CHAPTER SIX

ADDIE

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I'm running.

I recognize the woods enclosing Mom's property, the same ones I've run through most of my life. But no matter how hard I push, how desperately I pump my legs, he's there. A shadowy silhouette visible only by his glowing red eyes tracking my every futile attempt.

My white dress is a beacon in the dark, a startled rabbit bounding over roots and rocks, frantic to escape the wolf dogging my steps.

He's so close. Always right there when I turn. Always watching, waiting for me to fall so he can pounce.

But I'm not scared.

I am. My heart is racing and I'm coursing with the panicked adrenaline of a small creature trying to flee, but I'm excited. I want the chase. I want him to hunt me. Catch me. I want that mouth on me again.

Propelled by a new sense of urgency, I dive around a knotted tree and skip down the incline I know takes me to the river further ahead.

Rhys and I used to play there as kids. I think my love of being chased stems from those long summers with him hot on my heels, tackling me to the damp earth when he caught me.

But this isn't kid-Rhys stalking me now. It's the tall, broad stranger from Halloween who terrorized me for his amusement. The brute who finally had enough of my running and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back into the steel cage of his arms.

My core pangs at the memory. It floods with the desire to feel that again. To have his long fingers cup my sex without warning while holding my head jerked back to his shoulder to growl into my ear, "Enough. Give."

It's him stalking me now, but under that mask is Rhys. It shouldn't be. I know that, but it's my dream and I love Rhys's face. I love the hard contours and chiseled lines. I love his full mouth and deep, dark eyes that make my heart trip. I want so badly for my masked stranger to be Rhys that it only makes sense that this is the only way I can have him.

In my dreams. Only where no one else can ever know how sick and twisted I am.

Soggy leaves and wet earth squish between my toes and darken the hem of my skirt but I don't stop until he stops me. Until he steps out from behind a tree and catches my throat with gloved fingers and slams me into a tree.

The sharp bark slices into my arms and back. Bits of it rain down the back of my dress. Clings to my hair, but I am oblivious to everything, except the haunting eyes leering back from beneath dark voids on a plastic face.

"Please," I beg.

The fingers tighten, cutting. The other hand lifts to my face and light slices up the curved blade in his fist. The sight of it makes my heart skip in my chest. I'm barely breathing as he brings it to the strap on my right shoulder. The bit of fabric snaps easily with the jerk of his wrist. The ends fall down my chest, baring my breast.

My captor hesitates a second before lightly grazing my nipple with the flat edge of the knife. The cold touch of steel on my hot flesh sends fire rippling across my skin. I gasp when he flicks the bundle with the dull edge.

He brings the knife to the other strap and slices it. My dress slithers down my body, baring me entirely to his torment. To the humming knife butt he runs down the center of my body starting from between my breasts to the apex of my thighs.

He grinds the vibrating metal into my clit. He rocks his wrist, sawing back and forth in steady pumps and I'm chasing the friction with my hips, meeting his motion while he tightens his hold on my throat.

I'm so close. So close. I don't want him to stop.

I come awake disoriented.

The world is still dark but tinted with a faint blue at the edges. I'm face down across the mattress, my cheek pressed into the cool sheets, but I can't move. My arms are pulled taut by satin tethers fastened under the mattress and there's a relentless humming between my lips. Pressed into my clit.

"What—?"

The vibrator glides and rubs and my thoughts scatter as fire races through my core.

I grunt into the mattress. My hips jerk up to give him more access. My knees widen as I arch my back.

He takes that as an invitation to get behind me. His cock presses against my opening.

"Please," I pant, needing him to fill me, stretch my walls when I cum. "I need your cock."

He obliges with a deliberate slowness that makes my thighs tremble. My core clenches hungrily with every inch he allows me and I'm begging shamelessly for all of him.

The vibration increases with the flick of his finger and the piercing buzz zaps through my body with a vengeance I'm powerless to resist when my orgasm rips through me and I greedily impale myself on him again and again. Taking my own pleasure while he holds the toy against me.

Longer.

Without mercy. He stays even after I'm too sensitive to take it, but he forces another orgasm. Then another. I'm bucking and wailing as he gives me no chance to recover before I'm cumming again.

"No more. Please, I can't. I can't ... shit!"

I'm begging. Sobbing and pleading. But my body makes me a liar as it gives him another.

I'm drenched in sweat. My throat burns from crying out. Tears soak the sheets both under my cheek and between my quivering thighs where I can feel myself drenching his cock and leaking onto the bed.

Gingerly, he withdraws. I'm very aware of his absence but grateful for the reprieve even if only temporary because he returns only, he's not aiming for my vagina. He's nudging against my ass, against the puckered hole I've never had more than a finger in. He's definitely bigger. Thicker. Even coated in the wet sheen of my arousal and the cool drizzle of lube, my poor orifice isn't prepared for the invasion of his head breaking past the ring.

"No!" I whine, mashing my face into the mattress as the pain wracks down my back.

The vibrator finds my clit and I'm lost between the blurred lines of pain and pleasure. I'm bobbing my hips even as I'm shuddering a fresh release that pulls him in.

All the way.

He's in my ass to the hilt and I'm so full I can't breathe.

He fists my hair as he pumps his hips, pressing himself deep and I'm cumming against my will and squeezing him hard enough to make him groan.

"Mine," he growls, rocking his pelvis against my body and lighting every nerve on fire. "Your tight, little ass. Your wet pussy. Your greedy mouth. Mine. All fucking mine."

I'm nodding vigorously and deliriously as he takes me, rides me like he has nowhere else to be. The toy at my clit never wavers so no matter how much it burns, how much it hurts to have his size lodged somewhere it shouldn't be, my body is a mess of bliss.

"Take it, baby. Enjoy me in here because next time, you're going to ride me in your ass and your dildo in your pussy."

I'm convulsing and it has nothing to do with the vibrator he's slipping in slow circles over my sensitive clit, but the raw image of him filling both holes simultaneously.

"Now. Do it now." I wheeze, pointing to the nightstand.

Atticus freezes behind me. This clearly wasn't part of the plan, but he comes through and pulls out. I'm barely registering the loss of him when he returns.

There's no time to wash my still clean phallus. My knees spread wide in invitation as he breaches my opening.

He fucks me for several seconds, but after having him warp my walls, the toy which had given me so much pleasure in the past just doesn't do as much ... until he's back at my tender back hole. The burn is fresh, the pain equally aggressive, but it's renewed and hostile with my other opening stretched around the dildo.

"Too much! Too much. Please, I can't—"

He moves. The momentum of his push drives him and the inanimate object deeper, in sync and my brain reels. My vision wavers. I can't breathe as he works both channels in perfect coordination.

Then the vibrator returns and I'm dragging against the tethers as I slam back against him. Pain is a distant memory, a different lifetime as I feel my body heave. The pressure squeezes around my core and he swears viciously, fingers cutting into my writhing hips as I scream and explode.

Possibly literally.

Hot, searing liquid gushes from my vagina. It's nothing like Halloween. This is a violent release of my body unraveling with such an intense brutality, I may have died a little.

Atticus is still fucking me and I let him. I lie in a heap of my own sticky mess and let him take what he wants. I let him use me to empty his cock into my ass.

The dildo isn't inside me, I'm vaguely aware. It must have popped out with my release. I can't be sure of anything, except that I'm exhausted. I can't move. I don't. Not even when he undoes my wrists and gently shifts me into a comfortable position.

"You did so good, dimples," he murmurs into my sweat soaked temple. "I'm so proud of you."

Giddy, I snuggle into his chest and promptly fall asleep.

I'm alone when I open my eyes to the sharp glow of sunlight crashing through all the glass. Exhausted from a long night of getting fucked, I almost consider going back to sleep, but my bladder is threatening to rebel, and I need a shower. Badly.

Only knowing I need to get up and getting up are two different things when my used and abused body screams in protest. Absolutely everything pangs in reminder that I haven't been fucked by an actual man in so long, I'd forgotten how good it was.

But even then it was never like this. My dildo has never made me incapable of walking. I never had to slide off the bed, brace to give my thighs a moment to remember their purpose before hobbling to the bathroom.

Am I complaining? No. Absolutely not.

Am I ready for another round? Also no. I need a minute. A day. I'm so sensitive and tender that if he comes near me with his dick—

The reminder that I have a masked stranger somewhere in the house nearly has me choking on shower water when I gasp and inhale while rinsing shampoo from my hair.

Holy shit, there's a masked man somewhere in the house. A man I invited to chase me naked through the woods, to tie me up when I was sleeping to fuck my ass.

And loved every minute of it.

Oh man, Addie, what the fuck is wrong with you?

This is definitely how murder documentaries start. Stupid, sex crazed bitch let's masked serial killer repeatedly fuck her into a coma.

Mom would be horrified. Grams would set up camp at her church. The aunts ... well, I know what they'd say, and it wouldn't be nice or comforting.

Nevertheless, this doesn't solve my problem.

Maybe he's gone. Did he even sleep? I was knocked out cold after everything he'd done to me.

My clit pangs with the memory, and I tell that needy bitch to shut the fuck up. She's the reason we're in this mess.

"Christ," I mutter, slapping the faucet off and stepping gingerly onto the plush mat.

Fucker took my clothes.

Everything, except the single pair of panties he tore off. I'm left with nothing but a towel to swaddle up in.

Then, I go searching for the man with the magic dick.

He's in the kitchen, tall, built, mouthwatering and cooking bacon in a pan ... topless, and holy fuck, the man is perfect. Brutally, undeniably ... so perfect with muscles on top of muscles and a tight, lean waist dipping into a delicious V into the waistband of his pants. I'm staring, but he's just standing there in gray sweats and a mask, like some dirty whore and I'm only human.

"You need tattoos," I blurt.

His head comes up and, although I can't see his eyes, I can feel them run up my form in the same assessing once over I just gave him.

The pan with the sizzling strips of meat is shoved off the fire. The element is snapped off. He raises a hand and crooks a finger at me.

I go happily and have my waist captured. I'm lifted up onto the counter and my knees just spring open like my joints aren't throbbing in protest.

"Morning," I say, arms sliding around those wide, hard shoulders.

"Morning."

I kind of heard his voice the previous night when my brain was melting and everything rang with a fuzzy echo and during Halloween when the music was too loud to be sure. So, I ignore the prickle at the back of my head telling me he sounds familiar. Instead, I focus on the fact that it was so ... simple. He just uttered words so casually in the light of day.

He chuckles at the look of pure shock I'm sure is on my face and the sound is so deep, so gruff, so delicious ... fuck. Fuck! No! I need to ice my vagina.

"How are you feeling?"

More words spoken by the man running large hands across my back and along my sides. My face is hovering inches over his covered one and I'm suddenly so glad I can't see him. I'm already devastated by what I have seen so far, his penis is a masterpiece, and his voice is about to make me orgasm. If his face matches all that, I'll be ruined. If it doesn't, I'll still be ruined.

"Dimples?"

I shake my head to clear my one tracked brain and realize my mistake when he freezes.

"No, I'm good. I'm ... so good. Really. I would like to know where my clothes are though."

His palms continue rubbing me through the towel. "No clothes."

I frown. "You're wearing clothes."

His head cocks, then, without a word, he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his sweats and yanks them down around his ankles. Boots and sweats get kicked aside and he stands before me gloriously naked.

I can't tell if God is punishing me or if I'm being rewarded because this man's dick is quickly becoming my obsession. The fact that he's already hard and just waiting to nestle where it belongs deep, deep inside me has my insides liquefying with anticipation. I'm leaking and soaking into the towel I'm gripping like it's going to protect me.

"Towel. Off."

All notions of giving myself a day to recover vanishes when I find myself sprawled across the island, legs wide around his shoulders as he eats his breakfast with the zest and gusto of a starved man getting his first meal. I don't think I'm capable of climaxing after the previous night. I'm half worried it won't work when he takes his first sweep up between my folds and my entire body caves. It bows up against the cold marble. It takes no time at all to take me over with just his tongue flicking steadily at my clit.

"How am I not numb from last night?" I pant, staring up at the lights dangling over the counter. "I should feel nothing."

"You were perfect last night," he says gently, pressing wet, open mouth kisses down the inside of my thigh to my knee.

"I have never cum so much or so hard in my life. I'll be honest," I tuck my chin down to peer to where the dark holes of his eyes look back up at me, "I didn't think it was possible."

Atticus straightens. His big hands splay the soft flesh of my pelvis, forming a diamond with my mound at the center. His thumbs part my lips, baring my clit.

"You had no choice."

I chuckle, finding myself baffled by this guy who can't seem to stop touching me. His obsession with my body thrills me.

"Do you think we did too much?"

He lifts his head. "Do you?"

I shrug. "I've never done any of the things we've done so far. I'm a bit sore. I'm not complaining," I promise quickly when he tenses. "I'll get better—"

He drags me up to a sitting position and grabs my chin. I'm forced to look into the hollow fabric where the mesh covers his eyes.

"You are perfect. It's my job to take better care of you." He brushes lightly at my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I should have gone slower. I should have taken my time—"

I put a hand over his mouth, muffling his words. "I asked for it. All of it. It was exactly what I wanted." I lick my lips nervously as I realize where I'm headed with this conversation. "I've only been with one person, besides you on Halloween. My first back in high school. It didn't end well. Ended really badly, actually. I'm not used to this, but I love it. I don't want you to stop."

"I will always give you what you need."

I will a smile and bump my nose to his. "I could go for some breakfast now that you've had yours."

His roar of laughter is beautiful. Thick and rich, and humming with a vibration that rockets down my spine.

The material of his mask scratches my skin as he leans in to nuzzle my cheek.

"Oh, I'll give you breakfast, dimples."

I glance down at the solid length of his erection he's stroking and feel my mouth water.

"You certainly know what I like."

He gives me actual food after I've swallowed every drop of his cum. He pours me a bowl of cereal promising all the fiber with almond milk. We sit on opposite ends of the sofa with our legs intertwined across the middle cushion with our bowls.

I can see him struggling to keep his mask over his nose as he eats. The fabric keeps rolling down with his chewing.

"I'm sorry," I blurt, heart tight with regret.

Atticus lifts his head to peer at me. "For what?"

I motion with my spoon to his face. "This isn't right. You shouldn't have to ... can you even breathe under there?" I bite my lip as I finally admit to myself how unreasonable I'm being. "Last night, I was cooking I was so hot. I can't imagine—"

His large hand captures my foot lying against his thigh. "I wasn't wearing it last night. When you're sleeping, I take it off."

Hot tears burn my throat, sting my eyes. "God, I'm fucked up. Why are you doing this?"

His bowl and mine are placed on the coffee table and I'm dragged into his lap. He holds me close. The embrace is firm, but gentle with his warm hands splayed across my back.

"Because this makes you feel safe. I want you to be comfortable and yourself. I want you to be happy."

I swallow the golf ball lodged in my throat. "It's not fair."

He bumps my chin with a hooked knuckle. "I have you. I get you. That's all I want."

How did he always know exactly what to say? How did he have the power to wrap all my worries up and take them away?

I take his face between my hands and rest my brow to his. "I'm scared."

His arms tighten around me automatically as if prepared to protect me. "Tell me. I'll fix it."

I shake my head. "I'm scared you'll realize just how fucked up I am and leave me."

"That will never fucking happen."

I'm breathing hard and I don't mean to be, but I'm terrified. My entire body is shaking, and my heart is racing. I want to cry but I know if I start, I'll never stop and I'll be a mess when trying to tell him about Rhys, about that night in the parlor, about how long I wanted it to happen, how I tricked him into doing things with me that destroyed any chances we ever had of going back to what we had.

Because Rhys was my best friend. Immediately, without question from the moment our parents introduced us, we bonded. The two years between us meant nothing, not even when he became the star quarterback in high school, and everyone loved him.

He was still my Rhys.

He gave up time with his friends to walk me home after school. He skipped parties to spend time with me or he'd watch over me if we went together. No one ever messed with me because they loved him. I was protected by the whole school because Rhys said so.

When my first attempt at a boyfriend ended with the guy telling the whole school he took my virginity in the backseat of his car, Rhys broke his jaw, fractured his ribs and shattered his kneecap. I had never seen Rhys so enraged. He came home to find me on the sofa with Mom holding me while I sobbed into my raised knees.

His only question, "Who?"

I begged him to let it go, but he was gone with the slam of the door.

The next morning, I learned the guy was in the hospital. He'd told the police he was in a car accident. When they asked where the car was, he told them he couldn't remember while both of Rhys's hands were busted. So badly he couldn't play for two months.

Everyone knew. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Even when Cory returned to classes, he never said a word about it again. He dropped out of every class we had together and transferred out the following year.

But things changed for me after that. Only me. Rhys still only saw me as a friend. He never once gave me any indication that maybe, just maybe he saw me the way he saw the girls he dated.

Until I forced that to change and ruined everything.

"Baby?" Atticus touches my face, drawing me back from the hole I can feel myself falling into.

"God, I can't," I choke out.

I can't tell him.

"Okay," he says gently. "I don't care. Whatever you think will change my mind about you, it's not possible."

My voice wavers even as I shake my head. "I did something terrible, and I can never take it back."

"Tell me."

I shake my head harder. "I can't. Not yet. Please."

His long fingers run along the curve of my back, tracing the ridges. They comb through my hair, brushing back the strands off my neck.

"I'll wait. As long as you need, if it'll prove to you that I'm not going anywhere."