But then he turns.
Not fully, just enough to leave. Just enough to walk back up the aisle. His coat shifts with the movement, boots soft against the stone, and I keep my head down, but something pulls his gaze sideways.
And I feel it before I see it.
His steps stop.
Silence cracks open like the mouth of hell, fire erupting up through the stone flooring, heat lashing my spine, dread coiling in my belly.
And when I finally lift my eyes, daring to look, he’s staring straight at me.
Those glacial blue eyes carve their way into my soul, scorching my heart, flaying my bones.
And before I can think.
Speak.
Move.
Billy’s on me, he tears me up by the elbow, dragging me along the row, down the aisle, past the altar, his free fist slamming into a door that he wrenches me through with brute force.
My spine connects with the wall so hard that it knocks the breath from my lungs, and he’s pinning me to it without touching me at all. His breath hot fury slicing down the side of my neck, prickling my skin with an icy flaying of goosebumps as his breath slips beneath my scarf. My heart attacks my sternum, hammering, hammering, hammering, and then it just goes still, as though my blood stops pumping, organs stop working, my entire body pausing, waiting for the world around it to catch up, and then as though its had its moment, it suddenly kickstarts again.
“Billy-”
“You don’t understand the things you do to me, Little Lamb.” Billy’s voice is low simmering violence, his head hanging between us, eyes closed, his nostrils flare. “The way you cut me up inside with your tiny little razorblades.” I’m caught in his web, my hands desperate to reach out to him, to soothe him, to slap him, to stab him. “It’s as though I have swallowed an entire jar of the things.” Billy moves his feet a little further apart, hisshoulders stiffening as he stretches his back, his spine in a curve the way he still hangs his head. “And yet,” he breathes the words so harshly I can taste them on my tongue. “I’m still not dead, Nells.”
His bright blue eyes come to mine, an oceanic wave tearing violently over my head, drowning me beneath rough frothy sea foam, grainy cold water seeping into my every orifice as I try to take breath.
“I wish I were some days,” he tells me, his lips almost brushing mine. “If only so I could drag you with me.” My breath pants between us as he lifts a hand from the wall, his knuckles grazing my cheek, and it feels as though the single touch flares life through me. “I’ve never thought about our deaths so much before, Penelope.” I’m rapt, even with his ominous words, I don’t want to stop him, so desperate to keep hearing his voice. “But I’ve planned them out so many different ways, I’m struggling to decide what to do with you now.”
I want to say his name.
Touch his face.
Kiss his lips.
But I don’t say or do anything in the long moment of pause between us.
I don’t have to.
Because Billy’s hands are heaving me up onto the table at our sides, tearing at my clothes, shoving off my coat, pushing down the stretchy material of my leggings, and his fingers are inside of me. Twisting and curling deep, rubbing relentlessly over that spot so far up inside of me I’m seeing stars.
“I want to carve you up into tiny little pieces,” he whispers in my ear, slamming his fingers into me harder and harder, the picture frame behind my head rattling against the wall. “Put every single one in separate glass jars and shelve them around our bedroom.”
Billy’s free hand rips my leggings the rest of the way down, his boot stepping on the crotch of them to wrench them down over my boots, binding my feet together. He’s unbuckling his belt, our foreheads touching as he shoves down his jeans, palming himself just once before he replaces his fingers with his cock.
His hot hard length spears into me like a man possessed, brutal unforgiving thrusts send his hips crashing into mine with such force it feels like I’m just holding on, waiting to hear the bones go crack. My fingers carve into his shoulders, beneath his coat, over his shirt, nails biting his skin through the thin cotton fabric.
“I want to cut out your heart.” Billy bites into my earlobe, teeth sinking into the flesh. “Suck your blood from the artery.” He keeps pumping into me, his hands on my arse, his firm grip pulling my cheeks apart, wrenching me closer and closer into him. “Then I’ll fuck the empty cavity in your chest, fill it with my cum.” He’s still whispering, his breath a ghost down my neck. “I’m going to pluck out every bone, polish each one with my spit.” He draws back from me as he says it, our mouths still not coming together, like we’re both trying not to give in. “Before carving my name into them all.”
His hand lifts, fingers pinching my chin so hard it makes my jaw ache, but he’s squeezing my face, popping open my mouth and spitting on my tongue. He’s staring at my mouth, his entire focus on my tongue as I roll his saliva around, lick it over my lips, the top then the bottom, before swallowing him down as his palm connects with the underside of my chin, forcing my mouth closed.
“I missed you, Billy,” I tell him, our lips touching as I feed him the words directly onto his tongue.
His eyes come to mine, shining and wide, and then our mouths are coming together in a savagery that screams anythingbut love. Our tongues battle for dominance, our hands grip and bite and tear, attacking each other’s flesh.
“I want to peel off your skin,” I whisper, panting for breath as one of his big hands gropes my swollen breast. “Crack open your ribcage,” his fingers tug on my nipple, squeezing the handful of flesh, until clear droplets bead on the tip. “And crawl inside your heart.” Billy’s mouth closes wide over my breast, sucking on my nipple, his cheeks hollowing as he draws in as much of the flesh as he can.
