Page 91 of Satan's Spawn
“What are you doing?!” I screech as Crayton spins me around, pinning my chest against the car I used to separate us.
“Exactly what you want, Little Ghost.”
His rough hands snake up my thigh, behind the shirt, and before I know it, his fingers are toying with my bathing suit bottoms.
“I don’t want this,” I state firmly, trying to wiggle out of his grip.
Crayton pauses his invasion, seizing both my wrists and locking them behind my back.
“You and your lies,” he rasps, “you’re becoming quite the sinner.”
He holds my wrists steady with one hand, pressing his hips into my ass, caging me against the car.
I don’t miss the very impressive hard-on poking into my back.
“I’ll fucking scream,” I warn, even though I know it’s bullshit. Some deep, dark, and twisted place inside me has been dreaming about this moment for nights now.
Him. Me. At odds.
At each other’s throats.
His knife on my neck.
What the hell has gotten into me?
Girls are not supposed to pine after their bullies.
Negotiate with terrorists.
Yet here I am, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushes his erection into my ass, and I want nothing more than to push back—to feel it in my most private places.
That’s it, I’m done with the bad pornos.
“What’s that, Rebecca? A curse this time? You’re three for three with the big guy upstairs.” Crayton taunts me, and I like it, but like making him think I hate it even more.
“Screw you!” I try to push off the car, but we end up in an awkward tussle until finally I’m bent over the side of the hood.
Crayton lowers his mouth to my neck, his lips a breath away from my skin. “You askin’, or tellin’?”
There’s a threat lining this question, and it sends a chill down my spine.
“Neither, you psycho!” I keep wiggling my ass in a feeble attempt to free myself, but the more I do, the more I feel his cock rubbing against my backside.
I squirm again, telling myself it’s one last-ditch effort, but I know what it really is.
Curiosity.
Defiance.
The need to know what he feels like when he's completely out of control, like he was with Alexis.
I’ve been fantasizing over a guy I hate, which makes me think I've been using the action to counteract the feeling.
“That the best you can do?” His hand is on my thigh again and I whimper, hoping to God it comes off as revulsion.
“How about I finger fuck you like you did to yourself in that closet, make you come all over this pretty Mercedes? Hm?” Crayton runs his nose along the length of my neck. “Then I can see what you're really made of.”
Is he fucking serious? Would he really do that in the middle of Sampson’s driveway?
