For the boy I remember.
The one who kept me safe and wiped my tears. Protected me until he was gone.
Little girls are never safe in this world, but I was safe with him.
Never from him, though.
But from everyone else.
It was just us two.
Even as children he scared the whole entire world and all of its inhabitants away from me. Shielded me like the weak little creature he so calls me.
Little Lamb.
Billy’s long fingers are gentle as they coax my face towards his. Sky blue eyes pierce mine, bright like the devil’s in the gloom of the car, daggering me in place like railroad spikes through my limbs. His fingers stroke along the curve of my jaw, his thumb hooking beneath the tip of my chin. He moves into the space between us, sliding towards me across the leather bench seat, placing our joined hands in his lap. Billy moves my face away from the condensation-slicked glass, repositioning my entire body like I’m nothing more than a doll, a puppet for him to play with. Moving my legs so they’re angled towards him, tilting my face so we’re barely an inch apart, his breath whispering across my mouth.
I sink into it, the feeling, the ease of letting him take charge. So natural to me, as though for the first time in twelve years, I can finally relax. It has goosebumps rippling across my flesh, a chill slipping down my spine like needles pricking between each boned disc.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Nellie,” Billy tempts seductively, his mouth this indulgent half-smirk that lights my insides on fire, a spark of excitement igniting my blood like gasoline. His tongue flicks across my cupid’s bow, “Let me inside of your head the same way you let me inside of your…” Hissmirk transforms into a villainous grin as he trails off, his gaze dropping to the slight parting of my knees.
His hand resting atop my femur runs smoothly up the inside of my leg, teasing me as his fingers head north towards the axe wound he carved into my upper thigh.
“Heart,” he finally says, a light, huffed chuckle escapes him as he flicks those piercing pale eyes from the apex of my thighs up to my mouth, before finally meeting my gaze. “Tell me everything you’re thinking, Little Lamb.”
His mouth brushes mine and I find myself chasing him as he immediately draws back, wanting to kiss him, wanting him to drag me closer. His grin dissolves into something softer, but it’s gone too quickly for me to study.
“Every sick, twisted, little desire you have in there,” he finishes, brushing the tip of my nose with his own.
I blink, our mouths finding each other, his upper lip plumper than his lower, drags across my mouth, finding the corner seam of my lips to nibble and pluck at.
“Billy,” I breathe, my eyelids heavy, my lips parted, breath stuttering as a full body shudder rolls through me.
“Mmm, Little Lamb,” Billy huffs a laugh as he says it, not mockingly, more like disbelief, that I’m here, that we’re together, but then, perhaps it’s not that at all.
Shaking his head, his dark brown, upright curls springing with the movement of his neck, he catches my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers find the wound on my leg. His short nails stab into the parted flesh at the same time his teeth tear into my lip.
Eyes popping wide, I suck in a sharp breath. My back arches, the crown of my skull smacking into the window as I squirm, trying to get his teeth out of my lip, his hand off of my thigh. To escape.
The taste of iron tinges my taste buds as his teeth sink deeper and my hands fly up, slamming into the front of his shoulders. My hips jerk, and I buck, lifting a foot to kick at him, attempting to shove him back.
Billy’s fingers drive into the parted flesh of my wound, and I can feel it. The blood. The injury he put so much attention into caring for on the plane, he’s now tearing into like he’s trying to peel my flesh from the bone, picking and digging at it.
My foot slams into his hip, my toes twisted enough to hit him in his lower abs, I kick him as he continues to bite my lip and tear at my thigh. But then his bloodied fingers drag away, his teeth retract, and he’s sucking on my tongue, pushing his own into my mouth with a deep groan I can feel vibrating along my own vocal cords, just as his fingers part my slick folds and he buries the messy digits inside of me.
Breath leaves me in a rush when he draws back, my eyes open wide on his half-lidded ones, “You’re so fucking wet,” he hums. “So slick, so sloppy, filthy, filthy girl.” He clucks his tongue, fucking his bloody fingers into the tight channel of my cunt. “You’re mine, you’ve always been mine,” he bites out, leaning forward, pinning me against the car door. “This blood,” he exhales a hard breath through his nose, “is my blood,” he breathes hard over my mouth, panting as he fucks me with his long fingers. “Every single part of you belongs to me, Penelope. MyPair,” he says those last words whimsically, breathy, as though it’s something he’s been waiting for far longer than I dare dream.
Heat unfurls in my belly, my fingers tighten in the expensive fabric of his shirt, and my lungs squeeze with every word he says.
Because I like it, because I don’t want to, because no matter how I feel, I just want him to touch me.
All I’ve thought about for the last decade is Billy Blackwell, and now, he’s right here, the tight walls of my pussy crushinghis thrusting fingers, his panting breath huffing roughly over my mouth.
He shoves my dress up around my waist, and exhales hard through his teeth as he looks down, my own eyes following to watch the place he continues to fuck with his fingers.
Blood is smeared over my thigh, covering his hand, and staining the cuff of his shirt, dribbling down onto the leather beneath. None of it seems to bother him, and all I can think as I watch the tendons in the back of his hand flex, the olive green veins pulsing beneath his warm brown skin, is that I want more.
More blood.
