too turned on to speak.
“How much of a fucking fight is Baby gonna put up tonight, I wonder?” My doting, sweet, emotional boy sounds like a starved man, a very morally grey one at that, through the mask he’s wearing.
I don’t look behind me to see the mask, because honestly, I wanna wait till I hear ‘go!’ and see him only through the safety of my first hiding place.
“How did it take us months to try this? You’re already soaked through your leggings, kitten. ”
I mean, we’ve been a little fucking busy. “Just because you want inside me doesn’t mean you’re gonna find me.”
The muffled, sinister chuckle does something crazy to my insides as he presses harder, teasing my clit through my leggings.
“Go ahead. Tell me all the things I’ve wanted that I didn’t fucking get, angel …
Mmhmm, that’s what I thought.” I feel his thick erection grazing against my ass, and I moan so loud I swear a bat flies out of the castle before us.
“God, I can’t wait to devour you. How much of a head start does my prey want, hmm? ”
This is a hard game considering I’d immediately like to be caught, but I take a sharp breath and a steadying exhale. “I don’t need a head start.”
“Coz you want to get fucking caught.”
I get it. I’m that obvious. I have even fashioned my hair into Jett’s handlebars so he can more easily grab me from behind.
We are clearly not practicing for my horror flick since whatever this is will be predictable and hopefully a lot shorter than the average movie run time. I force myself to bat his hand away.
“Ten. Ten seconds is more than enough time for me.”
“Is it now?”
“Absolutely,” I say, crouching slightly into a ready-to-book-it stance.
The combination of a relaxing, moonlight stroll through an ancient game of Stonehenge Jenga, red wine, champagne, carbs, and a lot of protein seems to be weighing me down to the complete opposite effect of what you’d want when ready to run at full speed, as if I’m any sort of runner to begin with.
But just as Jett is professionally loud, I am a professional liar, and I put my best game face on.
“Good, because you look ready … set…” He turns backwards so as not to see which direction I head off in, what a good little stalker, wanting a challenge. “Good fucking luck because I memorised your scent eight years a … go!”
I take off sprinting across the manicured lawn, a stark contrast to the crumbling back quarters of the castle I’m running towards. I hear him counting, voice rough with desire, and yes, the leggings are already ruined. But he doesn’t realize he isn’t the only one who memorized the other’s scent.
Sure, Jett may be able to create vivid future visions in his dreams, but I could always smell him in mine, long before we became us.
It’s leather and tobacco and musk, of course, but with lemon and Jasmine and cedar on top.
My dreams were always scented like Jett, and I could never figure out why.
Stupid girl. He’s my dream boy, that’s why.
Blood rushes in my ears as my fingertips finally slide delicately over the stone that’s strong in some areas and rubble in others.
I drop to all fours and crawl into the back left corner of the castle’s bottom floor.
I get as far as I can before a disintegrating staircase grazes the top of my head, and I sit back on my haunches, hugging my knees. Waiting to catch a glimpse of Jett.
My heart rate quickens as I hear him making little kissy sounds like he’s trying to feed a skittish kitty its supper, but thankfully, from far away. I can tell he’s back here, but clear on the far right side from the sounds of it.
“Here, kitten, here my sweet little pussy cat. Make this easy on both of us and come to Daddy.”
Unbelievably, I hear his boots trudging up the other back staircase with a confident thud, thud.
One deep booming footstep after another, and it dawns on me.
Jett isn’t worried about that one crumbling because he wasn’t taking an important phone call earlier, like he had gestured to in the middle of my photoshoot.
He was skillfully checking the structural integrity, or lack thereof, of every surface in this place. That cheeky fucker.
His voice somehow still shakes me to the core, despite being a solid 200 ft away and covered in plastic.
“How darling is it that Princess Raven thinks she can hide from me, despite being mine. My unbelievably fit-bodied, sugary vanilla, amber-scented, good girl. As if she’s not already my fucking property. ”
My insides twist with a scorching sear as my knees surge forward and I’m propelled out of my safe hiding place. “My name is already tattooed above your tight, biteable ass, ‘n you’ve been locked, chained, and collared. So just come out and let me use my princess’s holes. All three.”
I wipe the ancient dust on my leggings as I stealthily sneak out to the grass and back around to the front of the castle.
The arched entry stands front and center with columns and lion heads carved out of the centuries old grey stone, still somehow intact as I tiptoe up the steps and into the central courtyard with the harvest moon glowing brightly right above me.
A little voice that sounds an awful lot like my Godmother, Stevie, tells me to raise my arms in a chalice position and allow the full moon’s light to manifest what I desire, and I do.
Since I already have Jett, I imagine getting the phone call that Mickie, I, and everyone else will get some sort of handsome severance package from Max, but that season three is no longer happening.
Sorry, Mick, I know that’s cruel, but it’s what I want more than anything.
I hate that I’m turning into my mum, but I want to be with Jett on the road.
I want us to make a movie together. I want to never see my putrid ex again.
I decide I’ve manifested enough and contemplate crawling into one of the many deep windowsills around the hexagonal courtyard to relax, look up at the stars, and wait to get fucked.
It doesn’t sound like a half-bad plan, but the anticipation sings through my veins as a spiralling staircase enclosed hall leading up to my man starts calling me.
I sigh, trying to ignore the urge, but I hear his footsteps echo from upstairs, and each one makes my pulse pound louder between my thighs.
My body wants a chase, and I might as well let it happen.
“Come out, kitten!”
I tiptoe up the staircase, and it’s so sturdy compared to the one that nearly crumbled on me in the back.
I’m relieved enough to keep going all the way to the top.
This place is four stories tall, but the back was blown out long ago, kind of like how I’d like Jett to blow my back out right now. God, it’s hard to step lightly in Docs!
“I smell vanilla sugar and I’m fucking starving for it.”
I hear Jett, but not close enough to panic.
Is he on this floor? I think he is, but I don’t get any hint of leather and citrus, so I climb the next flight of stairs.
I peek into the third floor, and there it is – that scent of cedar and tobacco.
My boot scuffs on the top step, and suddenly, there’s movement.
Seeing my masked man takes my God damn breath away, and I freeze for just a second.
He’s picked our favorite colors, a black mask with a sinister face made of glowing pink stitching. His black moto jeans are so tight, and his black hoodie hangs open to show his tattoos and ripped body, and I just. Dear Lord, I can’t with this man that has to show off no matter how cold it is.
I spin and run down the stairs two at a time.
I hear a rumbling growl escape from under Jett’s mask behind me as he rushes down the stairs, and I panic, darting away from the last staircase where I’m heading and towards the blown-out back of the castle.
I did this in the season two finale of the Palace of Lies, so the crazy part of me that thinks I’m a stunt woman jumps into action and off the backside of the second story.
“Fuck!” I hear from behind me as I land on the ledge, the last crumbling bit of what’s left of the first-floor ceiling. A low, muffled rumble, “Absolutely mental, my little prey. Interesting that you came looking for me. Do you know you could have run far, far away?”
My neck twists as I see my Jett in a low crouch behind me, and I squeak. He can’t follow me down here; this stone could shatter under both our weights. I assess if I can safely jump to the ground, and hell, I’m doing it.
“Goddammit, Baby!” Jett growls, but I land on my feet, crouched for impact, palms to the earth like a total badass.
I stand up and dust my hands off my leggings like that jump didn’t just scare the living hell out of me.
“Come get me, Daddy. Wanna see some proof of ownership.”
Shit! Jett jumps onto the ledge I was just on and pulls a knife from his pocket that shines under the full moon.
Jesus, tell me that’s a prop! He flips it in the air, catches it, and then hurdles it straight into the ground about twenty feet from me.
Holy hell, that wasn’t a prop! This movie is going to beat horror records, and it doesn’t even have a plot yet. Does it need one?
“We’re still considering a few others for the role, gotta try harder than that.” And I’m off.