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Grandma would chastise me for submerging myself in the tub before having a shower, but I’m past caring about hygiene. One man got decapitated because of me and another one wants me dead.
As the water reaches the halfway point, I climb into the tub and soak. Why does the Boogie Man have to be such a vicious bastard?
I don’t understand how a person can be so possessive over a woman he despises. But I’m not some long-dead, ancient queen. I’m her namesake, who either passes a resemblance to her or has been extremely unlucky.
A dark figure appears on the edge of my vision. I snap my gaze to the window.
The Boogie Man stands at the cottage’s boundary, clutching my soiled clothes.
His long red cock stands at half-mast.
My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
“Touch yourself,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Get out!” I wave my sore arm for emphasis, making my breasts sway.
He leans forward, his lips parting, his huge dick lengthening and thickening.
My jaw clenches. At times like this, I wish I had a foaming bubble bath.
“Invite me in,” he rasps.
“Fuck, no.”
He flashes his teeth. “Alienor.”
Desperation roughens his voice, and the way he says my name is both a prayer and a curse. I’m not the kind of woman who inspires the desire of such a beautiful creature, let alone his obsession.
The Boogie Man spent centuries fixated on his wife, centuries living under a chastity curse that only faded in her presence. For reasons I can’t yet understand, his curse has directed him to my door.
A wicked part of me wants to tease him and worsen his suffering. The more sensible part says I should pull down the blinds and concentrate on finding a way to banish him from this realm.
Even if I wanted to get out of the tub, I couldn’t. The moment I try to rise, my heavy limbs scream a protest, telling me I can’t move until the ache subsides.
“Open your legs,” he says. “Show me that sweet cunt.”
Heat flares across my cheeks and spreads down to the swollen bundle of nerves between my legs. He’s so rude and filthy.
I part my thighs a little, and he surges forward and pushes against the magical barrier.
My gaze returns to his huge cock. Salt sparkles across all four heads, leaving crystals trailing down to the ground.
The muscles of my pussy clench. “Is that your precum?”
“I am aching for you, dear Alienor,” he says, sounding pained. “Touch yourself. Show your husband how you take your pleasure.”
Butterflies flutter around my heart. Nobody has ever looked at me with such longing—not even Norbert. Hell, nobody has ever felt anything for me stronger than mild affection. Not romantically, not platonically, and not even familially.
This is crazy. Giving into the Boogie Man will only make him worse, but he is temptation incarnate.
I’m not saying he’s right about me being his wife or that we’re even soul mates, but every time he comes close, I feel wanted.
My teeth worry at my bottom lip. I should tell him to leave. But I won’t. It wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, and the Boogie Man sucks in a deep breath as though hanging onto my every movement.
Teasing the Boogie Man isn’t just a crazy idea. It’s stupid.
