Page 28 of Haunt

Fingers curling into my hair, tightening in the coiled roots at the nape of my neck, she gasps,“Billy.”

It’s the most decedent sound I think I’ve ever heard.

Bliss, pain, need.

I want to hear it again.

Her nails rake over my scalp, my lips sucking bruises across her chest, collarbones, biting my mark into the hollow of her throat. I walk her backwards. Towards the men, she goes willingly, moving with me without conscious thought. I’m expecting a flinch when she hears the chains, but she doesn’t, nothing comes from her as I scoop my hands up her sides, fingers running over every rib bone, the sides of her breasts.

Hooking her arms in my hands, I drag her arms up above her head, encircling her wrists as I drag my teeth along her jaw. I pass both hands into one of mine, peck at her parted lips, slip my tongue over her bottom one, swollen and plump, before fucking it into her mouth. She is loose and light and as the cold chains touch the back of my hand, dragging across her fingers, she shivers, but she doesn’t stop kissing me.

I bind her hands with the heavy chain, coiling it around her wrists. Then the chain is pulled, the sound of it passing over the steel hook,clink, clink, clink,is loud in the quiet room.

“Close your fingers around the hook, Little Lamb,” I whisper over her mouth, glance up, watching as she does just that, curling her thumbs over the metal. “Good girl,” I hush, pressing the words into her teeth, tongue licking over her top lip.

Only when she is dragged too far from me, do I release her mouth.

Our kiss broken.

Her toes brush the floor as I drag off her frilly socks and boots. Small, perfect feet stretching like a ballet dancer’s as if to try and plant them down on the floor.

I take a step back, watching her be pulled higher, the grind of the cogs crunching as they come to a stop. She hangs there, swinging lightly.

Exposed.

Ripe.

Fucking beautiful.

I try not to think about everyone else seeing her, like this.

Neck arched back, my gaze on her, she stares down at me, throat exposed, gold locket between her breasts, sickly white skin glowing warmly under the orange flickering candlelight. Her chest heaves. Tits shadowing her abdomen with every quick inhale-exhale. I bite into my bottom lip, tongue swiping over it where it snags between my teeth.

I picture her insides, beating heart, heaving lungs, slippery organs, coiling intestines, thick red blood.

How it would feel in my hands.

Bones snapping, skin tearing, tissues and fat and sinew, stringy and tough.

Veins, blood and organs.

Every single piece of her.

I’m going to infect it all, seep my way like black tar through her veins, drips of poison beneath her tongue. Kiss her and fuck her and mark her.

Make sure she knows exactly what she is.

Mine.

I’m going to eat you alive, Little Lamb.

I step further back, more cloaked men enter the room, flooding in like a plague from all around. Hidden archways funnelling them inside. Heads bowed, chins dipped, black hoods pulled low. They circle the baptismal pool, the one my Little Lamb hangs above.

Her wide dark eyes peer down, scanning over the room. I watch her take in the men, study them as they all slowly come to a stop. Surround her, me, us. I don’t take my eyes off of her, a wingless angel in the dark. Even as a naked, blindfolded woman enters the circle.

The woman’s heat hits my spine as she closes the distance between us, circling around my broad frame, stopping before me, un-touching, she can sense me. But I don’t even glance at her, never looking away from my love. Keeping her as my whole focus.

She has been the entirety of my life, consuming my thoughts, my heart, my blood, ever since she were ten years old.

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