Chapter Seventeen

Mallory

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. I just had to clean the window. Now I ’ m going to die. Strangled to death by this maniac. Do I jump? I ’ d survive. Best case scenario, I sprain my ankle and die a few feet away, tackled under his humongous body. Worst case scenario, I get tangled in the ladder and break my leg before dying.

His voice rumbles from behind me, “ I wouldn ’ t do that if I were you.” Goosebumps spread across my body and an involuntary shiver overcomes me. He knew I was going to bolt. His hands wrap around my ankles, pulling my feet as far apart as the ladder frame will allow. He slides his hands up the outside of my calves, making his way up to my thighs.

“ I ’ ve waited so long for this and it's still better than anything I ’ ve ever imagined.” He steps up onto the first rung, hands gripping the front of my thighs. He dives face first into my ass, inhaling deeply. What in the actual fuck? A growl rumbles up from somewhere deep inside him and it has my insides turning to goo. I have a death grip on the top of this ladder, making sure we both don ’ t fall as he touches me. His left hand leaves my thigh to grab onto the frame while his right hand moves around to the back of my thigh. He's slowly working his way up, like he ’ s committing every second of this to memory, until he ’ s palming my right buttock. There ’ s a gentle caress and then he bites me, right on the ass. Hard. I ’ m shocked, utterly speechless, this guy is a fucking animal.

“ I wish there was nothing between us,” he says, resting his masked forehead on my lower back, “ I long to devour you.” Oh… T hat did something to me. My arse is throbbing as he rubs and kneads my tender flesh. I ’ m trying so hard to be silent, I know my cries will only spur him on and drag this out. I ’ m hot all over, biting my lip to keep silent. I can feel the brush of the tip of his nose along my lower back, it's gentle and intimate, I regretfully start to relax into his touch. Then I feel his tongue dragging up my spine. I gasp, tense up again, then slam my mouth shut. Did he take his mask off? I could turn around faster than he could pull it back on, I'm sure of it. But then I would be ruining whatever this is. I don ’ t know what it says about me that I ’ m not hating it. However, I do know that I don ’ t want it to end just yet.

His dark chuckle rumbles from behind me, “ Let me hear you, baby,” he says. His hand moves up the side of my body and I suddenly become extremely aware that I am shirtless, and this black, lace bralette leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Closing my eyes, I swallow down my mortification. I have never been touched like this, it ’ s new and scary; both overwhelming and perfect. His fingers drag along my skin, slightly under the band of my bra, my pulse hammering in my ears. There’s no clear path his fingers are following, but they’re leaving fire in their wake. Two fingers dip into the waistband of my leggings, following its course around my body. My pussy clenches and I suppress a moan. Abruptly, his hand leaves my body and I'm disappointed. Did I do something wrong? Why did he stop?

Smack! Searing pain shoots through my right ass cheek, intensifying the dull ache from his bite mark. Holy shit, he spanked me. What the fuck?

“ Stop denying me the sweet sound of your voice.” The low register of his voice fills me with anticipation. He ’ s alternating between groping and rubbing where he just slapped me, soothing the sting.

“ I ’ ve earned every sound you're fighting to keep in, little siren.” Another tantalizing burn erupts across my skin and I almost break. I'm at war with myself. I want to give in and scream for him, but I want to see what he will do to me next.

“ Now, let me hear you,” he growls. His words are like a shock wave, rippling through my body. I ’ ve never been hit like this before, my clit is pulsing. I shouldn ’ t like this. What the hell is wrong with me? Another loud crack against my ass has a whimper breaking free of my lips. It doesn ’ t really hurt, it ’ s more shocking to hear the slap. This is riveting and I’m sure my panties are drenched. I know it's probably endorphins or adrenaline clouding my judgment but I feel alive. Right now, in this moment straight out of an erotic horror novel, I feel the best I have in years. Maybe in my whole life...and it ’ s because of him.

He stops his assault on my poor defenceless peach and climbs up another step. His arms encircle me, resting on the top of the ladder. My back is to his chest. His masked face nuzzles against me, the soft, warm rubber of the disguise brushing my cheek as he settles his chin in the crook of my neck. The reflection is terrifying.

“Are you wet for me, little siren?” he inquires. Oh, I definitely am- but I can’t admit that, can I? What does that say about me as a person? What is broken in my brain that this is what my body responds to?

His hand leaves the top of the ladder and grips my jaw. He turns my face towards his, I can only make out the gleam of his eyes from beneath the mask. Damn it. His hands are warm, comforting and slightly rough. The top of his hand is inked with a graveyard scene. Tombstones and a creepy, barren tree extends up his wrist and disappears under the sleeve of his sweater. Who is this man who’s turning my world upside down?

“Maaal-lorryyy,” he utters my name in a creepy sing-song voice and I look into the eyes of the mask again. “If you’re done looking for identifying marks now, I’d like an answer to my question.”

“And what was your question?” I reply with a little more bite than intended. I can hear his slow and deep inhale of breath, followed by a long over exaggerated exhale. It’s like he’s trying to keep his composure, although, I’m not sure why. His hand slowly travels down my throat and wraps around my neck. His grip is demanding and firm but not asphyxiating. He’s trying to make a point now, I get it. He’s scary, he could easily snap my neck and leave me for dead. He wants my admission that I am indeed dripping for him. I’ll give it to him, but not because I fear him. I don’t. In reality, I’ve dealt with much worse than him. I’ll tell him to please him, and more than that, I want to see what he will do about it.

“Is your tight little cunt wet for me, baby?” he asks with an amused lilt to his voice. I know he’s smirking under the fucking mask, enjoying every minute of this messed up scenario. I nod, the only response I can muster as shame floods my mind because of what I’m feeling for this psycho next to me.

“Mmmm,” he rumbles out his approval of my admission. “Let me hear you say it.” Is he serious? I can barely think straight right now. Our faces are so close that we could kiss if he wasn’t wearing this mask. I wish he wasn’t wearing it.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m wet for you.” As soon as I say it out loud, it’s like a weight is lifted off my chest. I’m hit with the reality that this is the first man I’ve ever wanted; and he wants me to the point of obsession and criminal offences. His grasp on my neck tightens slightly and he pulls me impossibly closer to him.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby?” He asks for my consent, again, and I nod. Heat spreads throughout my body. His hand travels down my chest and between my breasts, hooking his finger into the lace of my bra.

“Use your words, Mallory, or our time will be over.”

“Yes, I want you to touch me.” I say it with more confidence this time and it spurs him on. He pulls the front of my bralette down, exposing my chest to him. The reflection looking back at me is wholly erotic and I lean into his touch.

“Where do you want me to touch you, little siren?” He pauses, building my anticipation. “Here?” His thumb grazes over my nipple, gentle sweeping touches back and forth, sending bolts of pleasure right to my core. His fingers trail down my chest, diverting to my side and moving down my ribs.

“Here?” He grabs my hip and pushes his erection into my ass. I involuntarily release a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan and he lets out a deep throaty chuckle. He knows I’m putty in his hands now. I should be annoyed or upset by his arrogance, but I’m not. His hand moves around to the front of my body, moving down between my legs.

“Here?” he says as his hand rests over the most intimate part of me. His fingers are gently stroking over the seam of my leggings and I lean back onto his chest. My legs feel like they are turning to jelly, I’m delirious with pleasure and we haven’t even done anything. I’m breathing heavily, feeling so close to the edge I can never successfully fall over.

Then he leans down next to my ear and says, “Do you want me to make you cum, baby?” I nod again, it’s all I can do. My brain isn’t working, much less my voice. A sharp stinging sensation assaults my clit and a shriek erupts from my throat. He slaps between my legs again and again in quick succession and I’m a moaning mess. Pushing into his hand as he soothes away the sting.

“I told you to use your words, do you want me to leave you wet and needy like last night?” he threatens through gritted teeth. He wouldn’t dare abandon me again, would he? Do I want to push my luck or do I want him to chase away the constant ache I’ve felt between my legs since the first night I saw him?

“Stay.” It’s the only word I can rasp out as it seems like all the moisture has evaporated from my mouth. I place my hand over his and increase the pressure on my clit, grinding into his hand. His rhythm is intoxicating and I lose myself in the pleasure he brings me. My breathing increases and I feel like I’m about to explode. Suddenly he rips his hand away and I let out a frustrated scream. I was on the cusp again and he knew it. Is this edging? If so, it’s fucking torturous. His arm wraps around my abdomen and I’m being pulled off the ladder. He takes a few strides towards the woods and then lays me down in the grass.

“What are you doing, Ghost?” At the use of his nickname his head snaps up, but he denies me an answer. He kneels between my spread legs, and I sit up on my elbows to see him better. He places his hands on my knees and caresses his way up my thighs. His thumb rubs over my clit and a whimper breaks free of my lips. He abandons his ministrations as both his hands move to grip the waistband of my leggings. He pauses, raising his head to look at me again. He’s waiting for some signal from me that it’s okay to continue. I raise my hips, a silent affirmation that this is what I want. He pulls my pants and panties down together at an annoyingly slow pace. I want his hands back on me more than I want air. I start to try and pull my legs free, becoming more impatient by the millisecond.

“Do not rush me, little siren. I want to savour you in this moment.”

“Ghost, please.” I don’t care if I have to beg, I’m desperate and needy and it’s his fault. With that, he rips my clothes the rest of the way off, my bralette is torn down the middle and hangs off my body. I’m naked, completely bared to him in the grass just outside my window. This is the spot I first saw him, the spot where he fought someone to protect me, I can still see the blood speckling the grass to my left. I’m about to be defiled in the yard of a house where a father eradicated his entire family. It’s morbid and depraved and it just makes me all the more aroused.

He leans over me, we are nose to nose through the mask, forehead to forehead. I think it’s a sweet moment until I hear his voice in my ears.

“Are you ready to sing for me, little siren?” He slowly sinks a finger into my pussy, working me up again at an agonizingly slow pace. My head falls back as I revel in the pleasure of this moment and the freedom I feel.

“More, I need more, Ghost, please,” I whine. This feels better than anything I’ve ever done alone. I never understood how people could become addicted to sex. Nymphomaniacs, they’re called. But now, I think I’m starting to get the picture. As Ghost sinks his middle and ring fingers into me, over and over while rubbing my clit with his thumb, I swear my eyes roll back in my head.

“That’s right, baby, lose yourself in the pleasure only I can bring you.” His voice is a lover's caress, a shock to my system and something akin to throwing gasoline on a fire. Sweat breaks out across my skin and I feel myself teetering on the edge. Blackness starts to creep in and my insecurities rear their ugly head. Every heinous slur I’ve been called because of the things I was forced into play on a loop in my mind.Pushing me farther and farther away from reality. I’m gone and so is my orgasm. This is why I’ve never been able to cum, I’m so fucking traumatized I can’t even enjoy sex. What if he degrades me afterwards? Just like everyone else. Dirty. Stupid. Nasty bitch. Slut. Whore. I’m ruined, no one will ever want me.

Slap! Slap! Slap! One to each thigh and one to my clit again. My scream turns to a moan as the sting recedes to a burn across my skin. “You will not dissociate when I’m knuckle deep in your pretty cunt, Mallory.” He slams his fingers back into me, harder now. He’s on his knees between my thighs, watching with rapt attention as he roughly finger fucks me. He works his other hand under the mask, lifting it just enough to spit down onto my clit. Righting his mask, his thumb begins to work my clit. His two hands working me in tandem. Gone is my gentle Ghost from earlier, this is the wild side of him I got a glimpse of the other night.

“You will stay present every moment we are together, little siren. Do you understand?” he grits out, and I nod. He lands another slap to my pussy and I can’t contain the noises coming out of me. “Words, Mallory.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I’m sorry,” I cry out. My legs are shaking now, I’m so overstimulated I may combust.

He slows his thrusting fingers to a tantalizingly slow pace and circles my clit lazily. “What were you thinking about?” he asks. I don’t think I can tell him. What if he truly doesn’t know my history to its full extent? He’s going to edge me again and again until I tell him, I know it in my gut. I truly think he expects I will fight him on this, but I may as well rip off the bandaid now. I don’t want to get in any deeper with him if he is just going to leave me.

“I was having flashbacks to the heinous things my parents and their friends would say to me, the horrific things they made me do,” I whisper out. Tears blur my vision and I turn my face away from him, ashamed. He stops his ministrations on my body and fear grips me. He’s going to leave.

“What did they call you, baby?” He grabs my chin and turns my face back to his.

“Why?” I croak out a measly response.

“So I can replace every bad memory with a good one.” His words are a vow, a balm to my raw and open wounds. A promise to my shattered soul that he will help me piece myself back together. I get the feeling that he has been taking care of me longer than I know.