Chapter 1
Owen’s car smelled like pine air freshener and Danny’s feet, becuase Danny was riding up front with his feet on the dash in socks with little tacos on them, and Nadia kept leaning up between the seats to swat them down.
It was Owen’s booking. His card, his name on the rental, because senior year he’d announced we were real adults now, twenty one and twenty two and done crashing on somebody’s parents’ couch for Halloween. Two nights. One cabin. The five of us.
I was in the back on the hump, Nadia behind Danny, Jess on my other side. The trees stood so tall and close the sky was a gray stripe up top, and the road kept swallowing us deeper in, and every time Owen took a curve Jess’s thigh slid against mine.
Swallowing. Why does everything sound dirty today.
I laughed at something Jess said, a little snort, and Owen’s eyes came up in the rearview and found mine. Brown. One second. Then the road.
It went straight down thru me. My nipples drew up tight inside my bra so fast they stung, and something warm dropped low in my belly and settled heavy between my legs. I sat on my hands. His knuckles on the wheel. That curl of hair at the back of his neck I’d been staring at for two hours.
Brown. You’ve known they were brown since September of junior year. You’ve drawn that curl in the margin of your bio notes.
“So,” Danny said, twisting around with his phone held up. “Wanton Woods. That’s what locals call the woods behind the cabin. Every Halloween people hear stuff in there at night. Moaning. Screaming, but not scared screaming. Nobody ever sees who. And there’s a guy on here who says he heard his own name.”
“Raccoons,” Owen said.
I laughed. My thighs were pressed together.
Why are your thighs pressed together.
It wasn’t the word moaning sliding into me and going straight down. It wasn’t my pussy clenching once, slow, on that word, while Owen’s eyes flicked up to the mirror again. Not to me this time. To the trees.
Jess leaned in, her mouth right at my ear. “He picked the cabin, you know. He wanted the one by the woods. You two could go in there together, get lost…” low, wicked, “hear his name moaned in the dark…”
I shoved her into her door and she cackled, and my whole face went hot, my neck, and lower, a slow heavy squeeze between my legs and then the warm slick of it in my underwear. I felt it happen. Right there on the seat.
His name moaned in the dark. In your voice. You’re getting wet on the hump with Danny’s taco feet on the dash.
Then gravel popped under the tires and the cabin came up out of the trees, dark wood, a porch light already on, and behind it the woods going straight up against the back wall.
Inside it was a plaid couch, a rug with a cartoon bear holding a fish, antlers over the fireplace, a pinecone clock that ticked too loud. Danny claimed the loft and ten minutes later Nadia went up too, to “see the skylight.” Jess dragged me into the bigger room and threw herself onto a squeaky quilted bed under a painting of a deer in snow. “You’re welcome. He looked at you in the mirror like nine times.”
Nine. She counted. You counted too. You got seven.
I flopped down next to her and the frame let out a long low creak and we both went still.
“This bed is gonna tell on everyone,” she whispered.
By the last trip to the car the sky had gone bruised purple. I stopped on the bottom porch step with the box of paper plates and candy on my hip. The woods were maybe twenty steps away, and the porch light stopped dead in the gravel short of them. A creek ran somewhere back in the dark. The cold hurt my teeth.
Go inside.
I didn’t. I stood there breathing little clouds at the darkest place between two trunks, and something in there looked back. I felt it on my face, my chest, and then it slid down, slow, and stopped right between my thighs and stayed there, heavy, warm, a palm that wasn’t a palm, and my nipples went tight so fast it stung. “ah…”
It’s cold. You’re cold. Except it wasn’t cold where it was looking.
“Mel?” Owen, holding the screen door open with his back. “See anything?”
“No.”
Liar.
He came down a step and took the box and his fingers bumped mine underneath it. “Jesus, Mel, your hands are freezing.”
He set the box on the rail and took my hands. Both of them. Rubbed them hard and fast, then lifted them up and breathed on them, his mouth right over my knuckles, hot breath going through my fingers.
His mouth is right there. Move your hand one inch and your knuckle’s on his lip.
The warm went up my arms and down my whole front and landed exactly where the woods had been looking, and I squeezed my thighs together on the step.
“Better?” he said, not letting go.
“mhm,” I said, which isn’t a word, and he smiled like it was.
In the pink bathroom Jess sat on the tub doing eyeliner and tossed me her black top, the strappy one, thin straps, cut low. “Wear mine. So he looks.”
I put it on. It was tight across my chest and my nipples were still hard from the porch, two little points pushing the thin fabric out so anybody could see. My lips were red without anything on them and my pupils were huge.
You’re going to sit across from him all night with your tits basically out in your best friend’s shirt.
I put a flannel over it, unbuttoned.
Out the little fogged window over the toilet, way out in the black, came one long low sound. So faint it could’ve been the pipes. It went up at the end, a breath let out slow through somebody’s teeth, and it came from all the trees at once.
Jess kept humming. She didn’t hear.
I did. My nipples pulled tight under her thin top, and between my legs I clenched, once, slow, and went slick all over again, warm into my underwear, while Jess drew a wing on her eyelid two feet away.
You heard that. And you got wetter.
I ran my wrists under the cold tap untill they hurt.
[center]
Chapter 2[/center]
The bottle was Nadia’s empty lime soda, the tall green glass kind from the gas station, and Danny laid it on the bear’s stomach on the rug and called it truth or dare spin the bottle, hybrid, you won’t do it you eat a ghost pepper candy, and he shook the little bag of them he’d bought at the register. Nadia said who made you commissioner and he said I bought the candy and she said I bought the bottle, Daniel, I drank that whole soda in the car for this.
We sat in a circle on the floor with the fire behind Danny. Owen directly across from me. Of course. Sleeves pushed up, a mug of cocoa between his knees, forearms gold in the firelight, and every time I looked up there he was and whenever I glanced down there was the bottle and anywhere else I looked it was the black windows with the woods pressed up on the glass. Jess’s cocoa sat warm in my stomach, too many marshmallows, piled on top of the other warm, the porch warm, the hands warm.
Don’t look at his hands. You know what his breath feels like on your knuckles now and you can’t unknow it.
Danny spun first. Jess.
“Dare.”
“Lick the antlers.”
She climbed the hearth in her socks and licked one prong, slow, bottom to tip, eyes on Danny the whole time, and Nadia screamed and Owen laughed so hard he tipped over sideways and Jess hopped down and wiped her tongue on her sleeve and said “Tastes like dad.”
It went around. Nadia called her mom and said I love you in a baby voice. Danny ate a ghost pepper candy instead of texting his ex and cried real tears into the rug. Owen got dared to let Jess do his eyeliner and she did it so thick and smudgy he looked like a sad goth raccoon, and he didn’t wipe it off. He just sat back across from me with those dark smeared eyes catching the fire.
It’s eyeliner on Owen. It’s not hot. It’s a little hot. It’s really hot, and he’s looking right at you.
Then Jess spun and it landed on me.
“Dare,” I said, because truth with Jess is worse.
She’d been waiting all night. “Sit in Owen’s lap for the next round.”
“That’s not a dare, that’s a seating chart.”
“Then it’s easy. Go.”
Danny pounded his thighs. Owen didn’t laugh. He just opened his arms a little, palms up, raccoon eyes on me. Like, if you want.
Take the candy. It’s one candy. Your mouth burns for ten minutes and you live.
I got up. Six steps around the circle in my socks with the fire hot on the backs of my legs and I sat stiff on the edge of his knees like a chair I didn’t trust.
“You can sit,” he said right behind my ear. “I won’t break.”
He put a hand on my hip and pulled me back. Into him. My back on his chest, his thighs under mine, his arm across my waist and his heart going through his hoodie into my spine, fast, faster than mine maybe. The zipper of his jeans was right under me, pressing through my leggings, and I held so still.
Then his hand stayed. Flat on my hip bone, big and warm through the thin cotton, heavy, resting. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t move it. It sat there and I felt every one of his fingers separately, the pinky on the top of my thigh, the thumb on the bone, and the longer it sat there the more of me went to it.
“Mel’s freezing, look at her,” Jess announced, and threw the scratchy plaid throw off the couch at us. She tucked it over our laps herself, sweet, evil, and went back to her spot.
Under the blanket nobody could see his hand. I could feel him know that.
I moved. A little. Barely. Settling, the way anybody would settle.
His arm tightened and his breath stopped on my neck and came out shaky, and under the zipper something shifted against me.
Oh my god. Is that. That is. That’s Owen.
It didn’t happen all at once. It grew. A soft shape first, then thicker, then a hard ridge pushing up into the seam of my leggings, slow, filling in under me while Danny argued about the rules and Nadia threw a pillow at him. I could feel the length of it lying along me. I could feel it twitch. “hnn…” Small and needy, and I turned it into a cough before it was all the way out.
Don’t move. If you move he’ll know you felt it. He already knows you felt it.
The bottle landed on Nadia and Danny dared her to kiss him, and she grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him with her mouth open, slow, and it went on, and on, wet little sounds, Nadia breathing through her nose, Jess going “Okay! Wow! Okay!”
And under the blanket Owen’s thumb moved.
Once. One small circle on the bone. Then it stopped, and waited, and I sat there with my heart in my throat, and it did it again. Slower. Around and around while he watched them kiss and I watched them kiss and neither of us looked at each other.
He doesn’t know he’s doing it. He knows. He totally knows. His thumb knows.
Then his hand slid. Off the bone, down into the crease where my thigh met my hip, and stopped there flat and heavy, his fingertips lying along the top of my thigh with only my leggings between them and the place I was getting wet. He didn’t go further. He left it there, so close the heat of his palm came right through to my lips, and I could feel myself swelling under it, puffy and hot, soaking into the seam, right on top of him.
He can feel that. He has to. You’re wet on Owen’s lap in Jess’s slutty top and his hand is an inch from your pussy and Danny is right there.
That’s when I heard it. Under the fire. Under Jess and the kissing. Way out past the black windows, one long low groan, so faint it could have been wind in the chimney, coming up out of the ground slow. Nobody else turned. Nobody else stopped.
My pussy clenched on it. Hard, on its own, a deep slow squeeze I felt all the way up inside, and it pressed me down onto him, and under me he pulsed. A throb, right up into my seam. His fingers flexed on my thigh.
“mm…” Out loud. Quiet. Only he heard. His breath went out against my neck like he’d been punched.
Shut up. You can’t do that here. They’re right there.
His thumb started again, in the crease now, a slow stroke along the edge of my leggings. Down. Hold. Up. Every time it went down the side of his hand pressed my lips together through the fabric and my clit throbbed against the seam. Down. Hold. My thighs were shaking under the blanket. I pressed my knees together and that sank me back onto him harder, and he went rigid under me, and his thumb went down one more time, slower, further, his knuckle right at the edge of where I’d soaked through, and stayed.
One more inch. One more inch and you’ll come apart on his lap in front of all of them.
Nadia pulled off Danny’s mouth with a wet click and said “Your turn” totally calm, and the round was over.
Owen’s hand went back to my hip. Then it was gone. I got up so fast I almost fell, my leggings peeling warm off him, and went back to Jess and grabbed the bag off the rug and ate a ghost pepper candy I didn’t owe anybody, so I’d have a reason for my face.
“You okay?” she whispered. Sweet. Evil. “You didn’t have to eat that.”
“I’m gonna kill you,” I said. My eyes were streaming.
Across the circle Owen had pulled the plaid throw into his lap and left it there. He was looking down at his hands. Then at me. Eyeliner smeared, firelight on half his face, his mouth open like he was going to say something. He didn’t.
By midnight nobody was doing dares anymore. Jess had her head in my lap, the fire was low and red, the pinecone clock was ticking, and my leggings were still damp where I’d sat on him.
Still. An hour later. You can feel it every time you shift and you keep shifting.
The minute hand clicked onto the twelve.
And from the woods, a woman. Low and long. “Ohhh…” dragged up out of somebody’s chest and shaking at the end like she couldn’t hold it.
Jess’s eyes opened in my lap. Nobody moved.
“Raccoon,” Owen said. His voice was all wrong.
Again, closer, loud enough now that nobody could pretend, “ah… ahh…!” two high notes and a wet helpless whimper under them and then a gasp like she’d been pushed into something, filled with something, and my whole body went hot from my scalp down. Then a man. Or something like a man. A groan so low I felt it in the boards under my thighs before I heard it, coming from every window at once, like the whole woods was doing it, and the woman riding on top of it going “Please… please, please…” faster and faster until it broke in half into a scream that turned into a moan that just kept going.
“That’s somebody having really good sex out there,” Jess said, sitting up.
“It’s a speaker in a tree,” Danny said. “It’s a prank.”
“We’re the only tourists,” I said. My voice came out thick. I didn’t know it.
Your thighs. Stop squeezing. Everybody can see you squeezing.
Nobody was looking at me. They were looking at the window. But I was clenching anyway every time she cried out, a hard deep squeeze I couldn’t stop, matching her, my clit throbbing up against my soaked seam, my nipples aching inside Jess’s top so bad I wanted to put my palms on them and couldn’t. My leggings were soaked through now, slick and hot. “nn…” I bit it off.
You’re wet from a stranger moaning in the dark. You were wet from Owen and now you’re wetter from a sound. God, I’m such a slut. In Jess’s top. In this stupid cabin.
“Okay,” Danny said. “So who’s going.”
“I’ll go,” Owen said, already at the window. “Probably just kids. I’ll bring a flashlight.”
“You’re not going alone,” Jess said, looking right at me. She grabbed the bottle off the rug. “Bottle decides. Last spin, last dare. Whoever it lands on goes to the tree line. Looks. Comes back and tells us.”
Outside the woman sobbed something sweet and ragged. Nobody said no.
Jess spun it.
It blurred. Green glass rattling on the cartoon bear, round and round, and the groan from the woods got louder while it spun, shaking the window in its frame, the woman climbing “oh… oh… oh…!” Slower. Past Nadia. Past Danny. It rocked up to Owen and sat there pointing at his knees, and Jess made a sound, and then it tipped. Rolled one more slow lazy turn.
Nobody’s touching it. Nobody’s touching it, Jess’s hands are in her lap. Across the open rug, right to me.
Stopped. Neck aimed right at my knees.
The moaning cut off. Like a held breath.
I could hear the fire settle and Jess swallow and my own pulse thudding between my legs like a knock.
Owen was leaning forward with his lips parted like he wanted to say don’t. Or come on.
And out the black window behind him, way back where it was darkest, the same spot I’d stared at from the porch step, something very quietly said my name.
Low. Slow. Patient.
Melody.
[center]
Chapter 3[/center]
I stood up. Nobody made me. The pull was there, low and warm under my navel, and I stood up into it on purpose, which is different from being pulled, I swear it is. Jess grabbed my wrist. “Mel. I made up the rules, I can unmake them.”
“You can’t unmake rules,” Danny said, but quiet.
Sit down. Eat the ghost pepper candy. Cry in the pink bathroom. Go to bed with Jess and let the bed tell on nobody.
I put my boots on. The laces were wet and my fingers shook so bad it took three tries to double knot them, and when I stood up I felt it, the soaked seam of my leggings pressed right up into me, cold on the outside and hot underneath, sticking to my lips when I shifted, and my clit throbbed against it so hard I had to stand still a second with my hand on the doorframe and let it.
Owen got the flashlight from the drawer by the stove, the big yellow heavy kind, and clicked it on and off and held it out. Then didn’t let go. So we were both holding it, his hand on the grip and my hand on his hand, his knuckles rough from the climbing gym, warm.
“I’ll come,” he said.
“To the tree line.”
“Further. If you want.”
If you want. I wanted so bad it closed my throat. “Bottle picked me,” I said, and my voice did that thick low thing again, and he let go.
Outside it was way colder than before, like the yard sank into a freezer while we were inside. The moths were gone from the porch light. All of them. Everybody crowded out on the porch behind me, Nadia’s teeth chattering, Jess going “Oh my god, oh my god” under her breath, and Owen walked me across the gravel, crunch, crunch, his shoulder near mine, to where the light stopped like a wall.
“Five minutes,” he said. “Then I’m coming in after you.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Mel.”
His eyeliner had smudged almost to his cheekbones. He lifted his hand like he was going to touch my face and I stopped breathing,
do it, touch my face, do it, please, and he put it in his hoodie pocket instead.
I walked into the trees.
The second I passed the first trunk the porch light went away. Gone, a door shutting on it. But I could still hear them. Jess going “oh my god” thin and far, Danny saying something, the screen door banging, every bit of it coming through the trees clear as anything and from the wrong direction, from my left, then from ahead of me, then from everywhere.
Sound carries out here. Everything carries. It just won’t tell you where it’s coming from.
I turned around and the cabin wasn’t there. No light, no gravel, no Owen with his hands in his pocket. Trunks packed so tight I couldn’t have squeezed between them, and my boot prints going back maybe three feet in the wet leaves and then stopping, the leaves smooth past that like nobody had ever walked there.
“Owen?” And then louder, “OWEN?” From somewhere, ahead or behind, I couldn’t tell, his voice came back, “Mel?”, small and far and from the wrong side.
Okay. okay okay okay. Straight line. Walk back in a straight line. Every direction looked the same, black bark and wet leaves, and I spun with the flashlight and my mouth tasted like metal, and under the fear, so stupid, there was the pull. Right below my navel. Like a string tied there and somebody way out in the dark picking up the other end and giving it one slow little tug.
“ah…!” Out loud, like he’d touched me there.
Don’t go that way. That has to be away from the porch. Owen’s back there somewhere counting to five minutes.
I went that way.
The trees got older, bark cracked deep and gray, roots twisting up through the leaves, moss on everything glowing faint green when the beam hit it, and the air got warmer, which made no sense, warmer and wetter and sweet, resin and smoke and honey and something musky under it like skin, like somebody’s neck.
Then the moaning came back. Far off first, so far it could have been the creek, one long low groan and a girl’s voice riding on top of it. I stopped. It stopped. I took a step and it came again, closer, and now I could hear her breathing in between, “ah… ah… ah…” in little bursts.
Ten more steps and there were more of them. Left, then right, then all around, somebody whimpering “Please… more… mmh, more…”, a groan so deep I felt it in my ribs, wet sounds, slapping, a scream that broke into a laugh. Close enough now I could hear the wet. Close enough to hear a girl say “there, right there,” into somebody’s neck.
My hand was flat on my stomach over the string. I’d put it there without noticing. My thighs slid together with every step, my leggings dragging, so wet now it squished, actually squished, slick and warm, and the cold couldn’t touch it.
That’s your pussy making that sound. Out here. With Owen’s flashlight in your hand.
You’re soaked for strangers in the woods while Owen is out there in his raccoon eyeliner waiting at the porch light. What is wrong with you. What is actually wrong with you. Keep walking.
Something warm touched the back of my neck. Air. One slow breath, warm and damp, right at my nape, and then gone, and I spun and the beam showed trees.
I walked. Twenty steps. It came again, lower this time, on the side of my throat, and it stayed longer, long enough to feel it go in and out, long enough for the little hairs to stand up all down my arms and my nipples to pull tight under Jess’s top.
Somebody’s breathing on you. Somebody’s right behind you breathing on you and you’re not running.
Then a third time. It didn’t leave. It came in slow over my skin and went out slow, warmer every time, closer every time, until I could feel the shape of a mouth in it, and I stopped walking and stood there and let it, my eyes closed, my pussy clenching in slow pulls with every breath like it was breathing too.
“Melody.”
Right in my ear. Breath on my neck, hot, a voice so low it went down my spine like a fingertip, and half a beat behind it the trees said it too, all of them, soft.
I screamed and spun and the beam went everywhere, trees, sky, my own boots. Nobody. My neck was wet where it breathed. Just a little. Like lips had almost been there.
Run. Which way. The string tugged. My nipples ached under Jess’s top. “mmh…” I bit my lip till it hurt and kept walking.
[center]
Chapter 4[/center]
The trees opened so fast I almost fell into it.
A clearing, round, too round, like somebody drew it with a compass, moss so thick it gave under my boots like a mattress, and light. There wasn’t a moon. The light was low and blue and came off the air itself, off the moss, so I could see all of it. Trees standing around the edge like a wall. A stump in the middle. Split logs stacked neat.
And a man with his back to me, swinging an axe.
Thunk. It hit me in the chest. The log fell in two halves and he bent and set another one up, easy, slow, the axe going up over his head like it weighed as much as a spoon.
Thunk.
No shirt. In October. My breath had been white on the porch and he was sweating, it was shining all over his back in the blue light and steam was coming off his shoulders in the cold,
he’s running a fever, he has to be, sweat running down the long dip of his spine into the waistband of dark pants that sat so low on his hips the two dimples above his ass showed, and his back was so wide, muscle rolling under the skin from his shoulders to his waist every swing, forearms roped with veins when he gripped.
Okay. Okay so there’s a guy. A guy chopping wood at midnight in a magic circle. Totally normal. Ask him where the cabin is. Open your mouth and ask.
I didn’t ask. I stood at the edge with the flashlight pointed at the moss and watched his pants slip a little lower every time he lifted, and his ass flex under the fabric when the axe came down,
thunk, and I squeezed my thighs so hard my knees knocked and that made it worse, that pressed my soaked leggings right up into me, sticky and hot. “mmh…” I clapped my hand over my mouth.
You’re making noises. Out loud. At a stranger’s back.
I stepped forward and a branch cracked under my boot so loud the whole clearing heard it.
He stopped with the axe up. Held it there. Not a twitch. His back didn’t even move, no breath in it, no rise and fall, like a photo of a man somebody had stood up in the woods. Then he let the head down slow onto the stump and turned just his head over his shoulder, and my flashlight beam happened to swing up across his face, and his eyes threw it back at me, flat and gold, the light bouncing right off the backs of them.
Then he wasn’t there.
He was behind me. No footsteps, no sound, his chest almost on my back, heat coming off him so hard I felt it through my flannel, his breath in my ear, the same breath, the same one from the trees.
“Welcome to the woods, Melody.”
His voice went through my whole body at once, low, rough, the groan from under the cabin floor turned into words, and the trees said it with him, all around, a hundred low voices half a beat behind his,
Melody, and I screamed so hard my throat ripped and spun around swinging the flashlight like a bat at empty air.
He was back at the stump. Back to me.
Thunk.
I stood there panting and shaking with the beam jittering all over the moss.
You imagined that. You’re lost and cold and you imagined it. But my ear was hot. My neck was hot where his breath landed. And I could smell him now, pine sap and woodsmoke and fresh cut wood and that sweet musky thing I couldn’t place all the way in, and now I could. The whole forest smelled like him. I’d been breathing him for an hour.
You’ve been walking around with him in your mouth this whole time.
Wait. Melody. He said Melody. You never told him your name. Nobody out here has your name. Jess calls you Mel. Owen calls you Mel. Only your mom says Melody, and Danny when he’s being annoying, and the trees through that black window at midnight.
Run, you idiot. I took a step toward him. Another. Close enough to see sweat drip off his elbow. Close enough to see his back wasn’t smooth. Four long pink scratches over his shoulder blade, fresh, raised, the exact spacing of a girl’s fingers. Somebody had been holding on to him. Tonight. Hard.
The woman in the woods. The please please please girl. That was him. He did that to her and she did that to him. Like the girl on Danny’s phone. Comes back different. And the throb between my legs got so heavy I pressed my palm hard against my belly over the string like I could hold it in.
Closer. He was so tall, way taller than Owen, I could see the side of his chest when he swung, dark hair on it, his stomach cut into hard ridges, a line of hair going down from his navel into his pants, and the front of his pants.
Don’t look. You’re looking. You’re totally looking. Something heavy pushed the fabric out down his thigh, thick, a shape that swung when he swung.
I wanted to put my fingers in those scratches and see if they fit.
I could picture it. My fingertips sliding into the pink grooves, his skin hot and slick, him going still under my hand the way Owen went still when I shifted on his lap, that held breath, and my pussy gave this hard slow squeeze just from the picture, so creamy I felt my underwear slide when I clenched, “hh…”
You’re standing in his woods picturing your hands on his back, and Owen’s hands were on your hip an hour ago, and you’re wetter now than you were on his lap.
A stranger. With an axe. Who teleports, Mel. And you’re staring at his dick in Jess’s top.
“Excuse me,” I said, and it cracked.
Thunk. “Hi. Sorry. I’m, I’m lost? I’m staying at a cabin at the edge of the woods, my friends are there, do you know which way?”
He set the axe down and turned.
Not handsome. Beautiful in a way that was a little wrong. Cheekbones like they’d been cut with the same axe, a mouth so full it looked bruised, stubble, and eyes that weren’t brown. Gold. Owl gold, cat gold. I waited for him to blink. He didn’t. They went down me slow without blinking once. My mouth. My neck. My flannel hanging open and Jess’s thin black top with my nipples poking it out,
you wore the top, you wore it for Owen and now some forest guy is looking at your tits in it and they’re getting harder, they’re getting harder for him, my hand pressed on my stomach, my thighs, and back up.
He smiled.
Whoosh. He was gone, the air where he stood yanking at me like a truck going by, my hair blowing forward, the flashlight flickering, and when I spun he was across the clearing at the far side where the trees were thickest.
Next to a bed.
A huge one, four posts thick as trunks carved and twisted like the roots I kept tripping on, red velvet curtains tied back with gold rope, pillows, dark red sheets shining under that glow like they were wet. A museum bed. A do not touch bed. Sitting on the moss where there’d been moss and trees and that was it a second ago.
“That wasn’t there,” I said out loud. To him. To the trees. “That wasn’t there.”
You looked right at that spot. You looked right at it when you walked in. There were trees. There were just trees.
The curtains were moving. No wind. Just moving, slow, in and out. Like breathing. More than he was.
Whoosh.
He was right in front of me. I had to tip my head back. Heat came off him in a wave, sick heat, fever heat, a drop of sweat sliding down the center of his chest inches from my face, his smell so thick I could taste the sap of it on my tongue. He bent down until his lips were almost on my ear and his hair brushed my cheek.
“You know what you’re here for,” he whispered. “Don’t you.”
“N..no.” It came out a breath.
He laughed, low, I felt it in the air between us. “No?”
“It was a dare. My friends. The bottle. I’m just supposed to look and go back.”
“Then look.”
Don’t look down. Don’t. My eyes went down on there own and he just stood there and let them, his chest, his stomach, the front of his pants right there so close now, thick and long and heavy and pushing, and I swallowed so hard it clicked, and my leggings, god, my leggings were so soaked they were cold on the outside where the air hit and hot and creamy underneath, sticking to my lips every time I breathed.
I was looking so hard. The outline of the head of it pushing the fabric out almost to his hip, and a small wet spot darkening the cloth right there, and my mouth filled with spit,
you want it in your mouth, you want to taste the wet spot, “mmh…”, and I didn’t even try to stop the noise this time.
“Why are you breathing like that, Melody?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His lips touched my ear. Actually touched it, hot and dry, moving on the shell of it when he talked. “I watched you on the porch step. You stood in my dark breathing little clouds at me and I wanted you before you ever went inside.” His voice dropped. “Then you sat on that boy’s lap with your thighs squeezed together and his thumb circling under that blanket, and you listened to me, and you got wet for me. Sitting right on him.”
“H..how do you…”
“You felt me on the porch.” His breath went down my neck. “Didn’t you.”
My knees almost went. “ngh…” Tiny. Like a hiccup.
How does he know about that. Nobody saw that. It was under a blanket. Only the trees were at the window.
“Who are you,” I said. “What’s… what’s your name?”
The smile again. Slow. “No.”
“No?”
“If I gave you my name, you could call me with it. From your little bed in your little room. From anywhere.” His knuckle found the hinge of my jaw. “And I’d come, Melody. Every time you said it. You’re not ready for that.”
“Then what are you?”
He didn’t look away from me. Around the clearing every tree leaned in, I swear, a creak running the whole circle like a held breath. “Older than the road you drove in on,” he said. “Older than the cabin. I’m what they hear every Halloween.”
He gets yours and you don’t get his. He knows your name and your hip and your porch step and you don’t even get a word to call him.
“You came past your friends. Past your boy waiting on the gravel. Past every turn you could’ve taken back. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then say no again. And I’ll walk you home.” He pulled back enough to look at me with those gold eyes that still hadn’t blinked. “Say it, and I’ll take your hand and walk you to your porch light, and you’ll sleep in your squeaky bed beside your friend, and you’ll never hear us again.”
I opened my mouth.
Way off in the trees a girl sighed, long and shaky and happy, like she’d just cum.
“I don’t want to go home,” I whispered.
What are you saying. What are you doing.
“I want to know what makes them sound like that.”
“Ah.” His hand came up, huge and slow, and tucked my hair behind my ear with one finger so gently I shivered down to my boots. His knuckle on my jaw, rough from the axe, hot as a mug. “There it is.”
His thumb on my bottom lip. Pressing down until my mouth came open. “mm…”
His thumb. Owen’s thumb was on your hip an hour ago and now this thumb is in your mouth, basically, and you’re letting it, you opened for it.
“I can show you, Melody. Things you’ll never find out there with your boys and your spinning bottle and your little rules. What that girl in the trees just found. What all of them found.” His mouth back at my ear. “What you’ve been thinking about since that porch step.”
I bit my lip right next to his thumb. He watched me do it.
Say no. Say it. Jess is waiting with her hands over her mouth. Owen said five minutes. Owen’s coming. Owen’s…
My hand pressed flatter on my stomach. I didn’t want no. I wanted whatever that girl in the trees had just found, I wanted it so bad my mouth was wet around his thumb, and I made myself look up into his gold eyes so he’d see me mean it.
He lifted his thumb off my lip. And waited.
Say it to his face. Out loud. Your choice, your mouth.
“Yes,” I said. “Show me.”
[center]
Chapter 5[/center]
He stepped back one step and held his hand out, palm up, lazy, like asking me to dance.
Then he turned his wrist, and under the skin of his forearm something moved. Thin green lines, greener than veins, branching like a leaf held up to the light, there for a second and then smoothing back into skin.
The moss went out from under me. Not falling. Picked up, something cool and smooth sliding under my knees and my back like arms, not hands, the clearing tipping and the blue light smearing, and then I was on my back on the bed.
Cool slick sheets, satin or something like satin that I slid on when I moved. Curtains heavy on three sides, swaying. Above me a canopy of carved dark wood, roots and leaves and these shapes twisted together I didn’t want to look at too close because they looked like bodies. Boots still on. Flannel still on. And way back in the moss where I’d been standing, Owen’s flashlight lying on its side, still on, pointing at a tree.
I got up on my elbows. “W..wait.”
He waited. His wrist stopped halfway through the turn, and the green under his skin held still, and the whole clearing held with it. Even the curtains stopped breathing.
“Say wait and I wait,” he said. “Say home and you walk out of here in everything you came in. Or tell me to take them.”
He looked at my flannel. My boots. The soaked dark seam between my legs where I’d been pressing my thighs together since the porch.
He’s asking. He’s actually asking you. You could go.
I thougt about Jess’s top and how thin it was and how long he’d been looking at it. My nipples were already pushing it out.
“Take them,” I said. It came out so small I said it again. “Yes. Take them.”
His wrist finished turning.
Cold, everywhere, all at once. The flannel was gone. My boots, my socks, my leggings and the soaked underwear stuck inside them, gone, I didn’t feel a single thing slide off. My bra was gone too, out from under Jess’s top, so the only thing left on me was that thin black cotton with my nipples pushing straight through it, hard enough to hurt.
Then something cool slid under the hem. Smooth, thick as a stem, out of the dark behind the curtain where I couldn’t see it. It hooked the cotton and lifted. An inch. Air on my stomach. Another inch, over my ribs, so slow I felt every thread drag on my skin, and my thighs pressed together on their own and came apart again, and I got wetter with every inch it showed him. It caught on my nipples. Dragged on them. Held there with the hem snagged… “ah… ah…” tugging, my clit throbbing with each tug like the cotton was pulling on it too, until they popped free and the top slid up over my face and off my wrists and was gone.
The air hit every inch of me and I went goosebumps from my throat to my ankles.
I curled up anyway, knees up, one arm over my chest and my other hand jammed down between my thighs, and my palm landed right on how wet I was, slick and warm and puffy, so wet, and I pressed harder, and that was a mistake, because pressing felt so good my hips rocked into my own hand while he watched.
You’re naked on a stranger’s bed in the woods because you told him to do it. Jess’s top is gone, she lent it to you so Owen would look, and you’re rocking on your own palm in front of him.
“Give them back,” I squeaked, and I didn’t mean it, and he heard that I didn’t.
“When you leave,” he said, smiling. “If you still want them.”
He leaned one hand on the bedpost and looked down at me with those gold eyes going slow over my arm and my knees and my hand stuck between my thighs. Still not blinking.
Blink. Just once. Be a person for one second.
“Let me see you, Melody. All of you.”
“I can’t.”
“You came all this way.” His fingers moving up and down the carved post. “Move your arm.”
He offered to walk you home. You said yes to this instead. Out loud. And now you’re here and you’re… I moved my arm.
Slow, shaking, off my chest onto the sheet, and the air touched my breasts and I couldn’t look at him so I looked at the carved bodies and felt him looking instead, that same slide from the porch step, heavy and warm, stopping on my nipples and staying there until they ached.
“The other one.”
“Please…”
“Your hand.”
I peeled it off from between my legs and it came away shiny, actually shining in the blue light, strings of me stretching off my fingers. “hnn…” I put it flat on the sheet and left a wet print.
“Knees.”
They came apart. A little. Enough that the cold went right there between, right on my lips, cold right on my pussy. “ahh…” And he made a sound. A slow rough groan from deep in his chest. The groan from under the cabin floor, from the dark at twelve o’clock, from the bottle spinning, and it went right into me, and I clenched so hard my hips lifted off the satin.
“There you are,” he said, quieter. “I’ve been waiting since that step.”
He didn’t come to the bed. He walked out to the chopping stump and laid his palm on it, and it followed him, dragging a dark wet line through the moss, and he set it at the foot of the bed and sat on it with his knees wide and his chest shining and the shape in his pants lying thick down his thigh. I couldn’t stop looking.
“Here,” he said. “Look here.” His face. He smiled. Then he moved two fingers on his knee, and the green came up under his skin again, wrist to elbow, glowing faint like the moss.
Something touched my wrist.
I jerked so hard the bed creaked before I even looked. Then I looked. Coming up out of the moss at his boots, a whole knot of them uncurling like ferns, running up the bedposts and under the sheets and out between the pillows, these. Not vines. They moved like vines would if vines were hungry, slow and curling, smooth and dark purple like a bruise, like the inside of a lip, thick as two of my fingers, and warm. Fever warm. His warm. And every one of them, when I followed it back with my eyes, ran down the post and across the moss to him. Into the ground right under where he sat. Like roots going into a tree.
They’re him. They come out of him. He’s sitting over there on a stump and he’s also touching you.
“What is that, what is that, what is…”
“Me,” he said. “Shh.”
Another found my other wrist. They didn’t grab. They lay across my wrists loose and warm, curled, and waited there while he watched me from the stump.
“Up,” he said. “If you want them.”
You want them.
I lifted my arms. Up over my head on my own, and crossed my wrists on the pillow, and they wound down my forearms until I was tied there with my chest pushed up, and when I pulled they didn’t give at all, and I’d done that, I’d put my hands there for him. Underneath they had suckers. Tiny soft ones in rows. And they kissed. Little wet pulls all up the insides of my arms, and over on his stump his eyes went half shut, slow, savoring. “Mm. Your skin.”
He felt that. He feels what they feel. Every little kiss on your arm, that’s his mouth. And I was dripping, a slow warm slide onto the satin.
“Easy,” he said. He didn’t get up. Only his fingers moved on his knee.
Two more at my ankles, rising from the ground and up over the edge of the mattress, winding up my calves in a lazy spiral, the suckers tasting every inch, over my knees, the outsides of my thighs, then turning in. Going so slow. On purpose. I could watch his fingers barely twitching and feel the twitch land on my skin a second later, and I heard myself ask for faster, please, could it go faster, and he said “No” like it was the easiest word in the world.
My inner thighs, where the skin’s so thin. I arched first, before I even felt it right, and then there it was, little sucking kisses, one, another, higher, and I yanked my wrists and they kept crawling, a hand away, two fingers away, so close the warmth came off them onto my lips, my puffy swollen soaked lips, “mm…” And they stopped. Just stayed there. Kissing my inner thighs. They wouldn’t go higher.
“No… no no, come on… Please…”
He laughed and put his hand on himself through his pants. Rubbing slow up and down that shape on his thigh, watching me squirm, and I watched his hand instead of anything else, the heel of it dragging down, the cloth pulling tight over the fat head every stroke and a dark wet spot spreading there, and that made me leak more, a warm trickle running all the way down my crack to the sheet.
One finger moved.
I bucked so hard the frame banged. Something touched me. The smooth sides of them, not the suckers, brushing over my lips top to bottom, so light, “ah…!” again, up, across my clit, a whisper, down… “ahhh…” and then circling, around my clit and around and never on it, exactly the way I do it to myself in my dorm with the door locked,
how does he know how you touch yourself, the exact circle, and I was begging him harder, “please… please… harder…”, the same words as the woman in the woods.
He made them slower.
I actually cried. Frustrated, my hips chasing them up off the bed, and they lifted right off. Hovered an inch over my pussy, warm, and I pushed up at them and they moved away like a punishment.
“Be still.”
I went still. Shaking and panting with tears at the corners of my eyes.
Be still. And you did. Instantly. Like you’d been waiting your whole life for somebody to say it.
Still was so hard. Lying there with my pussy so swollen it felt like it had its own heartbeat, puffy and hot and throbbing, my clit poking out begging, and every few seconds a little drip escaping and sliding down, and I couldn’t even wiggle to make it stop, just breathing through my teeth like the please please girl from the woods, “hhh…”
Like her. You sound exactly like her now, and Jess said that’s somebody having really good sex and you squeezed on the rug.
They came back down and wrapped my thighs, around and around, suckers sinking in, and pulled. Open. Wide. Wider than I’d ever been opened, hips stretching, cold air rushing right in, and I felt my lips peel apart from how wet they were, a soft sticky sound that I heard and he heard, and he leaned forward on the stump with his elbows on his knees and looked right there.
“Oh, Melody.” Like he couldn’t quite beleive it. “All of this. And you walked in here on your own feet.”
I couldn’t close. Arms up, legs spread wide, everything out on display, and I could feel myself fluttering in front of him, opening and closing, leaking.
He can see you clench. Every time. Every single time you squeeze he gets to watch it happen.
“Don’t look… don’t… No, look, look at it, god, I don’t…”
Pick one. You can’t even beg in one direction.
He undid his pants one handed. He didn’t take it out. He opened them and let it push out on its own, the head first, heavy, out over the open fly, dark, flushed almost purple at the tip and lighter where it went down into the cloth, wet already and shining. Then he pulled the rest free and let go, and I stopped breathing.
Huge. Curved up toward his stomach. So heavy it bobbed when he let go and slapped against his belly and stayed there, throbbing, leaving a wet mark on his skin.
“Fuck…” I said. “Oh fuck, that’s…”
“I want…” I want that. I heard it leave my mouth and wanted to crawl under the bed. “I want that. In me. I want you to… f… to… with that.”
Say fuck me. You’ve said fuck forty times tonight.
“Not yet.”
Not yet. Which means yet. Which means it’s going to be in you, that whole thing, and I clenched so hard a slow hot pulse of slick pushed out of me onto the sheet and he watched it happen and smiled.
“Look how wet you are for this,” he said. “And I haven’t laid a hand on you.” His fingers twitched on his knee and the ones around my thighs squeezed. “Not a hand.”
Then he wrapped his fist around it.
His fingers didn’t meet. He started at the root, in the dark hair there, and drew up, slow, and that was when I saw it wasn’t smooth. Ridges ran around it like the grain in polished wood, one after another, and I watched every one of them push up through his fist and pop free and the next one come. He took his time. Root to tip. The skin of the head pulled tight and shining when his fist got there and a bead welled out the slit, thick, amber clear, and sat there, and grew.
You’ve never seen one that does that. You’ve never seen one that looks like it grew out of the ground.
“Keep looking,” he said. “I like it.”
A thinner one rose from the moss by his boots. Shiny. Dripping. Sap, the same amber clear stuff as his tip, falling off it in long strings, and it hung over my stomach and a drop fell on me right below my navel, right on the string, and it was warm, then warmer, then my skin there went tingly and so sensitive I could feel the air move over it.
That’s where. That’s where it was tied.
Another from the moss, same, and they drifted down between my legs together while I watched with my chin on my chest, barely breathing.
I cried out. They’d latched on my lips, one on each side, little sucking pulls, and they pulled me open, spread my pussy wide so the air went inside, the pink, my hole, all of it, so strange, like being looked at from the inside.
“Fuck,” he said, rough, and his breath broke halfway through it, “hhh… Look at you. Pink and open and shaking. Mine to look at.”
My clit standing up out of its hood. My hole wet and twitching. I was leaking so much I felt it pooling under my ass, a warm slippery puddle soaking into his red sheets,
in front of him, he can see it spreading, he can see exactly how much you want this.
Past my own spread knees I could see him on the stump. Still stroking. Slower than me, slower than anything, his fist sliding up and the ridges riding through it, and every time it got to the top the bead at the tip got fatter, until it let go. A long sticky string of it dripped off the end and stretched all the way down to the moss and broke, and the smell came across to me, pine and resin and salt, and my hole fluttered, empty, wanting it.
That’s what it would leak in you. Right in you, that, all of it.
A third one slid right down the middle of me, top to bottom, and scooped, and his eyes closed and he groaned before it was anywhere near him. “I tasted that,” he said. “The second it touched you.” Then it floated to his mouth anyway, dripping with me, and he closed his lips around it and sucked it clean, slow, eyes open now, on mine. “Sweeter than I thought. And I’ve had all night to think.”
He tasted you through it. It’s his tongue. They’re all his tongue. He just said your pussy’s sweet and Jess’s top is in another world and you’re smiling, you’re lying here smiling.
I wanted to be his fist. I wanted it in me so bad my hips lifted on their own.
Another one slid down me then. It went slow through the middle of me, the whole length of my slit, and dragged up a thick shining coat of me, and then it didn’t go to him. It came up. Over my belly, my ribs, between my tied up arms, dripping a little on my chest, and stopped right under my nose.
I smelled myself. Warm and sharp and musky, so much of it, and his sap under it, sweet resin, the two of them mixed on the same slick purple skin. It went straight down to my cunt. I clenched so hard my hips came up.
It rested on my bottom lip. Wet. Warm. And waited.
He didn’t tell me to open. He didn’t move his fingers. He watched me from the stump with his fist stopped at the root.
He’s waiting for you. He’s going to sit there with it on your lip all night until you do it yourself.
I opened my mouth. “mm…” It slid onto my tongue and I closed my lips on it and sucked. Salt and sour and me first, and then the sap underneath, sweet and hot and tingling, him and me in my mouth together, and my eyes went to his cock while I did it, the bead shining at the tip, and I sucked harder, like I could get that too.
“That’s what you taste like to me,” he said. “Both of us.”
The one he’d sucked came back, wet with his spit now and its own sap, and hovered, and I whined. One inch. Stop. Another. Stop.
“Ask.”
“I am asking.”
“Ask properly.”
“Please touch me… put it on, um, on my… on me, there, my pussy, god, please, I’m so wet, I’m being such a…”
Such a what. Finish it. You can’t even finish it. “Please just…”
It slapped down.
“ah…!” I jolted so hard the bindings dug into my wrists, and then I felt where it landed, full length on my pussy, wet and hard and wriggling, sap and slick together, sliding up and down my open lips and over my clit every stroke, so wet it squelched, loud and sloppy, and the ones on the sides kept me spread so it got everything, clit and hole and down to my ass and back.
“hah… hahh… mmmh…!” Every stroke the same high needy noise, my pussy making wet kissing sounds under it, both of us at once, me and it, and he groaned with me, “hhh… Melody…”, his hips shifting on the stump like it was his cock dragging through me.
It is. It’s him.
And his fist was moving with it. I could see that through my lashes. Every time the vine dragged up over my clit his hand dragged up his cock, the ridges catching through his fingers, the head swelling dark at the top of the stroke, and I pictured that instead. That cock laid in my slit like this. His ridges bumping over my clit one by one.
That. You want that one. You want the real one.
Then it got faster. “ah… ah…” Every pass over my clit, the sap going hot where it smeared, my clit so swollen it caught on every stroke… “ohhh godd… oh… ngh…” and it was coming up from my toes, fast, too fast, my head thrashing on the pillow, and I was begging him for inside, inside, please, I need it in, “pl… please… hah… in… ah…! I’m… I’m so cl…”
It lifted off.
Hovered. Dripping on my stomach.
I screamed at the canopy. My whole body shaking and squeezing hard enough to hurt and slick running out of me in a stream onto his sheets.
Owen’s thumb did a few slow strokes under a blanket and you almost came apart on his lap. This did a hundred and stopped right before.
“I’ll do anything,” I said, wrecked. “Anything.”
“I know,” he said.
The wet one came down slow and set its tip on my hole. Blunt, warm, resting there, and I lifted my head and looked down my own body at it, dark purple pressed right on my opening, the two holding me spread, my stomach jumping.
“Yes. Yes, please, push it in.”
I tilted my hips up as high as I could. Offering. My ass too, anything, I didn’t care where.
It pushed before I’d even felt how much, “mmh…!”
They heard that. Somebody at the cabin heard that and has no idea it was you. Then I felt it. So slow, the tip spreading me and sliding in, the sap making everything slip, warm, no sting at all, just open, open, wriggling as it went.
One inch. Two, and my head fell back. Three, and it was moving inside me, curling, twisting, not like fingers, like something looking for something, “nn…”
Then two more latched onto my nipples and sucked hard, both at once, little cups of heat pulling my nipples up, and I screamed and arched, and the pull went straight down to my clit so it jumped in the cold air, and the arch shoved me down onto the one inside, deeper, “f..fuck… oh fuck…”
It got thicker the deeper it went, and the sap went warm inside me and then hot and then everything in there turned sensitive, every wall, so the stretch wasn’t hurt, it was too much feeling, the suckers inside kissing everywhere,
how long is it, how long is it, it keeps going, and then the thickest part pressed and I tensed. Everything locked.
It stopped. Dead still, right there, not one bit more, and on the stump he went still too, the green under his skin holding steady.
“Your choice,” he said. “Push. Or I take it out and walk you home.”
I lay there with my thighs shaking and the sap going hot in me and I pushed. Rolled my hips down onto it myself, and it slid, and the stretch melted into fullness, so much fullness I couldn’t find the edges, “nnh… there… okay…”
I looked at his cock while I took it. Heavy on his belly, wet, his fist sliding slow, and I let myself pretend. That’s him going in. That’s his head stretching me. Those are his ridges, one, and another, and another.
Pretend all you want. It’s thinner than his. You can see it’s thinner than his.
“Good girl,” he said, rough. “That’s it. Open for me.”
So full. Squeezing it. My thighs shaking where they were held and my clit standing up from the stretch so sensitive even the air was too much.
“It’s so big… I’m so full, look, look at me, look how much I can…” I was showing him. Like I was proud.
You are proud. And his eyes went darker when you said it, you saw them go darker.
I clenched without meaning to and he groaned. Out loud, sudden, his hand closing on his knee so hard his knuckles went pale. “Again,” he said, hoarse. “Do that again.” I squeezed and his head dropped back, “hhnn…”,
he feels that. You’re squeezing him. Whatever that thing is, it’s him, and you’re squeezing him.
“One more,” he said when he could. Soft and rough. “For me.”
No. There’s no more room. You can’t. I nodded on the pillow. “O..okay… okay.”
It shoved. The last of it in one hard push, and hit something so deep inside me, a wall I didn’t know I had, and my eyes rolled back. “hhhnnngh…!” I looked down and I could see it. A bump. Low on my belly right where the string was, right where his sap had dripped, something pushing out from inside me.
“Look how well you take me,” he breathed.
It’s in your stomach. He’s in your stomach. Owen breathed on your knuckles, he only breathed on them, and now this.
Wet was pouring out around it, squeezed out of me, running down onto the satin in hot streams, and my clit was throbbing with my heartbeat so hard I could see it jump.
Then it started moving. Searching. Rolling against every wall, the suckers pulling on places I didn’t know could feel, finding them one at a time. Low and in front first, right behind my clit. Then deep, at the end of me. Then that front place again, harder.
I pulled on my arms. I was sweating. My belly drew tight and my thighs started to shake where they were held, and it found that front spot again, “nnnhh… there… ah…” and stayed on it and rubbed, and my toes curled, and my hole started to flutter on it, quick little grabs, right there, right…
It stopped.
Dead. Buried to the end in me and not moving at all, and the ones on my nipples went still, and the ones holding my thighs.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t, please, don’t stop, I was…”
“I know where you were,” he said.
I lay there throbbing around it. That’s all I could do. My pussy squeezing that thick still thing in slow heavy pulses I could feel in my teeth, every one pushing more wet out around it, my clit jumping in the air with each beat, and he sat on the stump and watched me do it and stroked himself. Slow. Root to tip. Every time his fist came up over the head another bead of sap rolled off the tip and dripped on the moss, and I counted them, because counting was the only thing I could do. Four. Five. My thighs cramped.
He’s going to make you watch him. He’s going to stroke that while you sit on the edge and leak.
“Please,” I said.
Please what, Mel. Please what. “please… mmh… move it… or let me have that, let me have yours, I don’t care, I don’t…”
“You’ll have mine,” he said. “After.”
He moved his fingers.
And it started to fuck me.
TO BE CONTINUED
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