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"Please, Malik," I whisper. "Just come back with me. I don't like it here."
"What about me?" He leans in, his lips only a breath away from mine. "Do you like me?"
"I hate you." I frown.
"But you like me, too?"
I lean back, but he doesn't let me, keeping me against him, every inch of my body aligning with his cold, wet one.
"Why are you asking me this?" I whimper, not wanting to be put on the spot, most of all here, in the cemetery. "Why are your eyes like that? If I couldn't see your face, I wouldn't even think you were Malik. Your voice, your eyes, something is fucking wrong, and I'm telling you to let me go," I growl, stuck between falling for his soft words and his hard body and wanting to flee from the unknown, from his toxicity that I know lies buried only beneath the surface of him.
"I know you have a freckle on your cunt, and your juices smell like sweet peaches. I know you moan the moment I touch your clit. I know you have an ugly scar that separates your breasts that should disgust me, but it only turns me on. I know you should be dead, and that somehow turns me on even more. I am your brother, Vera." He pulls me toward him. "And I hate you so fucking much, but a part of me wants to eat you alive, and I always get my way."
"That's a shame." I smile at him, showing off my sharp teeth shining in a vicious smile. "Because I always get my way, too."
He bends me back, and my spine arches along the oversized stone. My body curves easily from his strength. I want to fight against it, but there's this weakness in me that won't allow me to. A slight push of his fingers against my body, and I melt.
He's my weakness. Maybe my only weakness. I hate that about him. I hate that he causes me ruin. I hate that so little effort from him can shatter me into pieces.
"Who do you think would win? Would you fight till the death? Or would I win without even breaking a sweat?" He pulls my skirt to my waist, and my thighs quiver against the cold, wet, gray stone.
I can feel a shake roll through my entire body, desire and hate burning in my eyes. "You might be stronger than I am, but believe me, Malik, I could tear you apart with my eyes closed."
He chuckles, his fingers curling around my inner thighs and as he cranks my legs apart. The scrap of black fabric between my legs is so thin and sheer I'm sure he can see the slit reflecting in the moonlight. I can feel as small drops of rain fall atop my sex, and my legs instinctively rub together, gathering the wetness and spreading it. They feel slippery, and I'm not sure if it's need or rainwater covering my skin.
"You could try, but you'd never win." His fingers curl beneath the sheer fabric, and he pulls, the thin strings snapping like a twig in the forest. It falls from his fingers atop a grave, letting it get lost with the rest of the souls and ghosts of the world.
"Whatever lives inside you, I don't think I stand a chance against him. But you, Malik, you I'm not afraid of."
His hand goes to my throat so quickly I can barely intake a breath, and he presses down, causing my spine to arch further until my head lies upside down, staring up at the starless sky. "You should always be afraid, baby sister."
His free hand goes to my sex, pressing between my folds. He hisses out a breath, like he loves my desire and hates it at the same time. All we know is love and hate with each other. It's a sick game. But this game we play, it turns me on. I'm ashamed to say it, but I'm also not. Malik is a wet dream. He's a fucking glorious, terrifying monster that I get lost in.
He's my nightmare, and at the moment, I don't want to wake up.
I thrive off his vicious hate just as much as he thrives on my terror.
My body strains in the uncomfortable position, and he takes his time, spreading the lips of my pussy and sliding the wetness across my thighs. My clit hums, aching. It's torturous. Malik brushes his thumb against it, once, twice, three times, my body twitching each and every time his thumb passes the swollen bud.
"Please, Malik."
"What do you need?" he grumbles.
I snap my head up, staring at him with malice in my eyes and heat burning between my legs. "I need you to fuck me, or I need you to get the hell away from me," I snarl. I shouldn't poke the demon. Mostly the demon with white eyes. I don't know what he's capable of. I don't know what Malik is capable of, really. But this demon? Whatever lies beneath his surface? I fear it may break me, completely beyond repair.
He laughs without humor, snapping his fingers into my messy hair. He pulls me off the tombstone, tossing me onto the ground. It's wet, sticks and pebbles painfully digging into my palms. I glare at him over my shoulder. "Dick. Fucking forget it."
He pounces on me, his freezing body covering mine, yet somehow, I turn into fire beneath him, melting into the ground. He knows what he does to me, and he enjoys it. His hand goes to my jaw, turning my face toward his. His sharp teeth sink into my cheek, the skin screaming in agony at his pursuit. "How easy it would be to snap this pretty little neck. Listening to your bones break might make me harder than your wet cunt."
I swing my head back, trying to knock him in his face. He grabs the back of my head, pushing my face into the dirt. "You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me, little sister. Least of all you."
Rage burns in the pit of my stomach, mixing with lust over his growly voice rasping in my ear. I should hate him with every beat of my pretend heart, yet I can't stop the hurt over his absence, the lust over his possessive hands, the need to have his eyes on mine.
What is happening to me?
He pushes my skirt back up, his hands palming the meat of my ass. He squeezes hard, and I yelp, squirming out of his hold, but he pins me against the ground, making me completely immovable.
"Hate me more, baby. Give me that rage. I promise you, I'll swallow it whole."
