Page 49 of Petrify

My legs are still shaking and my heart has only just started to calm. “We can’t really?—”

“And why not?” he asks, pulling my panties down just as far as my spread legs will allow, and bent over, I’m entirely open to him.

He grabs his cock, rubbing it against me. When I moan, I cover my mouth with a hand, unable to keep from making noise.

If Ms. Byrne comes back, I’m done for.

He doesn’t care. He rubs his cock against me, against all of me, from my clit to my ass and back. “I said I wasn’t done with you. You gave yourself to me, Mallary, remember that.”

He slides forward, both of us still coated in our arousal, his cock gliding against my clit.

My knees nearly buckle. I am so tired, all my muscles aching, but I’m already addicted, every cell in my body needing him more than I need oxygen.

“Do you want me to be done?” he asks, teasing my pussy.

With a pathetic whimper, I shake my head.

“Words, Mallary.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper. Tears gather at my eyes, catching in my lashes.

I expect him to thrust into me brutally, but he sheaths himself slowly. So slowly it’s maddening, his grip strong on my hips.

He’s hardly halfway, spearing through my flesh so agonizingly slowly. “I feel like you were made for me,” he groans under his breath. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Emotions threaten to rush forward, a cacophony of misery and fear and desire all swirling in my chest, a single tear tracking down my cheek.

And in a second, he’s fully seated and itdoesfeel so fucking perfect I can’t breathe.

“Every night, Mallary. You have me every night.” He thrusts again, fucking into the cum he left behind.

This is different than anything I ever had with Jason, because when I look back over my shoulder, Bastien’s masked face is thrown back, the column of his throat exposed as he moves within me, a slow, claiming fucking that draws my thighs tight. Like he’s savoring every second. Like he’s memorizing the feeling of my body and his, together.

And here I am pressed against the bedroom door, nails digging into the wood to keep me upright, a stream of tears flowing out of me.

“Do you understand, Mallary?” he says, suddenly entering me again with a sharp thrust. “Do you understand how fucking obsessed I am with you? Do you understand that you’ll never be rid of me? You’re never gonna leave, youcan’tleave, you can’t leave me.”

One of his hands snakes its way along my front, dragging me back to him by the throat. The possessive ways he moves me, the assuredness, even when this is only the second time he’s done this?—

He’s pressing my back to his front, and then lifting the mask just enough—I get a glimpse of dark stubble at his jaw this time—and his tongue darts out, licking up the side of my face. Licking up my tears.

His hips grind against me, his cock even deeper at this angle.

“I can’t?—”

I brace my hands on the door, arching against him, wantingmore.

His hand finds my clit and begins circling, the pressure suddenly so immense I’m losing my breath, seizing around him.

“That’s it,” he says. “Let me make you feel good.”

I’m shattering, barely able to hold myself up, keening cries stalling in my throat.

“Soon, Mallary. And you won’t have to stay quiet.”

Without thinking, I reach up and tangle my hand in his hair. Feel the curls winding through my fingers. Grip onto him and tug, my back arched so perfectly each thrust has me panting.

He growls as I pull his hair, and then?—