Page 48 of Petrify

He groans again, and then his fingers are wrapping around my throat, pressing with the slightest pressure at the sides of my neck. He ruts into me, slamming me against the mirror, sending the vanity clamoring against the wall. Whatever was left on top goes scattering across the floor.

“You have such a pretty neck,” he says, squeezing his fingers harder. The spots dance in my vision again, except this time, he doesn’t let up.

Out of instinct, I grab his arm, remembering that I should be afraid, even if my body has forgotten. His hand is a collar around my throat, immovable. A deadly look in his eye as he grips my hip with the other hand, holding me in place. I’m at his mercy, clinging to him with my life in his hands.

Just as my vision begins to go dark, as my fingers grow weak, he lets go, and an orgasm so strong rips through me, my body undulating against his, melting around his cock.

He doesn’t slow down. “I love watching you come.” His thrusting becomes more erratic. “Watch.”

Languid and spent, I obey, my gaze falling to where my pussy greedily takes him in. He slams his hips against mine once more. I feel each pulse, still grinding against me, like he can’t stop, can’t get enough, and the pleasure of it is too good.

My head is light, my body already aching and buzzing.

He looks at me—really looks at me, his near-black eyes suddenly serious. They flick down to my lips, and maybe he notices the blood, because then he leans down, lifts his mask just enough I can see his mouth, his full lips, and he sucks my bleeding lip between his. His cock twitches again when he tastes my blood on his tongue.

“Mallary?” A knock on the door.

My heart drops.

Bastien pulls away, his cock still fully aroused, jutting from his jeans. It glistens with our cum. I have the sudden urge to get on my knees.

More knocking at the door. “Miss Doyle?” They try the handle.

But the chair is still wedged in place.

“You have to leave,” I hiss at him, jumping off the vanity and throwing back on my shirt.

We were entirely too loud. We probably woke up the whole house.

Fuck, Mrs. Beauchene is going to kick me out.

Bastien is entirely unfazed. “Do I?”

I scramble for the robe thrown across the foot of my bed. “Yes. They probably heard everything. They’re gonna—I’m going to bekicked out.”

His eyes darken. “You won’t be leaving.”

I swallow, tightening the robe around me, before unlocking the door and cracking it. I hope my disheveled appearance is that of someone pulled from sleep.

Ms. Byrne stands there, fist in the air as if she were about to knock again. “Oh. Is everything alright in there?” She tries to peer around my shoulder.

I’m hyper-aware of Bastien standing just to my side. “Everything’s fine. Just knocked some things off my bedside table in my sleep. That’s all.”

I don’t know why I am covering for him.

She’s unconvinced. “Hmm. There was a lot of noise. I worried something happened to you.”

“I’m fine,” I say again, smiling what I hope is a convincing smile. “I’ll try to be quieter. Sorry, Ms. Byrne.”

“That’s alright.” She yawns. “Let’s all go back to sleep, then.”

“Good night, Ms. Byrne.”

And then she’s retreating back down the hall.

My face is in flames, but I don’t even have a chance to shut the door, because his hand reaches up next to my head and does it for me, the door falling into the latch with a click.

“Did you think I was done with you?” he whispers low. He pulls my hips flush against him, his naked arousal against my ass. He’s still steely hard. He kicks my feet apart, presses on my back so my face is against the door.