AllFreeNovel
Share Us
* * *
“This placealways reminds me of marshmallows,” Primrose says, smiling at the stained-glass windows in the church.
Brixley looks bewildered at her friend. “Why in the hell would this place remind you of marshmallows?”
“Because during the first initiation I got to eat marshmallows.” She smiles.
Brixley looks over to me, eyes narrowed. “Marshmallows, huh? I knew we didn’t have the same experience.”
Vance decides he will now enter the conversation. “It depends on the person initiating you. Obviously, you got the shit end of the stick.” He shrugs. “Come on, Angel, let’s get this stupid tradition over with.”
Vance pulls a secrete dagger from under the first roll of pews. He reaches for Primrose’s hand, cutting a slash across her palm that makes her gasp and a tear fall. Vance is usually tender with her, but he’s not today. He pushes her hand to the cross, squeezing her bloody palm to it before stepping back and turning away. He tosses her bandana over his shoulder. “Welcome to The Misfits, Angel.” Primrose watches, brow furrowing as she walks out after him.
Brixley watches them with an uneasy gaze. And then she looks to me, the dagger in my hand. Her eyes flash as she looks back up to me, biting her lip. “Come here,” I whisper.
She walks to me, holding out both of her hands. I pull her bandana from my back pocket, tying it around her face. Backing her up against the cross, I shove her pants and underwear down her hips, letting them pool at her feet. She kicks them off as I wrap my hands around her thighs, hoisting her around my waist. “Palms out, Rabbit.”
Her eyes darken, looking like glittering pools of green as her eyelashes lower. She holds her palms out to me, both of them touching side by side. I angle the tip of the knife at one end of her palm, and applying pressure, I slash over both palms. Her blood, thick and vibrant, spills into her palms, dripping between her fingers. I drop the dagger, undoing my jeans and freeing myself. My thick cock rubs against her silky wet folds. I groan, attaching my lips to hers as I slam her bloody palms above her head, leaving her handprints directly under mine. She arches against the cross, nipples hard and begging to be touch through the thin material of her shirt. I latch down, painting her shirt with a dark, wet stain from my mouth as I suck her clothed peak, while rubbing my aching cock between her heat. She gasps, body moving against mine as she reaches her climax. I kiss up her throat, sucking on the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder. My pace picks up, rubbing feverishly over her clit, and I watch in fascination as she comes apart, soaking my dick in her sweet juices.
Her face falls to my shoulder and I lower her bloody hands around my neck. “Next time you tempt me, I’m taking you,” I whisper into her neck, kissing the side of her head. “And you know what that means? You’re fucked, little rabbit,” I growl. And then I let go of her, letting her drop to the ground as she looks at me hurt and confused as I slowly back away. Leaving her there, half naked and alone.
22
Brixley
Maybe I’m crazy,but to me, it always feels as if the air on Halloween night shifts. As if preparing for something a little mischievous, a little sinister. The smell shifts from apples and pumpkin spice to a cold brew of magic and darkness. The wind sounds like whispers, and everyone is high on the adrenaline of Halloween. Again, maybe I’m crazy, but I have felt this shift since I was a small child and it’s one of the reasons Halloween is my favorite holiday. Not to mention my sick obsession with things dripping in darkness. I run through the woods, feeling as if I’m being watched, but I’m ninety percent sure it’s my mind playing tricks on me. I had to sneak out. Not easy to do in a house full of people, but I managed.
I take my usual new route that leads me to the church, but something has me running to the backside of it, and my eyes widen when I see a cemetery. The stones are covered in moss and overgrown vines. I push the elegant gate open, walking into the cemetery. Why is there a cemetery on campus? There are stone buildings like tombs resting at the top of the hill, shadowing over rows of bigger tombstones. As if every single person is someone special. If they’re so special, why have they let the conditions get this bad?
A tomb catches my eye. It’s the only one that’s concave. I drop to my knees before the stone that towers over me. Pulling the knife from my bag, I chop at the vines. Erin green stone begins to slowly reveal itself. A rare color of green, black, and beige. I cut up the center of the vines, careful not to scrape the stone. Dropping the knife, my finger begins to pull the vines away, when his voice has me jumping.
“What are you doing?”
I spin around. “What is this place?”
Instead of answering me, he advances slowly, his shoes scuffing into mine. His caramel and green eyes search mine as he reaches a hand toward my face, cupping my jaw lightly. I swallow, my eyes fluttering shut as I feel his breath over my mouth. “You left me,” I whisper vulnerably.
“Yeah, I fucked up.” His lips brush over mine with every word and hot breath caressing my face.
“I’m so confused,” I admit. “I have no clue what’s going on here. What you and I are doing. Are we enemies? Are we more? What is it we are doing?”
“We’re just us. Twisted and lovely,” he answers before his lips crash to mine. His hands wrap around my waist, slowly lowering me to the wet earth beneath us.
Our limbs tangle as I pull his shirt over his head, biting down on his bottom lip as he pulls my leggings and panties down to my ankles. My hands run over the sharp edges of his back, sinking into his muscles as his lips suck on my neck. My hands trail along his waist, pushing down his pants.
His light fingertips trace my hip bone, sliding my shirt up as he goes. I feel his hard, warm body crushing into mine, the damp earth beneath me a cool contrast. He hooks my legs around his hips, looking down at me through narrowed, heavy eyelids. “If we do this, there is no going back, Brixley.” His words are coated in thick honey and hard whiskey.
“We’re just fucking, Beckett.”
He shakes his head, his chocolate hair falling over his eyes. “It’s more than that. You may not remember, but I do.”
I open my mouth to speak, to ask what he means, but he slides into me, making my back arch as I stretch around him. I’m so impossibly full, my breath hitches. He groans, throwing his head to the sky as his hands slide to my ass, sinking into the thick flesh. My copper hair moves around my face as the wind picks up. Beckett falls to his haunches, bringing me with him so he can thrust into me harder. My hands dig into the wet ground, fingers curling around the soft, wet dirt beneath my nails. I watch with lust-filled eyes as he holds me, thrusting inside me slowly but hard, filling me up completely. I arch into the ground as his hands move up my body, as if carving my shape to memory, caressing and filling every dip and groove of me. His fingers pinch, twisting my aching nipples, and I shatter around him.
I’ve had sex with many men, but this feels entirely different. There are emotions involved here, something raw and desperate in the way our bodies move together. How our hands search one another’s, never fully satisfied with the touches. My eyes flash open when he pauses, his eyes liquifying into mine as he brings the knife to his palm, slashing down over the rough, calloused skin. He tosses the knife aside, squeezing his hand in a fist, and blood rushes through the small cracks of his fingers.
His bloody hand wraps around my neck. Not hard, more in a claim of ownership. Our eyes stay connected as he trails his hand over my chest, fluttering over my stomach. He traces a word using his blood on my stomach but I can’t get a look before his hands are wrapping around my wrists, pinning them next to my head. His body pushing me into the dirt as he lays flat against me. My eyes shut as he thrusts deep inside me, tongue licking at my neck. My body sinks into the earth with each of his thrusts. “Fucking hell, Brixley. Do you know how bad I’ve wanted to fuck you?”
I whimper in response, and he bites into my neck before easing the pain with his tongue. “All those other men didn’t mean anything, did they?” he rasps. He leans up, wrapping his hand around my jaw, squeezing. “Answer me,” he growls.
