Page 38 of The Last Feast
“Auguste,” she moans. “Mine. You belong to me.”
“Good girl. Now tell me who you are.”
“Hana. Your clever girl. Not stupid.”
“Never,” I agree as I brush the tip of my nose against her. “My clever girl with the soaked cunt. Shall daddy make it better?”
“Yes,” she moans even louder.
“Hands on the headboard, baby.”
Her nails score up my ribs as she lifts her hands then flattens them above her head. I go back to her lips, softly sucking the bottom one between my teeth as I kneel between her thighs and stroke the smooth skin below her hips with the back of my middle finger.
“Who took this away?” I ask, pissed at the smoothness now that she’s officially mine.
“Me. I don’t like it.”
“You’ll leave this for me from now on.” I look in her eyes so she can’t misunderstand me. “I want a woman, Hana. If you don’t like it being untouched, then I’ll shave it for you exactly how I want it.”
“Why?”
“Because…” my voice drops as I lean into her, “when you think you’re in control, I’ll pull those curls to keep you attached to me. I’ll call you my little girl, my clever girl. You’ll suck your daddy’s dick when you need to soothe yourself, but make no fucking mistake: I know exactly what you are. You are a woman with blood on your hands and me in your heart.”
“You’re mine,” she whispers.
“Always. In life and after death.” I cup the back of her head, forcing her to look between our bodies. “Watch your cunt welcome me home.” We both moan as I slowly push inside her. “Bless this entrance, guard me who enters, and never let me leave.”
Her moans get louder as I change the prayer I’d been forced to repeat.
“Let nothing enter this cunt that is not of me,” I groan.
I bury myself inside her in one thrust as she whimpers with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Thankyou,” I repeat, fucking her slowly as I lay her head back on the pillow. Threading our fingers together on the headboard, I watch her tears slowly race over her temples, melting into her hair, and feel her moans brushing my lips.
“Clever Hana.” I kiss her cheek.
She preens under the praise as I fuck her in long, slow strokes, feeling every inch of her tight cunt welcome me while she blinks up at me, teary-eyed. Her breath shudders as she moans, “Auguste.”
“That’s right, baby. Say my name.”
“Auguste.” She smiles, her eyes glistening as I brush a tear off her cheek with my nose.
“Hana, my beautiful, clever woman. Godly,” I whisper as I grind into her. “My creator.”
22
MORNING/MOURNING
The sun slowly rises on a new tomorrow, one where Hana remains in bed beside Auguste with no thoughts of running from him.
She looks around the room, at the crucifix on the wall Martha said was to make her feel at home that was later used to beat her. She understands there wasn’t a devil inside her now; she knows it was within them.
Auguste kisses her cheek then coats her tongue in cake with his deep whisper. “Good morning, baby.”
She ponders how many things she would have missed if she had ended her life instead of the deer’s on the morning of her birthday, how they’ll now revolve around this man.
Gratitude is a new emotion, one she never thought she would understand, never mind experience for herself. Yet, as she turns to face Auguste, she finds herself warmed by the simple words on her tongue. “Thank you.” She kisses his cheek as she wraps her arms around him.
