And then the pressure is gone, the scalding burn remains, penetrating my bones, but Gore’s weight leaves me, my arms full of pins and needles are released and I fall forward onto my palms. The icy feel of the tiled floor is sticky against my clammy hands. My head hangs forward, my entire body trembling with the sudden wash of cold, but my chest is burning an inferno hotter than hell.
Hair curtaining my face, tears stream down my cheeks, white splodges obscuring my vision, my head heavy, swaying on my shoulders. And when I blink, chin lifting just enough for my eyes to refocus on Billy, I see his neck in the same taut pull. His eyes glazed, leather in his mouth, upper lip pulled back in a snarl as Gore holds a branding iron against his skin too, in the same place as mine.
My elbows wobble, threatening to buckle with my violent shaking, but when I blink again, my head swimming me in and out of consciousness, Billy’s there. Right in front of me, his eyes on mine, expression hard, concerned. And he looks like my Billy for a moment.
The blue eyed boy who held me at night, cradled my head, curled his legs through mine, threatening the monsters that lurked, scaring them enough to stay away from me. For one single second, my heart lurches in my chest, my soul springing free of my spine, trying to claw its way out of my body, get to his. I want to pick at his skin with my fingernails, scratch and scrape, peel back his flesh, part his bones, climb inside of him. Wrapmyself in his safety and warmth, stitch me inside his skin, never having to feel cold again.
And then he blinks, his expression blank, the lines on his creased forehead smoothing. The warmth dies, coldness seeping free instead, and my hands shake harder as he pushes to stand, towering over me.
I’m afraid to look, staring down at the floor as I hear his belt buckle jangle, the button and zipper of his slacks working free. I don’t protest when he dips down, his hands coming beneath my arms, his fingers biting the bare skin of my back as they hook under my armpits. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, manoeuvring me until I’m lying on my back.
Billy comes down on top of me, on all fours, knees bracketing my thighs, his splayed palms on either side of my head. One of his hands lifts, reaching down between us, he gathers the skirt of my dress, pushing it up beneath my breasts. Exposing my legs, my underwear, my belly, leaving me mostly bare.
And even though I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole right through my skull, his hand lighting up my skin where he glides it down my belly, gripping the flesh below my navel like he wants to dig his fingertips inside of me. But I can’t take my eyes off of the weepy, red, blistering roman numeral number two burned into his chest.
My own chest throbs, my pulse pounding in the place I, too, have been marked, but I can’t bear to look down at myself. If I don’t look, it’s not real yet, and this isn’t over yet, I can’t show fear, a reaction, anything. There are much bigger monsters in this room than Billy or I.
I can feel their eyes on us like lasers of heat. Scorching our skin right down to the bone. Like an ant under a magnifying glass, angled for the sun, burning a hole through its gaster.
Billy slides my underwear down my legs, never taking his eyes off my face, but I keep staring at his chest, even though Ican’t see clearly anymore, it feels safer, somehow. Even when he pushes his slacks and boxers down his hips. The hem of his open shirt tickling across my ribs, the silken heat of his cock thudding heavily against my sex as he parts my thighs, pushing apart my knees, baring me to him and anyone else looking our way.
I don’t think about the wetness between my legs as he pushes almost carefully inside of me, how it shouldn’t be there, that slick heat between my thighs. Forbidden. For an occasion such as this, satanic blood rituals with brands and ownership and sacrifice. I shouldn’t be turned on as a tear slips down my cheek and Billy dips his face closer, the flat of his hot, wet tongue gliding up the side of my face, the puckering of his lips, some semblance of a kiss, pressing to my hairline as he keeps fucking me.
Billy holds himself up with one flat hand, the other, the left, the one with the scabbing slice through the palm, across the inside of his fingers, a matching one in mine, he lifts towards my face. Thumb pressing beneath my chin, he tilts my head back, my hair catching and snagging on the small square tiles beneath my head.
“Look at me,” he tells me, no plea, no, just another order.
I fear that, if I look at him in this moment, he’s not going to be my Billy, and that’s the only version of him I want right now. The one who fucked me in a baptismal pool and coached me through the whole thing, making sure I forgot about the hundreds of eyeballs surrounding us, watching us. Kept me grounded, safe, loved me even though he didn’t say it. I felt it.
“Look at me, Little Lamb,” he grunts this time, my body scraping over the tiles, back and forth, back and forth.
“I don’t want to look at you right now,” I whisper, still staring at his chest, even as he grips my face harder, tilting my head back so far it makes my throat ache with the angle, I keep my gaze trained down.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, baby girl,” he hisses at me, biting my bottom lip and forcing my eyes closed with his closeness. “Your pussy is dripping for me, swallowing my cock, making my balls tight, and my teeth ache. You feel it. What we have is soul deep, Little Lamb, you can’t ever get rid of me.”
That’s what drags my eyes to his, they fly in his direction like they’re yanked by strings, narrowed and tight at the corners. My blood heats, rage thrumming through me, adrenaline pounding, because he’s right. I do feel it. And, right now, I fucking hate it.
“I will gut you in your sleep, Billy,” I whisper against his mouth as he runs his lips down my cheek, his hips not stuttering as he fucks me harder, my knees bending, widening my thighs, my feet flat to the floor. “I will cut you open,” I whisper, his forehead crushed to mine, our breath combined, erratic, humid. “Pull out your insides,” my hands find his shoulders, nails digging into his back, his shirt still half on. “And hang them around this demonic palace like Christmas tinsel.”
“Fuckinghell,” Billy grits out, licking my mouth, his hips slamming into me so hard, I momentarily forget about the searing pain in my chest. “Dirty fucking girl,” he fucks me harder, whispering over my mouth, our lips caressing with every word he speaks. “Know how to get to me already, huh?” He bites my bottom lip, dragging it out between his teeth, breaking the skin. “Threatening to kill me only makes me love you more deeply, Little Lamb.”
Billy’s hand leaves my chin, slipping down to my throat, he squeezes hard, making stars pop in my vision, and my cunt tightens around him further, trying to push him out, keep him in. I cling to him, pulling him closer with my grip on his shoulders. His chest coming to mine, and for a moment, the agony from my wound is forgotten as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and then, just… kisses me.
His beast-like thrusting stops, my hands gentle, his fingers around my throat stroke instead of strangle, and I kiss him back as he licks lavishly into my mouth, sending tingles fizzing all the way through me, right down to my curling toes. His tongue slides over mine, our lips sucking and plucking and pecking. My knees tighten against his hips, one of my feet lifting from the floor, slipping free of my ballet shoe and pressing flat against the top of his exposed buttocks.
“Billy,” I gasp quietly between us, breaking our kiss, heat licking at my cheeks as he touches our noses. “Fuck me,” I breathe, his blue eyes, like ice chips in the dark, glaciers shining bright under a clear night sky, fully focussed on mine.
He’s lost for a second, panting against my mouth, and then he fucks me so hard it makes my teeth rattle. A roar escaping his throat as he comes, his cock hitting deep inside me as he fills me up.
It’s a blur then, the way he pulls out of me, ripping the side of my dress as he yanks it down to cover me. He tucks himself away, not bothering to do up his shirt or trousers, his eyes on me. He lifts me up into his arms and starts walking. I’m so lost in him, in the carnal way he smirks down at me, the way I’m cradled, bridal style in his strong arms, the devilish glint in his eyes as he stares down at me, walking us towards another door at the back of the room. Only when we reach it, one of his hands leaving me, reaching for the handle, do I look up.
Chapter 6
BILLY
Everyone in the room is fucking.
Nellie’s eyes are as round as saucers as she peers over my shoulder.
