Page 14 of Come Back To Me
He bites down hard, and I scream through clenched teeth, my skin vibrating with every nerve ending he hits. He sucks lightly at my sensitive nipple and laps at the center before biting me again.
“Stop. You’re hurting me.” My cock stays hard and he nips at my shoulder, his teeth taking a sliver of skin when he moves his face back to mine. His tongue tastes of my blood when he claims my mouth again.
“More,” he growls, grabbing at my hair and forcing my head back as he licks the red drops from my collarbone. Scooting back a little, he pins me in place with a paralyzing gaze and forces me to my stomach. When I try to lift, he slams my head down and tears away the rest of my underwear. His teeth cut at the back of my shirt and I’m completely naked in a matter of seconds.
Tears well at my eyes and I try to wiggle away. My muscles ache the more his weight presses to them, and panic chokes me right before my screams are muffled by the pillow. I shake my head, mouth full of cotton from the pillowcase and throat sore from my failed attempts at trying to get a single word out.“Nnno,” I’m finally able to say. Gareth wouldn’t do this. He’d never do this.
Was this a mistake? I promised the spirit helping me to bring my husband back that I’d give him anything he wanted, but didn’t fully think my words through as they came flying past my lips.
My teeth clamp together, frustrated sounds spilling from me, and I squirm from side to side. “Please. Stop.”
He spreads my cheeks apart and spit falls from his mouth to my entrance. “Mmm,” he says, sliding a finger into me. He twists, darting in and out before adding a second digit. My teeth tug at the pillowcase, nails biting at the sheets as his fingers press bruises into my lower back.
A third finger enters me, and I squeeze around the thick intrusion, my breaths coming out in pants. “Not like this,” I breathe out. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“But it is exactly how it’s supposed to be.” His words are like venom in my ears as he plunges his cock inside me halfway. He rocks his hips, stretching me more before sliding in deeper. Before he can fully bottom out, he pulls out and slams in harder, heading straight for home.
He makes animalistic sounds and soon mine match his, my hips rolling back to mimic his rhythm. A cry rips through me. I want to fight some more but taking it is so much easier, and it feels better too. The more I remain still, the less he makes me suffer for moving. Especially when he punches at my sweet spot, his fat head rubbing me in all the places that have me lighting up like a fucking jack-o’-lantern.
“Oh,” I say, grinding my hips against the bed and writhing between the waves of pleasure rolling at me from different directions. Arousal curls inside me but there’s also a nauseated feeling crawling up my throat. I feel sick and . . . and healed.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it is. I was warned something could go wrong, and it could be worse, right? It could always be worse. Gareth found his way back to me and that’s what’s most important. Whether it’s really him or if there’s even a single trace left, my heart wants to believe what my brain is selling. It’s Gareth. He’s only changed a little. Everyone changes with time. He came to find me when he woke up. Nothim. Not Arkansas. His first thought was our home. His first thought was needing me.
I need him too, so I become more compliant, my body aching everywhere while also feeling like it’s lifting off the bed and into the fucking stars. They’re all around us, shining bright and so blinding, everything bleeds together.
“So good,” he says. “So, so good. You’re delicious. This sweet hole is everything.” His movements are punishing, shoving me harder into the bed, and my balls constrict. Part of me is screaming in protest while the other is drowning in a pleasure so intense I feel like I’ve died and come back to life too.
“So sweet,” he says, kissing my back. “As sweet as you look like you’d be.” His deep voice vertebrates through the air, lips smiling at my back, and with two more pumps of his hips, he’s coming inside me. It’s warm and cold, filling me to the brim. There’s so much of it and so much of him as he falls to the side, yanking me into his embrace. His fingers trail through the mess on my stomach and he traces shapes with it into my skin. He lifts his hand and makes sucking noises. My cock jumps, nearly on board for round two.
I’m bleeding, covered in cuts and bruises, but my body is craving more. How does this make sense? None of this does. Neither is me wanting to run away while also wanting to tuck my skin under his. This man . . . this thing sounds nothing like Gareth. Not after saying hi and calling me baby. Even then, only the voice was the same. Gareth called me his sweetheart andpumpkin bear. Not baby. Never baby. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to turn back now. The man burying his face in my neck and licking up more of my release is my husband now, and I am his baby.
Eight
Riley
The bed is empty when I wake. My hand slides over the cold sheets. Was it a dream? The pain ricocheting through my body said it wasn’t. So do the marks and red blotches all over my skin. Running my fingers over each one, my stomach tightens when the tips dip into where a small chunk of skin is missing.
I move my hand away, hissing at the pain, and I slide out of bed. The room is quiet and so is the bathroom. I’m the only one here. No one is in the living room, guest bath, or kitchen either. It was real. It had to be. I can still feel his cold breath on my skin, like it burrowed deep inside me, taking up space everywhere it could.
“Hello,” my voice shakes. “Gareth?”
Mouth dry, I open the fridge and unscrew the cap from the orange juice bottle. I take a swig, my throat making loud noises as the cool liquid wets my mouth.
Glass shatters close by. I swallow the large amount in my mouth, putting the juice back and slamming the fridge shut. Onhigh alert, I scope out the kitchen and living room again. I walk through the guest room and garage. All empty. Empty of people at least but full of memories, and fuck do they feel like they’re happening right in front of me again sometimes, playing like a movie.
My heart aches. He was here. I know he was. How could he be gone already? Is this how it’s supposed to work? I see him one last time and get one more day? That can’t be it.
Another crashing sound has me jolting. Cracking wood this time and a long bellow. Is someone yelling for help? Gurgling leads me to the basement door. I stare at it for a long time before twisting the knob, but I can’t pull it open. I keep turning it from side to side while it remains shut. Groans and crunching sounds travel up the steps on the opposite side. It’s jarring, creating an ugly sensation inside me. It twists and turns to sharp knives. They cut into me as I finally open the door and trudge down the wobbly wooden steps.
My breathing is so loud, and I try to hold it only for it to rush out when my mouth falls open in a gasp from the strong scent of copper stinging my nose.
“Gareth?” I call out.
There are no words. Only more crunching, cracking of bones, and wet sounds. My skin crawls, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs, my bare foot slides over a dark red puddle of thick . . . it’s blood. It has that sweet putrid metal smell. I shake it off, my stomach rolling when my eyes latch onto a dark shadowy figure hunched over in the corner.
Whoever it is isn’t alone. Someone sits on the floor, back half up against the wall as Gareth leans over him, attacking his stomach with his mouth. He’s . . . no . . . this sort of thing only happens in horror movies. I’m having another bad dream. That’s all this is.
Pulling the string in front of me shines a small light on him and it’s hard to deny what he’s doing when it’s as clear as day. Not noticing me at first, he dives forward, ripping the guy’s chest open so effortlessly. Blood drips from his mouth, intestines wrapped between his fingers as he swallows what’s in his throat.
