Page 37 of Written in Sin
The sound of the slap and my following yelp echoes through the graveyard. The sting fades, but so does the satisfaction. When the pain eases, it only makes me feel more desperate.
I wiggle my hips, trying to give my clit some sensation. My obvious attempt at friction causes him to chuckle. “You like that, don’t you?” I nod and wiggle my hips back into him, a silent beg for more. His hands grip my hips, his fingers dig into my flesh as he aligns himself behind me. “Tell me you want it,” he demands, his voice almost a rumble.
“I want it.” My voice is trembling with my need for him. “Please, fuck me…”
He doesn’t need me to tell him twice. In one swift motion, he slams into me, his cock stretching me wide and filling me completely. All of the air in my lungs escapes me as my front is pushed harder into the tombstone. My fingers are in a frenzy, trying to find any divot in the stone I can hold onto. His thrusts are deep, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was punishing me with how far he’s forcing himself to go.
“Goddammit, Cat.” Every word he speaks cracks against me like a whip, in unison with his strokes.“This body answers tome.” I whimper in response, my body writhing beneath his as he fucks me with brutal force. The pain I feel in his hold only heightens my pleasure, and when his cock hits that spot inside of me over and over, it sends lightning bolts through my body. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunts out, his thrusts growing harder and faster. “I knew it the second I touched you, how amazing you would feel.”
“Pl-please,” I gasp, even though my voice is barely audible over the sound of our bodies slamming together. His hands slide up my back to grip my shoulders, pulling my body into his.
“Let me feel your greedy pussy squeeze my dick. That’s right, unravel for me.” I fall apart at once, the tightness in my core begins to flood my body. I feel myself convulsing, but he doesnt stop, he just fucks me through it. His movements are erratic and I know he’s close.
I feel him shift behind me, his body pulling away, and he whimpers. “I could watch you suck my dick with your pussy, over and over. That’s exactly what it’s doing. It’s pulling me in, twitching around me like it’s starving with every—with every. Goddammit.”
I shudder and a breathy cry escapes me as my body quivers from my own orgasm as he slams into me one final time. I feel his pulsating cock and a flood of warmth spreads throughout my body when he comes inside of me. I finally collapse over the tombstone when my legs give out beneath me. His hands are still locked on my hips when he slowly pulls out of me. I’m shaking so hard, I can barely breathe.
His eyes drag over my body, the dirt, the blood. I guess leaning over a jagged piece of stone isn’t too good for the sensitive skin on your stomach because his eyes widen, and he looks concerned. “I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” I say. He nods, his breath still wrecked, just like mine. He draws me into him and I let my body go lax in his grip, knowing I can’t stand on my own.
Zedediah is dangerous; he’s both the blade and the balm—the thing that cuts me open then puts me back together with pieces of himself, especially pieces I didn’t even know I needed. “You’re mine,” he says before nestling into my matted hair. He doesn’t just own me, he consumes me.
Chapter Thirty
Zedediah
It wasn’t until I got Cat settled in that I thought of a solution to my Brady problem. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to handle a dead body, and I doubt it will be my last.
After walking her home, I made my way back to the graveyard.
Brady being subdued was the most helpful he’s ever been.
I really don’t like him being buried so close to Lucy. Maybe it can be a temporary resting place until I find a better way of disposal. Would the wild animals even bother eating him?
Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near something Catarina touched, let alone something she was bent over while she came on my cock. Which is why I dug my blank tombstone up and leaned it against the shed beforehand. One day, decades from now, it will be beside Catarina’s. I’m not one to romanticize dying but I don’t want to be anywhere but by her side.
The thud when his body hit the dirt floor felt like a weight being lifted off my chest. However, it still isn’t enough to stop my mind from replaying the last words he spoke. “He’s playing you,you know? If you think there wasn’t a reason he’d let me have your slut, you’re dumber than I am.”
I tried to beat it out of him, but he wasn’t talking anymore. “Why would I warn you? I’m dead either way.”I crushed my boot against his throat until he passed out, then rolled him into the four-foot hole. The guilt of not telling her everything is gnawing at me. But, I’m not sure how she would react, plus I’m not sure how I’d even bring it up.
“Yeah, so Brady’s dead. Fenris said I could marry you now.”I don’t think that would be the most intimate way to say it, so I’ll just skip over that small detail and give her something that resembles a proper proposal. I think we both deserve some sense of normalcy since it isn’t something we’ve ever had.
For once, she’ll have something special—something that’s hers. I need to find out if she has any jewelry. I have a little bit of money stashed away; would a couple grand be enough for a nice ring? I’ve never seen her wear one, but I also never saw that dress I tore off of her last night.
I grab the master key I had made and sneak off toward her room. She should be busy with her day by now; it’s late in the afternoon so she’s probably outside. I open her door and her scent floods the air, that sweet, warm almond-vanilla.
I get to the bathroom and search through the cabinet under the sink. No luck. I walk over to her dresser and begin working from the bottom up, making sure to check under her clothes.
The first top drawer I open causes a smile to spread across my face. Gotcha.
The drawer is completely empty except for a lone dark box. It’s too large to be for a ring, but maybe it’s the only storage she had. I pick it up, running my fingers over the top before opening it. Stone-cold dread creeps over my skin, and I feel my stomach drop like an anchor when the realization hits. This necklace—it’s unmistakable.
I saw this exact necklace every single day for nearly six years. I’ve felt it with my own fingers. The delicate chain with ruby stones that glint under all angles of light. The pale pendant with a lone flower in the middle. It’s the same necklace that hung around her neck when my father and seven other men brutalized her for hours before she was murdered. I can’t manage to calm my hands before yanking the necklace from its box.
My face feels hot and my heart sputters as the mix of confusion and fear gnaws at me from all angles. My cheeks are warm, but somehow cold? I raise my hand to my face to make sure I’m not dreaming, feeling my skin grow clammy. I keep asking myself the same question over and over before the necklace falls from my gasp as I run to the bathroom.
I crash against the hard floor, certain my kneecaps have just been crushed on impact, but I can’t seem to care about the pain. Stomach acid burns my throat as I empty its contents into the toilet. As I flush, I wipe my sleeve across my mouth and stand on wobbly legs. Walking back over to the dresser, I lean down to pick up the necklace and stand there, frozen, unable to piece together anything that would make sense.
Panic claws its way through my body and enters my chest before it curdles into pure rage. I see red and tighten my grip around the dainty chain so hard it snaps. Before I’m able to turn around to find Cat and demand answers, her door swings open.
