I want to take it all back.
Putting her in more danger.
Us.
But I can’t.
“What?” she asks slowly, a crinkle to the perfect skin of her forehead, I want to smooth it out with my thumb, it’s an instinct, to soothe her.
Instead, I’m breaking free of her grip, her arms thudding heavily at her sides, my hands gathering the sodden material of her hoodie and tearing it over her head. I’m walking her back,throwing her against the slippery mud wall we’ve built, boxing her in with my arms, hands on either side of her head, fingers splayed, tips digging into the mud.
“Fuck you, Penelope,” I say it with a smile, and I watch her swallow, her entire body shivering with the cold, the wet, her thin black T-shirt clinging to every curvature of her body.
“Fuck you, too, Billy Blackwell,” she replies quickly, spitting it back in my face, tit for tat, but it means nothing to me.
She doesn’t move as I strip her bare, her boots, her jeans, top, bra, underwear, leaving her in nothing at all. Every part of her exposed to the elements, tome.
My mouth attacks hers with violence, my tongue plunging its way through her teeth, curling desperately around her own. She doesn’t respond, just lets me kiss her, it goes on for long seconds before she finally reciprocates. It feeds me when she kisses me back, my anger, my rage, my want, my every single thought and feeling in this moment is fuelled by her.
Her mouth meets mine like a vow, surrender, a ritual carved so bone deep neither one of us could ever cut it out. She tastes like rain and earth and love, and it makes me sick, knowing I feel the same. A weakness, to both her and I, a way for us to hurt.
“Fuck you, Penelope,” I say again, biting hard into the bone of her jaw, making her squirm as I lock my jaw, clamp down hard enough to leave my mark, pepper her in blue tooth-shaped bruises. “Fuck you.”
She slaps me hard across the face, driving her nails into my cheek, clawing my face as I bite my way down her throat, lapping over the indents with the flat of my tongue, sucking her flesh between my teeth. I track my way along her collarbone, more biting, more sucking, and I can’t stop. Voices in my head demanding I bite harder, chomp out pieces of her flesh and present them to her chewed up on my tongue.
Her betrayal sits in me like the brand in my chest, still smoking, still burning, something else that is all for her. But beneath it all, there’s still love. A torture so great it can’t be described, only endured, she tore open my chest cavity twelve long years ago and inscribed her name on my heart, let it bleed, let it beat just enough to keep me alive without her.
Because a love like ours, love this twisted and broken and fucked up; it festers, it plots, it prays.
It taught me how to kneel.
Shetaught me how to kneel.
And now I want to see her do the same.
I force down my jeans, my boxers, the heavy wet fabric suctioned to my skin, but I manage to shove it to my knees. I fist my cock, already hard, already weeping, already desperate to fill her up. And as I heft her up, my hands beneath her thighs, her back in the mud, I force my way inside her.
Her walls clamp down around me so hard, trying to push me out, it only makes me fuck into her harder. It’s brutal the way she screams at me through gritted teeth, slapping my face harder and harder each time I thrust up into her, but I don’t stop, ignoring the protests from her mouth, her wet cunt telling me something different.
“I fucking hate you, Billy Blackwell,” she screams through gritted teeth, her words in my mouth, her tongue quickly following.
She kisses me, slapping my face as our tongues fuck each other’s mouths, knees cutting into my ribs as she tightens her legs around my waist. Penelope drives her sharp nails into my bare shoulders after she strips my hoodie and T-shirt off, dumping it in the puddle of mud at our feet.
“I know you love me, Little Lamb,” I laugh huskily in her ear, biting down on the lobe so hard I taste blood.
Her fists hammer every inch of me she can reach as I work my way down her with my teeth, licking over our brand as I go, until I reach her arm, the tip of my tongue traces over it. The little tube beneath her skin.
“Billy,don’t,” she warns, a threat in it, a promise,panic.
But I bite into her anyway.
Tearing my teeth into her arm like little blunt blades, dull razors biting around it until I feel her flesh pop like an aged champagne cork. I chew it as she screams, the little piece of tissue and skin, swallowing it down as I separate it from the little device that’s been giving me so many problems.
She’s gasping, heaving for breath when I finally look at her, still inside of her, my cock only growing harder and harder with the need to come. Knowing there’s a real chance at breeding her now as I roll the tube around on my tongue. I smile, showing it to her, pinched between my front teeth before spitting it out into the grave we find ourselves in.
She swallows, raindrops and tears running down her face, hair clinging to her skin. Blood running down her arm, my teeth marks scoring every part of her.
All broken and bruised, I should hate myself for thinking it’s beautiful.
