Page 334 of Primal

“Sorry.” The mask eats the word.

She doesn’t react. Why would she?

I push in.

She gasps. Her fists clench.

And I split down the middle—

The man who wants her.

The monster who’s got her.

My breath saws through the mask. Each motion feels like punishment.

Payton doesn’t make a sound. Just endures. And somehow that’s worse.

Behind me, Josh chokes back another sob. Kristy might be praying, or cursing, or both.

All I see is her.

All I feel is her going quiet under my hands.

Derek murmurs, “Look at that. I think she’s starting to like it.”

My rhythm falters. My hands almost slip on her hips.

Every thrust echoes off the marble, obscene in the hush.

A candle gutters out with a hiss.

Her fingers curl over the altar’s edge, gripping nothing.

Keep going.

Her body jolts under me, but she stays quiet.

And I hope to fuck she’s somewhere else now.

“Beautiful,” Derek purrs. “Even the dead are blushing.”

Candles burn around her in flickering halos. Wax pools. Shadows stretch long across the chapel walls.

It should look holy.

It looks like hell.

She takes me like a wound—hers, mine, ours.

A sound cracks the silence.

Not Payton.

Josh.

Choking back another sob—or maybe gagging.

The mask sucks against my face—tight, suffocating. My gut lurches. But I don’t get to be sick. I don’t get to break.