AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue
Kieran
Lusty moans spill out into the night air for the third time this week.
I don’t know why she keeps coming back. At first, I thought it was to look for the necklace she lost the first night she was here, but when the telltale slapping of skin against skin assaulted my ears, it became obvious her only plight was to get fucked.
Pulling my knees up so I’m hidden behind my brother’s headstone, I glance over my shoulder, trying to make out their silhouettes in the moonlight. It’s hard, but I’d recognize the throaty, feminine sounds rattling from her body anywhere.
A man ruts into her backside, gripping the pants wrapped around her knees; she’s bent completely in half, hands holding on to a tombstone to keep her in place. “Harder,” she groans, frustration lacing her tone, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me, hitting me right in the dick.
My cock comes to life, as it always does during these escapades, and I deftly slip it from the confines of my jeans, stroking in short, quick bursts to catch up to where they’re at.
I almost don’t mind that she’s here, disturbing the peace. At least I get something out of it.
The spirits might have other ideas, but that’s not a haunting I have to take home. Her demons leave when she does.
Fisting my cock, I imagine how it’d feel to walk over and stab this guy in the gut for being incapable of giving her exactly what she needs. How she’d look up at me with her wide, fearful blue eyes, not yet totally aware of what she should be afraid of.
I’d reach out with a bloody hand and tilt her chin up, smearing red across her porcelain skin. Painting her like a fresh canvas. A brand from the King of Darkness.
Without preamble, I’d grip my rock-hard shaft in the opposite hand, trailing the tip along her stained chin, and then push into her tight little mouth. Her eyes would widen, maybe even tear up, but she’d take it like a champ. Because it’d be exactly what she needs.
I don’t knowhowI know that she’s looking for a particular kind of fuck. Something raw and dark and dirty, that makes her body spasm long after I’ve finished inside her. But I do. And God help me, imagining shoving my cock down her pretty throat makes me so hard, I start to see stars.
She’d swallow every single drop, turning onto her hands and knees before I even have to ask, offering her ass without a single word. No protest, no qualms, no qualifications. Complete and total submission, just the way I fucking like it.
The way I can tell—feel in my bones—she needs.
And I’d take her the way I like, hard and fast andmean, whether she ended up enjoying it or not. In the moment, she might let fear rule her, let it permeate her orgasm in a way that makes her hate me. Afterward, though, when she’s sore in the shower, she’d remember how goddamn good it felt.
Pumping my cock in real time to the tune of her soft cries, wondering how loud she could get if someone were doing it right, I come all over my hand, narrowly missing my jeans. Wrenching a tissue from my hoodie pocket, I clean up, my chest heaving with the aftershocks.
Jesus Christ, I’ve never wanted a woman this much.
Definitely not one I’ve never even seen in the daylight, and not for this long.
And yet, as I hear them pack up and tell each other goodbye, I find myself staring at the trees surrounding the cemetery, wondering when she’ll come back next.
* * *
Juliet
There’s a sinister force that lives in King’s Trace, breathing life into its poorly paved streets and tainting its water supply.
Something evil.
I used to think it was my asshole father, but in the year and a half since we had him cremated, the cloak of darkness has yet to let up.
According to the town tabloids, who have nothing better to do than run stories on the few affluent figures in town, it’s because we exist primarily under the thumb of organized crime. A town with sin so embedded under its skin, it’s impossible to exist outside the shadows.
They aren’t really wrong; death permeates our air quality, making it hard to inhale without simultaneously getting the blood of your neighbors on your skin.
The Montaltos, an Italian crime unit originally from New York that I’m inexplicably tied to, bankroll our police, judges, and lawyers; they pay them to create a facade of order, undercut only by their protection racket and drug business. They cater to the wealthy tourists that vacation in our town, gentrifying it to the point of being nearly uninhabitable for the majority of King’s Trace residents—a massive percentage of whom live below the poverty line.
Two years ago, my older sister Caroline married their terrifying, downright deliciouscapo, Elia Montalto, and nothing for us has ever been quite the same. Months after they married, my father’s history of abusing my sister came to light just before his alleged suicide. After that, my mother skipped town, and I now have a brother-in-law, a niece, and a nephew on the way.
An actual family, and still something feels… off. There’s an emptiness within me, a tumultuous pit of despair inside my soul that refuses to close or be filled.
