Page 35 of Pucking Possessive (Kings of Castlebrook #2)

LILAC

T he cemetery is darker than I expected.

I step between two crumbling headstones, my boots crunching over dry grass and stray leaves.

The moon is hidden behind a thick stretch of clouds, but its light still filters through in patches, casting silver shadows across the old graves and stone angels.

They watch me like they know what I came here for.

And I do know. I came for him.

I’m already breathless and Callum hasn’t even touched me yet.

We’ve done the mask play before, in the safety of our bedroom, with the door locked, but this is different. This is real. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know when he’ll strike. All I know is that Callum told me to wear something he could rip, and not to be late.

So here I am, in a thin, cropped sweater and a floral mini skirt with nothing underneath. It feels like there are nerves buzzing beneath my skin, and I think this is the most alive I’ve ever felt.

It’s exhilarating.

We’ve been through so much. Death. Lies. A fake engagement that’s become something so much more. But we’re free now. Free to love each other, no secrets, no threats from anyone. And I want to say it, I want to tell him I love him. I want to scream it.

But I don’t know if it’s too soon. We’ve only been together like this for a little while. Not fake fiancés. Not best friend’s little sister and overprotective asshole. Just us.

And yet…it doesn’t feel new. It feels utterly ancient. Like we’ve always belonged to each other. Like our bodies knew the truth long before our minds ever caught up.

I step between two tall monuments and glance up. The clouds are rolling, and the moon glints off the marble statues, giving the figures a ghostly glow. I shiver. Not from the cold but from the feeling that I’m not alone right now.

Because I’m not.

I feel him watching me.

It’s the same feeling I used to get on the ice when I’d be practicing alone and I’d feel eyes on me. I wouldn’t see him. But I’d know. My body would know.

My heart skitters in my chest when I take another step and I finally see him.

He steps out from behind a mausoleum, and I notice his hood is up, but I can see the glow of his mask. Purple X’s over his eyes. A stitched purple grin where his mouth should be. Callum is completely still. Silent. Just watching.

He tilts his head, just once, like a predator sizing up prey.

My body knows it’s him. My brain does, too. But my instinct doesn’t care.

My breath catches roughly and I take off running.

I don’t think, I just move, my hair flying behind me as shoes hit the soft earth. I don’t scream, but I gasp, my chest tight as I dart behind a row of graves. I glance back over my shoulder and he’s right there.

Callum doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He’s not running. He’s just stalking, and I realize that the chase isn’t the best part of this for him. He wants to watch me at every stage of this game.

When he does start moving, it’s not at an urgent pace. He’s got a fast, steady walking stride that says he knows exactly where I’ll go. That I can run all I want, but he’ll still catch me.

And God help me, I want him to, but I want to make this good for him.

The headstones blur in the corner of my vision as I race past them, and I realize that I’m weaving through the cemetery like prey in a forest. Cold air brushes my thighs, and my skirt rides up around my thighs with every jerky movement that I make.

I duck behind a crooked mausoleum, my breath catching as I lean against the stone.

He’s wearing me out, and he’s barely moved.

God, this is exactly what I wanted.

My pulse buzzes with anticipation low in my belly, radiating out through my limbs.

I know what’s coming. I know what he’s going to do to me when he catches me, and the very thought makes my mouth go dry and my thighs clench.

He’ll be rough. Possessive. Unrelenting.

And I want that. I want him unhinged like that.

I wore this little light purple sweater with the dainty buttons just for him. It clings to me the way he likes, hugging my chest in a way that always makes his gaze drop. The white skirt I chose is soft and girly, patterned with tiny purple flowers and green leaves.

I want to be his fantasy. I want to be better than his fantasy.

The graveyard is haunting at night, and the statues, the moss-covered angels and cherubs made of cracked stone, all look like they’re watching me. I feel him again.

I take a slow breath and peek around the edge of the mausoleum, searching for the purple glow of his mask.

Nothing.

The graveyard is still and oh, so quiet.

My breath catches again, but this time not from exertion. I tiptoe forward, scanning the rows of stones, stepping carefully so I don’t make too much noise. Every hair on my body is standing up. That same buzzing energy crawls up my spine.

He’s close.

I feel it.

I take another careful step and crash into something hard.

I don’t even have time to scream before I register the warmth, the size, the scent. Cedar. Smoke. Him. Callum Grey. My fucking cowboy.

My scream rips out anyway. Not because I’m afraid, but because he startled me.

I whirl and run, a breathless laugh escaping my lips as I bolt. I hear him this time and the thud of his boots on damp grass.

He’s letting me run.

That knowledge pulses through me like lightning. I’m only ahead because he wants me to be.

And I know exactly what will happen when he decides to take what’s his.

My breath is ragged, chest heaving.

He’s close. I can feel him.

I dart between rows of old graves, weaving left, then right, desperate to break his line of sight even though I know there’s no escape. Not really. This game only ends one way, and that’s with me on my back and him buried deep inside of me.

Callum’s going to ruin me. And I want it. I want him to lose control. Tonight, I want to see what happens when he doesn’t hold back.

I peek around the corner of the mausoleum, but there’s no sign of him again. While I feel a rush of relief that must be my subconscious that hates being scared, I also feel disappointed.

The light from his mask is gone again. I squint into the darkness, but he’s nowhere. The entire graveyard feels still, suspended in time almost. Like there’s not another soul in the world except for me.

And then he’s on me.

Callum tackles me to the ground, but even in the fall, he’s careful. One arm wraps around my waist while the other cushions my shoulder as we roll through the grass. We land with him pinning me gently, completely taking control, but his big hands are gentle as he claims me.

His weight settles over me, and there’s a feeling of absolute glee that fills me.

My wrists are caged above my head by just one of his giant hands.

The grass tickles my calves, and my chest rises and falls against his.

He's doing it again, playing the game too well.

I want him to speak. I want him to give me a play-by-play of what he wants to do to me.

I pant. He’s completely still. Silent.

“Callum,” I whisper, but he tilts his head like a predator playing with his prey. Not acknowledging it.

I know how to get under this man’s skin, and this is a game after all, isn’t it?

I know exactly what to say to get him talking, to get him worked up at the thought of another man in this very position with me.

“Your last name and number are plastered all over your hoodie,” I tell him, and I sound absolutely breathless. “I know it’s you, cowboy.”

Nothing from him, so I pull out my secret weapon when I ask him, “Unless, of course, you want me to imagine someone else under this mask? Someone else pinning me down? Someone else coming inside my pussy?”

That gets him.

He lets go of my wrists and pulls the mask up just enough to show the irritated twist of his mouth. His expression is thunderous, like I offended him in some holy way.

Because I have, and I absolutely adore him when he’s like this.

“Who the fuck else would it be?” he growls at me.

I blink, stunned by the force of his reaction.

He rips the mask off completely and stares down at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“In what universe would I ever allow anyone else to get this close to you, bambi?” he snaps. “Spoiler alert: no such universe exists.”

My heart does a ridiculous little flip.

While he’s still mid-glare, I yank the mask down over his eyes and catch him off guard. He curses, just once, and I take advantage of the moment.

I twist out from under him and bolt.

I’m running again, and I laugh as I go.

“Let the hunt continue, cowboy,” I call out.

The eerie violet glow of the stitched eyes and mouth is the only warning I get before I feel him gaining on me.

I glance back, breath ragged in my throat, just in time to catch the glint of the light slicing through the cemetery mist. He’s chasing me now.

Not stalking, not circling. He’s hunting me, and he’s good at it.

I let out a startled, breathless laugh, the kind that sounds too close to a moan, and push myself harder, legs aching from the run. I weave around another crumbling tombstone, trying to keep the head start he’s allowed me, knowing in my bones this is the final stretch. He’s had enough of the chase.

And I want to be caught.

A blur of motion.

A grunt.

And then I’m slammed in the most careful way against the smooth top of a marble tombstone, my back arching as his weight presses me down. Callum’s hands are everywhere, pinning, gripping, claiming. There’s no soft warning this time. No teasing start.

It’s just me, him, and the primal, feral, filthy need between us.

Callum practically snarls behind the mask, and then I hear the rip. My sweater is destroyed in a single tug, the tiny buttons flying into the grass like fallen stars. My breath catches, goosebumps prickling along my chest as the night air brushes against my bare skin.

"Fuck." It’s a groan, not a word, and it’s filled with reverence as his hands cup my breasts, pulling and rolling the nipples like he just needs to do this before he finishes our game.

He shoves my skirt up, his fingers greedy and so damn possessive.

When he sees what’s underneath, or rather what’s not, he curses again, louder this time.

"My sweet, fucking dirty girl, aren’t you?"

His voice seems deeper behind the mask. Rougher. Wilder.

A sharp slap lands on the sensitive part of my thigh. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to make me whimper and instinctively spread my legs for him.

Callum is so beyond waiting. Two thick fingers drive into my pussy without preamble, and my whole body jolts. My head tilts back and I cry out, the sound echoing off moss-covered graves. He fucks me with his fingers like he owns me, like he’s staking his claim right here in front of the dead.

"You came out here like this for me? No panties? Just your little fucking skirt and those soft thighs open for me to take your sweet pussy? Jesus, bambi. You want to be filled with my hot cum that bad, don’t you?"

"Yes," I whimper, clawing at the tombstone, at his arms, at anything I can touch. My hips grind down on his hand, chasing every rough thrust of his fingers. "Please, Callum. Please. I need it."

The violet light of his mask flickers above me. He looks like something pulled from a nightmare, and yet I’ve never felt safer.

He rubs my clit hard, fast, relentless with his hand that isn’t fingering me into a soaked mess.

"Come on my hand, baby. Come for me like the needy little thing you are. I know you want to be bred. Say it, say you want my cum,” he groans, like the words he’s said himself turn him on in ways he didn’t think they would.

"I want it," I sob out the words, my walls clenching around his fingers. "I want you to come inside me. Please. I need your cum, Callum. I need you so bad."

The orgasm hits like lightning. My whole body bows off the stone, a scream of only his name ripping through my throat as my pussy spasms around his digits.

Callum growls, ripping open his jeans with his free hand just enough to free his cock. I barely have time to breathe before he’s shoving into me, a deep and brutal thrust, stretching me wide.

"Fuck,” he’s the one whimpering for me now. “I’ll never get used to how tight you are, bambi. Never."

His hand comes up to wrap around my throat, not tight, just there, just claiming, and his thrusts turn more intense. Every thrust rocks the tombstone beneath me. Every snap of his hips makes stars burst behind my eyes.

"I’m gonna fill you up," he pants. "Gonna breed you. Put my baby in you. You want that, don’t you? You want to be mine in every way."

"Yes! Yes, Callum. Fill me up. Make me yours forever.” My pussy clenches around his cock at my words. I want that so badly, and my body does too.

My nails dig into his shoulders as I lock my legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper.

He groans, a long, broken sound, and then he’s coming.

It’s hot, thick, and endless. His cock jerks inside me, spurting cum deep into my womb as his hand tightens around my neck just enough to make me feel it everywhere.

He collapses forward, his masked face resting against my breasts for a long moment as he catches his breath. I tug his hood down and run my fingers through his sweat-damp hair, gently sliding the mask from his face and setting it beside us on the stone.

He lifts his head, those dark brown eyes soft now as they lock on mine.

"I love you, Lilac. I’ve always loved you so much and I can’t believe you’re finally mine.

" He only looks away long enough to nuzzle my breasts with his face, kissing each nipple before he looks back up at me. “I wanted to say it so long ago, before the fake engagement even, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I whisper, "I love you too, Callum, and I need you to know that I always have. It’s always only been you."

Callum leans in and kisses me, soft and reverent now, like I’m some sort of miracle he’s wished for his entire life.

"I’m not glad for everything we’ve been through," he says quietly when our lips part, brushing my hair back from my face. "But I’m thankful it brought us here. To this. To you being mine."

I smile, letting my forehead rest against his. "I’ve always been yours, cowboy."