Page 16 of Petrify

I can’t help it.

She’s mine to do whatever I want with, isn’t she?

I’m reaching for the waistband of my pants and palming my dick. Immediately my spine tightens.

Vaguely aware there should be some feeling of remorse here. Some disgust at myself. A normal person would. But there’s none. Only a red-hot craving for her flesh and everything else inside of her.

I’ve never felt so fucking ravenous. The need to squeeze, to bruise, tohurt. Dormant urges awakening with a vengeance, this carnal hunger for flesh drawing me closer. The promise of her pain is so exquisite it’s all I can think about.

The friction through the fabric is not enough. My hand willneverbe enough when I’m looking at her. Laid out on the bed, in the most vulnerable state—knowing I need only to wait a little longer?—

The heady, intoxicating lust has me reaching beyond the waistband. I nearly hiss at the feeling, grabbing myself harshly, so close already with one more stroke. Squeezing, tugging on the head, willing myself not to blow so soon.

My eyes trace the bow of her lips, the curves of her breasts; her fingers twitch at her side, and for a moment I imagine what I’d do if her eyes shoot open. She’d force my hand. If she saw me—really saw me—then there would be no going back.

She would know the Ghost is real.

Her brows crease, lashes fluttering, the sight of it going straight to my cock. Every breath is erotic.

My free hand falls to the foot of the bed to steady myself. I’m only a couple feet away. The closest I’ve ever been to touching her.

Each slide of my hand down my cock, I imagine how tight her cunt would wrap around me, how wet she’d be, giving in. She’d squirm under me, opening up those lean legs wide, letting me find my way inside. And I’d push myself so deep she’ll never think of anything else.

It’s pathetic how quickly my release barrels through me, and it’s all I can do not to groan aloud, gritting my teeth hard enough to crack.

I could make a mess of her, leave her wondering in the morning just how she’d been violated without noticing. But I hold back, fisting the blanket in one hand and my twitching cock in the other. I forget to breathe.

No one’s captured me like this.

No one has even seemed half as interesting.

I’ve wanted to mar flesh my whole life. But not likethis. Not until she showed up.

Heaving breaths expand my ribcage. My cum is warm and sticky on my stomach. A waste. It’s all for her. The thought of filling her?—

And then anger flares in my chest, because I’veneverlet myself get so wrapped up in something or someone.

I’ve never let someone distract me the way she has.

I’ve never let myself fall into obsession.

I’ve… never had the chance.

My fun has been found in death. In tormenting the living. Not incraving.

And that’s what this is—an obsession as deep as a black hole, a coveting as strong as the need for air, because for the first time in a long time, I want to feelalive.

Chapter 9

The Pianist

I metJason Howard the first day of my freshman year at university.

All of us first-year music program students were put in one room, egos inflated, because we were special enough to be chosen for the program, which was rigorous and notoriously difficult to get into. The best of the best. Many of us would hope to garner recognition while still in undergrad, or that we’d be scouted, invited to join such and such prestigious orchestras, featured in publications, pushed ahead of our peers.

But before it became too cut-throat, we were a group of young adults, fresh out of high school, let loose in the world and pretending we weren’t intimidated by the size of it, wide-eyed and impressionable, too naive for our own good.

He stood at the front of the practice room with our professor. Introduced as our TA. I remember his arms were crossed, sitting on the edge of the table, gazing out over the crowd of incoming students. Honey-colored hair, broad shoulders, dark blue eyes that drew me in.