Page 40

I fall as I jump out of the car, tripping already on the wet leaves covering the ground. I don’t know if his plan is to chase me, or if he’ll grab me the moment I even try to run away, but it doesn’t matter—the idea makes me wet all the same.

I push myself up, running into the trees, just as I hear heavy footfalls behind me. Marcelo is coming toward me, but he’s not running. No, his steps are fast and hard, but determined, purposeful. I can hide, or I can keep running, knowing he’ll eventually catch up to me. Or I can turn around right now and try to fight him, trick him, and run past him to get back to the car.

I think of the only other time I’ve ever fought back, the shattered pieces of the Virgin Mary statue clattering by my feet. Of the blood that marred Daren’s forehead. And then I think of the only time I’ve run, when I ran from that house—my bare feet pounding on muddy dirt and rocks as I ran to the church in nothing more than a hoodie in the cold rain.

But hiding? I’ve hidden my whole life. I know how to hide.

I round a tree, springing myself out of sight from my pursuer and serpentine around another few trees before finally stopping, and crouching under a fallen log. Wet leaves cling to my cardigan, my hair, and I see spiders and other small bugs crawl around just in front of me. But I stay absolutely still, my pussy pounding in tune with my heart as I try to quiet my breaths.

Marcelo’s loud foot falls slow as he nears me, and I see his black boots stop a few steps away from my hiding place. I stop breathing altogether, afraid he’ll hear me. Thankfully, his shoes are pointed away from me, turning in a semicircle till he pauses, and picks up his pace in a different direction.

But I’ve seen a lot of horror movies. I know this is the moment I let my guard down and he appears behind me, ready to attack.

I know, but I do it anyway.

I exhale, wanting him to find me, wanting him to punish me and give me exactly what I want.

But nothing happens. Marcelo doesn’t come for me. He doesn’t pull me out from under the log by my ankles, forcing his cock inside of me as he lifts my dress, my clit pressed roughly against the cold, wet ground as he fucks me hard. No, instead I stay there, waiting, breathing. And aching. My core is begging to be touched, begging for friction. I feel like I can’t breathe, not until I feel something .

I throw every single reservation I have away.

I’m a filthy slut, and I don’t fucking care anymore. I want to be touched. Need to be touched.

I thank God once more I didn’t wear underwear today as I slide my hand along my body, toward my thighs. If he can’t hear my breath, maybe he’ll hear my moans. Maybe he’ll find me as I come all over myself, upset to have missed his opportunity to do it himself.

The moment my hand passes the hemline of my dress, big hands roughly wrap around the ankles of my boots and pull—just as I imagined he would. My front scratches against the branches, rocks, and leaves lining the floor, and I kick hard, trying to break his grasp.

“I’ve been watching you squirm, songbird. My little princesa is so fucking needy, isn’t she?” He easily flips me around and I see he isn’t wearing his shirt, his tattoos on full display. The artwork mesmerizes me, and I find it hard to take my eyes off all the different pieces. Later , I tell myself, later I will study each and everyone of these, learn them as if they were my own.

It’s at that same moment I feel what he’s actually done with his shirt. Or rather, what he plans to do with it. He straddles my hips and yanks my hands above my head, tying the shirt snugly around my wrists. I try to knee him in the back, wiggle out from under him, but it does nothing.

“Let me go!” I demand. Marcelo chuckles, leaning forward as his hand slams right next to my head. The mask is clouding my vision, the white cross the only thing I see in the sky of black.

“You think I’d let you touch yourself? And let you get off that easy?” He chuckles again. “No chance in Hell. I told you, June, you’re going to be screaming your love for me by the time I’m done with you, and for that you’ll have to be nice and patient.” His other hand slowly drifted up my thighs, his touch feather light, sending goosebumps all over my skin.

Fuck , just a little closer .

His index finger toys with the hemline, before slipping under, and I can feel the juxtaposition of his cold fingers on my molten core. God, how nice it’d feel if he just—

“You dirty little slut,” he whispers into my ear, before he chuckles again.

The air is stolen from me as my mother’s words leave his tongue. But, not because they hurt. No, when he says it, it sends that familiar pulse to my clit, begging for attention. For his attention. And no one else’s.

I am a slut. His slut.

“Mine,” he groans as he dips his hips, grinding against me just once. “ My little slut.”

“Fucking tease,” I breath, and it pulls another chuckle from behind the mask.

“Oh, love. You have no idea.”

He sits back up, straddling me once more as he yanks open my cardigan. The buttons tear from the fabric, flying off all together as he pulls it up my arms and wraps it around his T-shirt where my hands are tied. Then, he stands and pulls me up with him. I fight, but my feet barely reach the floor as I’m halfway thrown over his shoulder. I kick at his thighs, not finding any purchase, until he throws me back. I slam against a tree, the air leaving my lungs, as he pulls my arms over my head again, lifting me off the ground. I dangle, too dazed to realize how at first, only noting how much this position hurts my shoulders.

“There—now, I’ll only let you off if you’re a good girl. Are you going to be good for me, songbird?”

I don’t reply, fighting to pull my arms back down in front of me, trying to reach the ground as the toes of my boots barely graze the dirt. It’s no use, I’m stuck. I look up, trying to see what’s holding me. Like a jacket on a hook, the bundle of fabric tying my wrists are hung over a branch, thick enough to hold my weight. Marcelo grabs the branch, shaking it lightly, reminding me he just asked me something.

“I’ll be good.” I nod.

Reaching in his back pocket, Marcelo pulls free a knife. As he switches it open, another small gasp leaves me.

“First, you need to be punished for trying to cheat.” He doesn’t give me a moment to react, instead he slashes forward, and I flinch, covering my face in the crook of my arm. I wait for pain, for the sting of the knife, for the warmth of blood.

But I feel nothing.

I feel a breeze.

And then I feel a rough hand cup my breast.

“I haven’t had enough of these today. Seeing them bounce up and down for me is all I ever want to see again. I want to be drowned in that image and live in it forever. Your beautiful fucking body moving like that—for me? Fuck, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Marcelo had cut the straps of my dress, the front falling to my waist to reveal me to him and the rest of the forest as I dangled from the tree.

“Do you know how badly I wanted to suck on them in that confessional booth? How badly I wanted to slap them back and forth? I feared we’d be too loud if I did that, though. But here—”

He lightly squeezes, his thumb pressing into my nipple, before he pulls back and slaps the side of my breast.

“ Fuuuck ,” he groans. “That jiggle is everything.” He does it again, harder, and a small yelp escapes me at the sting left behind as my pussy clenches, desperate to feel that same sting.

He rubs the red mark he left, before moving to toy with my nipple.

“W—” I try, biting back a moan as he pulls on the sensitive, peaked bud. “What’s my penance, Father?” My heady eyes meet the white cross again, and I can feel him staring at me, watching me, worshiping my body as he touches and slaps and pulls.

“Hmm,” he hums, and the vibration in his throat makes me desperate to feel it between my thighs, his tongue on me again. He takes the knife into his dominant hand once more, and softly glides it across my breast, letting the blade come dangerously close to breaking the skin.

“Should I carve my name into what’s mine?”

I shudder at the idea, wincing at the thought of the pain, but . . . the idea also makes me incredibly wet. I squeeze my thighs together again. He slaps my breasts again, and immediately plucks my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pulling roughly before massaging them back. I moan as his fingers toy with me, leaning my head back on the tree, my shoulders already numb. “For your penance, you must become mine. Completely.”

I already am , I think. But I don’t tell him that. Not when there is so much more I want him to do to me.

Putting his knife away, he plucks me from the tree, lifting me by my hips and slowly placing me on the ground. It takes me a moment to gather my footing, to feel stable, as the blood rushes back through my arms, my fingers buzzing like a staticky TV.

Marcelo yanks my wrists toward him, untying me, letting my cardigan and his T-shirt fall to the floor. I don’t know what he’s planning next. Half of me expected him to fuck me against that tree, and the other half knew there was more he had up his sleeve.

He lifts my chin up to meet the white cross again, holding it in place. “You’re going to be my good little girl?”

I lean up, licking the spot on the mask where I know his mouth to be, and as I pull away, a smile lifts my lips. “I’m going to be your good little slut.”

I push him back, as hard as I can, and I run back toward the car. I know he let me push him, let himself stumble back and give me a slight head start, and while I have no plan for what I’ll do when I get to the car, the thrill is intoxicating, absolutely invigorating.

I run through the trees, jumping over roots and under branches, skidding around the damp leaves, and—finally, the cream of the Mustang meets my eyes. I’ve made it, I’ve—

A hard body slams into me, but instead of tumbling to the floor, he pulls me into him, his hand like stone shackles around my upper arms. I feel Marcelo’s hard cock on my ass, his sweaty chest pressed against my upper back. His heavy breaths are steady, different from my rapid and ragged breathing.

“Inhale,” he whispers softly into my ear, breaking character for just a moment, reminding me how much he cares about me, reminding me this is all a game, reminding me I am his everything.

I do as I’m told, despite the “brat” persona I’m playing at, despite the fact I’m trying to run away from him . I inhale deeply and exhale through parted lips. Marcelo gives me a moment to do it again, and as I exhale the second time, one hand drifts up my body. He’s slow, methodical, as his fingers graze against the skin between my breasts, along my chest and collar bone, until his large hand wraps around my neck and squeezes.

“No!” I choke on my next inhale, my hands clawing at his arm as the air lodges in my throat. I can breathe, but barely. My vision doubles and for a moment, his calloused hand becomes a leathery belt. It tightens like a snake, pulling the life from me, the very air I need to breathe. Darkness starts to creep in, turning the world into a vignette photograph, it—

“Inhale,” he whispers again, in the same way. I try, and, surprisingly, the breath reaches my lungs, slithering past his tightened grip. Marcelo’s hand tightens a little bit more, and I am still able to just barely breathe. The realization of his utter control, and the overall feeling of being at his mercy—knowing he would never hurt me, not really—it sends a wave of heat through my body. I feel myself dripping down my thighs, desperate for more, more, more.

Marcelo half lifts me, half drags me, his hand still clamped around my throat, over to the Mustang. I don’t fight him, ready to take whatever he is willing to give to me. If he forces me on my knees to suck his cock, and nothing more, I’ll take it. If he teases me to madness, never letting me get off, I’ll happily oblige. If he slides me back into the car, never to fuck me again, I’ll accept the time I’ve had with him.

But Marcelo doesn’t do any of those things. He walks to the hood of his car, and bends me over it, slamming me down. I scream as the cold metal presses into my sore breasts, my hot body instantly cooling.

“Don’t fucking move,” Marcelo demands, stepping back. I hear him prowling in a semicircle around me, looking at me from every angle. After seeing what he wants, he steps up to me again, flicking my dress over my ass with an easy movement, revealing my ass and pussy to him.

He chuckles then, seeing how wet I am. “My needy little love. Look how fucking wet you are.” He slides a finger along my inner thigh, coating himself in me. “So desperate to be touched by me. Tell me, songbird, is it my attention you want?”

With his hand between my thighs, he easily finds my clit, giving me just the right amount of friction I need.

“Do you need it?”

“Yes,” I moan.

He slips his hand away from me.

I lift myself, trying to look back, needing more. “No—”

He smacks my ass hard, the sound echoing through the silence of the woods.

“Do you need it like a whore?”

My mother’s words once again spill from his mouth, but it’s nothing like what I felt earlier when she said them.

“Ye—yes,” I moan again as he spanks me. “I’m your little whore,” I repeat. “Don’t stop giving me attention. Ever.”

He spanks me, again and again, and I cry out each time, my body rocking against the hood of the car. He kicks my legs open, spreading my pussy open as I’m forced to stand with them far apart.

“God, this pussy.” He pulls his mask off and drops to his knees behind me, and the next moment, I feel his teeth biting the back of my thigh, claiming me.

“Taste me,” I beg. “Taste me, please. I want your tongue on me.” I buck my hips, trying to grind against the car, his face, anything I could find. I need the friction, need his touch.

“Are you manipulating me, June? Tempting me with your perfect fucking body? With your gorgeous, tight cunt, and your big hips? With this ass I can’t help but grab and spank?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I breathe as he bites me again, closer to my pussy.

“What about with your eyes? And your shy, breath-taking smile? Do you tempt me with those too?”

My breath shudders, those same tears from earlier threatening to spill.

“Have you tempted me into loving you, Junia Forester? Because I can’t stop. I won’t ever stop. You are all that matters, you are the only thing I desire, the only one I seek, the only temptation I’ll ever need.” His hot tongue languidly slides over me, just once, the tip of his tongue flicking against my clit.

“I love you, Marcelo,” I moan, the tears finally overflowing. “I love you.”

I feel him pause behind me. Then he rises and, after what sounds like him putting his mask back on, leans over me, his hot body pressed against my back, his cock pressing into my red, stinging ass. His masked face appears just next to mine, so close I feel his breath through the leather.

“Then let me love you,” he whispers, once again in that soft voice so out of character, out of the hungry, violent demeanor of my stalker. It’s where my masked man and Marcelo the priest meet. It’s where my Salvation is. The true version of himself, where his ferocious heart joins. And I love all of it, every version of him.

He doesn’t wait for my permission. Marcelo pulls his cock out, and pushes all the way inside of me in one long, hard thrust. I’m so wet, there’s no resistance, just pure fucking bliss.

“God, fuck. You feel even better than before.”

He pulls all the way out of me, and slams into me again, my ass jiggling against him from the impact. He spanks me again, uttering, “My little whore,” as he does it again. “My perfect slut,” again. With each thrust, my clit grinds into the cold metal of the car, creating a whirlwind of friction and pleasure and ecstasy.

“Sing for me,” he demands, and I do. I moan so loud, it’s enough to rattle the birds. I scream his name as he fucks into me again, his body slamming into mine, violently, messy, and so fucking good. “So fucking tight,” he breaths. “My little slut is so fucking tight, and she’s taking me so fucking well.”

“Marcelo,” I moan, already feeling that familiar cliff as his cock hits deep into me, his piercings rubbing against my inner walls. I feel my cunt clenching around him, pulling him into this bliss with me. He slams into me more, harder, faster, finding the exact rhythm my body needs, the exact spot his cock hits inside of me, over and over again. I curl my toes, my entire body stiffening, as I push my ass back, desperate to have him inside of me each time he pulls out.

A breathy laugh escapes his lips. “My needy little songbird,” he says again, his hand on my ass, shaking it to take even more of him. “Do you want to come?”

I nod, unable to speak and I feel my grip on reality loosening.

He groans and spanks my ass. “Tell me, June. Beg for it.”

“Please,” I breathe, my eyes rolling back as he keeps hitting that perfect spot. “Please, please, Marcelo, please let me come. I’ll be your good little slut if you let me come.”

“Ah, June,” he moans, still thrusting into me. I feel his balls slap my thighs, and it has my spine straightening even more. “Such a good fucking girl. All right, baby, come for me.”

He pulls himself out to the tip, and slams into me. My back arches immediately, and as he keeps the motion, I feel myself burst. The tension all over my body explodes as I come all over his cock, screaming his name as he continues pounding into me with each wave of ecstasy.

This time, I jump from the cliff. There’s no cord to snap me back. Just him. Just Marcelo and his perfect arms, his gorgeous smile, his loving gaze. I jump off the cliff, and the moment he feels me come all around him, he comes, filling me completely.

We are both panting messes by the time I come back to earth. He’s still inside of me, his forehead dipped and leaning on my back as he inhales and exhales, trying to catch his breath.

“Ah fuck,” he huffs. “That was . . . ” But he doesn’t say more. Instead, he plants soft kisses all over my back as I fight to catch my breath again. I feel his scratchy facial hair against my spine, as he kisses again, he mutters along my skin, “I love you, June.”