Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

L ingering in the darkness behind my eyes, I turned my head away and tried to ignore his seduction. But even while wearing a cloth mask, I could feel his hot breath searing paths along my damp, chilled skin.

Following the curve of my collarbone, the killer cupped my breasts, gently lifting the weight to his mouth so he could nuzzle the swell of flesh. He then drew one nipple between fabric-coated lips while his thumb strummed the other.

He spoke so many declarations of care and odes to my beauty, paid such tender attention in his exploration of my body. It was almost too easy to convince myself that I actually wanted this, that this man loved me, that he wasn’t some rapist and serial killer who’d just offed a dozen of my classmates.

When I felt him kissing his way back to my throat, I tilted my head all the way back, opened my eyes, and stared off into the abyss below. Meanwhile, the killer mouthed my neck and jaw, his passion demanding my attention. I finally caved to his insistence on kissing my lips, surprised that his mask had been drawn up to do so.

“You taste incredible,” he mumbled between the deep sweeps of his tongue. “Sweet like candy.”

I moaned into his mouth, agreeing with the sentiment. He tasted of mint and overwhelmed my senses. I was so used to Jeremy, who seemed to be perpetually beer and salt flavored.

The killer broke the deep kiss, admittedly the best I’d ever had, and licked his way back down. He sucked hard on my nipple while warm fingers delved between my thighs to cup my sex. My back arched into the teasing pain of his teeth grazing against the puckered bud in his mouth.

Rather than just fingering me hard and fast, the psychopath took his time caressing me, gently exploring my folds and circling my clit with the pad of his thumb. My body had long ago broken connection with my emotions, choosing instead to dwell in the biological pleasure the killer provided.

I didn’t understand how he could work my body like he knew it already. I cried out and moved into his hand, striving for some unknown peak that I had heard the other girls talk about achieving, but I myself had never quite reached.

I moaned in relief when he slipped a finger into my pussy. It was delicious, and my mouth watered. He set a rhythm of gentle rubbing along the wall that seemed to ignite a wanting, a need for something raw and carnal and primitive.

“Oh God,” I whispered, trying hard not to let go of the car’s hood or pull free of my cloth shackles. “Oh God,” I then repeated in despair. This should not feel this good.

The killer slipped a second finger inside me, and I whimpered. While not painful like it had been with Jeremy, it was almost too much, like an uncomfortable stretching. My body struggled to accept the new addition.

“You’re so tight, Samara. Fuck. You need to relax your body.”

Breathing hard, I tilted my hips up and opened my thighs wider, willing my muscles to unclench. My face burned in humiliation. I was facilitating my own assault.

But I wanted it to be easier. I didn’t want it to hurt. I wanted it to feel good. I wanted what he promised me.

“Good girl,” he praised. He gently worked his two fingers in deeper, taking much more care than my boyfriend ever had.

Between his thumb stroking my clit and his fingertips rubbing my vaginal walls, tingles of pleasure erupted, and I could feel my wetness seep out, allowing him a smoother stroke.

“My very good girl,” he complimented. “Look how wet you are getting for me.”

My sick, perverted psyche preened as lust overtook all reason and morals. “Please,” I begged softly. “Please.”

“How can I resist when you beg so pretty?”

I felt his erection press against my entrance, and with a lift of his hips, he slid into my core, his lips capturing mine as I groaned from the sharp pain. He was large. Thick and long. But he made it hard to concentrate on the pain when he kissed me like this.

He didn’t move right away, allowing my body time to adjust to his girth. And when he did finally move, he did so in slow, steady thrusts.

I found his cock a lot smoother than his fingers, and while it hurt to have him this deep, I didn’t mind.

And so he made love to my body, and for a brief time, I ignored reality and lost myself in the sensation and taste of him. I didn’t think it was possible, but his masterful ability to command my body had me crying out like an experienced woman. I came, screaming into the night, and he spewed within me.

“You’re perfect,” he said then kissed me again.

I felt him withdraw and lift off me. I had yet to open my eyes. I waited. I felt him pull the knife out. The fabric around my wrists went slack. I waited…

What now? Was he going to kill me?

I said the Lord’s Prayer.

And three Hail Mary.

…Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death…

I then heard the roar of a motorcycle.

My eyes popped open to the night sky.

He was gone.

And I was alone.

I stared at the stars, and LL Cool J’s newest release, Hey Lover, floated out into the now still night…

“…this is more than a crush…”

The End?

What happens to Samara on the anniversary of this massacre? Follow Tia Fanning to find out!