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Crack! Strike! His hand feels more like a whip now. But the rest of my skin hums, almost as if I can feel his gargoyle purr inside me.
“You were strong, little one. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. You survived things you should never have had to endure. You felt helpless and weak, out of control. In a home that should have had more love.”
He grips the back of my neck. I moan as he presses me against the bed, igniting a trigger. My pulse spins. My lungs constrict, strangled by an invisible vice. My heart feels like it’s going to break my rib cage! And somehow, I muster the courage to not speak my safe word.
“Breathe, Butterfly. Focus on me. My warm breath upon your shoulder. My scent. My skin against yours….”
No sooner does he speak the words than he tugs on the ends of the shift already bunched up at my hips. He sweeps it off me in a second, leaving me fully exposed.
“Focus on my fingers doing this.”
He rolls them across my clit. I can’t move. His hand is an anchor against my neck, weighing me down.
“Do you feel helpless now, Aradia? Weak? Out of control?”
I take deep breaths. My hot tears drip onto the pillows. “Y-yes.”
“Let me be your strength as I show you yours.”
Before I can blink, his hand flies—again and again, sending an inferno upon my ass, releasing the very fires of hell. He never stops gripping my neck. My mind detaches. High on the pain endorphins, I start to float away.
He stabs two fingers inside my wet heat, yanking me back. I clench all around him.
“You chose this, Aradia,” he says while flattening his chest along the curvature of my spine. “You are not helpless. Not weak. This is within your control.” Slowly, he removes his hand from the back of my neck, and I shiver as he traces one solitary finger along my back, drawing lines along my shoulder blades. “Do you believe that?”
I lift my head. Through tears, I look back at the blackness and nod, tossing my curls over my shoulder. “Yes, Eros.”
“Good girl. Now tell me of this prank.”
“Oh!” I moan as he pumps his fingers, collecting my slick cream before retrieving them.
When he rubs my wetness along my all-too-erect nipples, I buck. My breasts dangle like ripe and rounded teardrop-shaped fruit. With every rub and tweak of my hypersensitive nipples, he pulls on the invisible line to my clit. I love how he curls his thumb upon each bud. Oh gods, I’m dripping more than ever.
“There was this old house down the street. It belonged to this old man the kids would call Mr. Scratch because his voice was so coarse, and he would shake this red cane. His house was always broken down. Overgrown grass and ivy crawling all over. Arianna and her friends pressured me into this dare. I needed to go into the house, up to Mr. Scratch’s bedroom, and take something to prove I did it.”
His other hand slides across my bottom, eases through the seam, and his fingers tease my tight anus. I flinch and roll my hips, rocking against him while he squeezes my breasts, patting them, holding them lightly to feel their weight.
“But once I got to the bedroom, Arianna locked me in. There were…bars, actual bars on the window, which she knew. She said it would make me think twice before tagging along with her and her friends all the time. She said I needed to grow a spine. Mmm…” I moan when he swipes my slippery clit from side to side.
“It got dark. It got…cold.” My voice softens as he plays with my swollen nub, pinching it and circling it. “There was nothing in the room except this huge bed and the dresser. The bed was made up on one side with lots of pillows and lumps. And it stunk to high heaven. But I didn’t care. I was cold. So, I climbed into the bed, hoping Arianna would come back soon.”
I shake with the need to come. My breasts ache, my nipples are sore. I spasm once, on the edge of convulsing, but he removes his fingers.
“At some point in the night, I felt something at myback.” He centers his hand on the back of my neck, laying upon me once more. I gasp out, “Something heavy and icy cold.”
He is warm, and my ass is scalding hot. Molten liquid engulfs my blood, my flesh, my limbs.
“I froze at first,” I say. “I think it was the first time I had a panic attack. Because something stiff and hard rolled onto my back, pinning me. I heard a crack as I thrashed with it. I got off the bed somehow. Oh, gods, it was him. Mr. Scratch, he’d died in his bed. And I…”
Everything stops. My breath hitches, catches in my chest as Eros gathers me into his arms. Oh…my…fucking…bloody…valentine. He’s so warm, so strong, and he smells like subtle smoke, vetiver, and dark floral notes. It’s intoxicating. Bare-chested, all he wears is something covering his privates, but I feel his hardness, his throbbing erection under my thigh. It feels so similar to his gargoyle one.
Regardless of him chafing my burning ass, Eros draws me closer, cups the back of my head to lay it upon his chest, and prompts, “Go on, Butterfly.”
“I spent hours huddled up in the corner of the room with Mr. Scratch’s corpse just a few feet away. But it was also the time I saw my first ghost.” His hand lowers to fondle my heavy breast and knead it while the other cups my pussy. “She apologized for the boy scaring me. I told her he didn’t look like a boy at all. But she just smiled and said all men are boys to their mother. Her name was…Petunia. And she was beautiful…like a floating angel.”
He rubs those fingers along my drenched folds, tugs at my nipple with his others. I clench, squeezing more, dripping onto his fingers and the bed.
“She helped me get out, Eros. She showed me the dumbwaiter that led me to the basement and guided methrough this crawl space until I squeezed out of a small access door. I came home, took a shower, then went to bed. Arianna congratulated me in the morning in her own way. She made me waffles. I’ve hated them ever since. And…that’s it.
