Chapter 21

A blanket of ominous air washes over me, making me feel like I'm drowning as my body is held captive by a vibrating sensation where my legs are being spread apart by a pair of large hands.

I turn my head to the side, dirt scuffing against my face, but my eyes remain shut. I feel like I've succumbed to a vat of quicksand, my whole body feels like it's sinking, falling deeper into the abyss of pleasure his mouth is creating.

I feel his greedy hands knead and squeeze the flesh of my ass with the same intensity that his mouth is humming at my center. I hate how good he makes me feel, even when it shouldn't.

Again, I try to open my eyes so I can watch him drown in my pussy but my lids squeeze shut even tighter when my hips buck forward, causing my back to arch as I ride the wave of anorgasm that I don't even think I'm coherent enough to have.

Squeezing my thighs around his head, I release a moan of both pleasure and pain which makes him hum harder against where I am writhing against his face.

"Fuck," he groans, planting a surprisingly gentle kiss to my clit. "You taste even sweeter when you're asleep. You're so fucking wet for me."

His confession sends a surge of warmth to my core. His mouth lingers on my swollen lips and using the torn muscle of his tongue, he licks the remnants of my orgasm up. Another hum sounds from his lips, this time more sinister as it"s preceded by a drawn out laugh. "Wake up, little hellcat," he taunts, cracking through the fog I've been forced into. I want to open my eyes, though my lids still feel heavy.

Slowly I drag my palms against the dirt, I try lifting myself up when a searing pain begins to burrow itself at my temples. With each shift of my hands, the pain intensifies. I try working through it, but that stinging sensation peaks when a jagged rubber sole kicks at my hand.

Wincing, I part my dry lips. "What the fu–?"

My words are cut off by his hand over my mouth. I hate how I'm still half out of it, yet his harsh, possessive touch feels soothing against my skin even as he's stifling my ability to speak.

"Shh," he whispers into my ear, sending an unpleasant chill down my spine. "I just wanted to tell you how seeing you unconscious, surrounded by so much death, makes me realize what a beautiful corpse you would make," he hisses before sinking his teeth onto my lobe. His mouth feels like fire on my cold skin. "Plus, when you're dead, you wouldn't have the ability to run that fresh fucking mouth of yours," he adds, his words like venom to my system.

I want to shout at him, I want to tell him how pathetic he is for drugging me so he can get his tongue between my legs but I'd be lying. He's only doing what I've always wanted. To be taken, chased, pleased at any cost. Only difference is I told him these things before I tricked him. Now it feels like he's using all my fantasies against me, all so he can get the last laugh.

I remain on the ground, pinned beneath his touch until his warm breath abandons my ear. Ignoring the dizziness that feels like it"s rattling my head, I somehow muster enough strength to switch from my back to my side. Slowly, I roll over to my stomach and, once I move onto all fours, my nostrils are suddenly met with the oddly familiar scent of freshly carved pumpkins.

Finally, I feel enough energy to open my eyes. Though the moment they open, a cruel sense of déjà vu slaps me across the face.

Before me, on a patch of dirt, nestled in a pile of leaves, is a pumpkin. Its two lopsided eyes with a small triangular nose giving way to a crooked, jagged smile make it a damn near perfect replica of the carved pumpkin from the opening credits of Halloween.

The lit candle that flickers inside the carved pumpkin brings a smile to my face, though it's short lived. The longer I focus my gaze on the jack-o-lantern the more I'm able to see the small red font that reads "FinalGirlsRock_666",which makes my stomach churn.

Working through the pounding in my head,I lift my hand, inching it toward the printout that is taped just beneath the jagged mouth of the jack o' lantern. Before I can grasp it, my vision is obstructed by a large black boot, covered in specks of pumpkin guts and leftover seeds.

His throat clears and the raspy echo of his baritone voice lingers in my ears, stealing my attention from the pumpkin.

"Want me to read it to you?" He whispers from above me. His voice is so naturally deep, his attempt at a hushed whisper is heard loud and clear. I swear I can feel his words travel through me and straight to my damp center.

My lips part. An inhale disguised as a gasp sounds, making the cool autumn air feel like a wad of cotton balls is being stuffed into my mouth. I clear my throat from the trapped, dry air that has lodged itself in my windpipe when a throaty groan emerges from Maddox. It's faint, but loud enough to come off as effortlessly sultry as it sounds possessive, and it only makes the disorientation I have been feeling worse.

He kneels before me, reaching his palm to the small piece of paper.

"Too bad, I'm going to read it anyway. Maybe this will give you an idea of where tonight is headed." He licks his lips, centering his gaze on the paper.

I swallow hard finally feeling like I can speak. "No," I protest through gritted teeth, chest heaving as I try to get enough energy to rise from where I'm rocking on hands and knees.

An angry groan rumbles from his throat, and he lifts my chin so I'm forced to look at him. The blueish green of his irises look like a flickering candle in the dead of night. The years old paper crinkles slightly in his hand as his fingers curl against it, crumpling it against where his calloused palms have my chin captured.

"No, is such a dirty word. Don't you think?" He sneers.

I ignore him as I try to break free from his grip, but it only makes his smile only widen. His alluring stare sears into me as he waits for a response, but I don't give him one. It's this very encounter that he truly gets off on, that's his kink. The banter, the push and pull, the hatred. That's what he wants, and I won't fucking give him that satisfaction, not when he has a fucking knife in his other hand, and I'm on the ground, trapped beneath his touch, defenseless.

"Are you ready?" he groans, curling his fingers tighter against my jaw. His thumb swipes against my cheek and, although his touch is rough, his warm, intense hands feel like a flame that is slowly beginning to melt the ice-cold front I've worked so hard to maintain around him.

I try to signal my feet to stand up and release myself from his hold, but I can't. The longer he pinches my cheeks together and looks into me with his hypnotizing gaze I remain still, under his spell just waiting for him to make a move in this never-ending chess match we have found ourselves in the last fifteen years.

He arches his pierced brow before clearing his throat to speak.

FinalGirlsRock_666: You know carving the skin of a pumpkin is much harder than carving actual skin…

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Oh, I know. Human skin is much more delicate, all it takes is the tip of a knife and just the slightest bit of force

"Stop!" I shout, interrupting him. My voice echoing against the gravestones that surround us. My stomach sinks as nausea spreads to my mouth because I already know what's next. All these theatrics of his, they all serve one purpose and it's to punish me for what I did to him.

"Come on, I was just about to get to the good part," he shrugs, letting me go.

Working through the grogginess I still feel, I rise from the ground and lift my hand, swiping it in front of me to reach for his knife, but he inches back before transferring his already towering height to the tips of his toes, gaining another inch and a half on me. "Give it to me!" I groan, jumping up to where he now has his hand raised higher, taunting me.

"Mmmm, you sound so good when you beg," he licks his lips, releasing a throaty groan that again travels to my center. "Not so fast," he clicks his tongue, moving higher onto his tiptoes. "If you want this, I'm going to really need to see you beg for it. On your hands and knees." The playful tone in his voice is gone and, in its place, a domineering command.

"Fuck no," I grit, huffing an angry sigh, trying once more to jump up and get it, but it's useless. His outstretched hand paired with his height makes it impossible. My gaze travels up to where the knife taunts me, swimming through the sea of veins and ink that define his muscular arms. Fuck, he looks so damn sinister, so damn fuckable. But beg? To him? As fucking if.

Shifting my weight to one hip, I cross my hands in front of my torso.

"Always so fresh," he scoffs. "Come on, little hellcat, show daddy how bad you want the knife," he sneers but I don't budge.

I'm tempted to drive my foot right into his dick. I even scuff my foot backward about to kick rocks his way, but he makes a move instead.

Confusion spreads as he begins to lower to his knees. I inch back trying to get away from him but his hands reach out for my thighs, pulling me into where he is kneeling in front of me.

My breathing feels sporadic, like my heart is beating so fast it's going to shatter my lungs, and I don't like it. I feel queasy and it's not because of the meds he gave me to knock me out. I feel like there's been a shift, a plea in his movements.

I watch in horror as his scruffy, chiseled, disgustingly handsome, mask face rounds the corner of my hips followed by inked fingers tearing at the seams of my fishnet stockings.

"Wha–" I begin but I can't speak, I can't move as I lower my gaze to where his split tongue now dances at my side. Vicious strokes of forked tongue graze and tickle my flesh causing prickles to form throughout my body sharp as a knife.

"What–" I repeat, but again my words are halted, this time by his index finger that's pressed over top of my lips.

"Ssh," he murmurs. "Don't ruin it byrunning that mouth of yours," he mutters, sounding as conflicted as I feel. This, us. Whatever this even is between us is wrong, but his touch on my skin, our bodies so close to each other,it feels right and it's unsettling, horrid even.

His finger moves from my lips, trailing its way down my body until it hovers just above where I can feel my pussy aching for him. I hinge my hips forward but, like the sadist he is, he removes the hand that was just lingering near my entrance. It disappears from where I peer down at him.

"Don't you dare," he begins, squeezing my ass. "Don't you fucking dare mutter a word unless it's my name as you come." His words are followed by two harsh slaps on my ass. The second whip of his hand is harder than the first.

He moves his hand from where he reprimanded my bottom, to his mouth. Gazing up at me, he slowly brings the pad of his thumb to his tongue. I watch, hypnotized, as his tongue swirls around his digit. Moving his dampened finger to one of the half-finished pumpkin tattoos on my thigh, he swipes his thumb back and forth against my inked flesh. A seductive grin spreads across his face as he marks me with his saliva. The more I feel his spit smear against my flesh, the more I feel the power I try to hold over him wither.

"What I'm about to do to you is going to sting." He groans, finally stopping his little spit shine on my thigh. "It's going to hurt," he continues, now trailing the tip of the knife up my shin with a killer precision. "But it's going to knock something off that depraved bucket list of yours." He stops, the tip of the knife now centered on my tattoo.

My pussy pulses as I watch him begin to plant soft kisses around where he just spread his saliva moments before. He continues to kiss my leg slowly until his teeth slip past his lips, sinking into my supple flesh before the long, separated muscles of his tongue begin to flick against my skin until it meets the edge of the blade that teases me. With the promise of bloodshed on the horizon, I sink into this feeling of being wanted, reveling in it, because I finally feel something.

He releases a moan that vibrates against my skin as heswipes his devil's tongue across his lips. "Remember, no matter how good it feels. No matter how hard you come from feeling the knife graze your skin. I still hate what you did to me just like how I'm disgusted by what you continue to do to me. But none of it compares to how much I would hate myself if I didn't take this opportunity to have your blood on my tongue."

His words feel like a summoning, just like his blade feels like the only heaven I will ever know. Its sharp edge robs me of the numb normality I am forced to live in daily, making me feel alive, making me his. The more the steel nicks my flesh, the more I realize that this is true communion. Trading pain for pleasure, annihilating guilt in the form of blood that's willing to comfort my twisted soul, not condemn it. His hatred brought us here, but the games that we indulge ourselves in, even if fueled by demons, are what keeps us coming back for more, until there is nothing left.

The cool blanket of dark air around us nips at where he pivots the tip of his knife. My gaze falls to where he is carving a jagged mouth on my pumpkin tattoo. My skin stings and as rivulets of blood follow his blade, I feel arousal nestle itself at my clit all over again. With each careful nick and cut he makes, it's as if he is rubbing the bundle of nerves that lay restless, missing his touch. I've never felt this before. It's like a phantom is consuming me as he works the knife on me.

Again, he hums against my skin, his deep tone ricocheting through my body.

"Hmmm, that's it hellcat. Bleed for me," he rasps, running his tongue against where my crimson has slid down my leg. Seeing my blood on his tongue as he toes the line of praise and debauchery is one of the hottest things I've ever witnessed.