Mastyx throws what’s left of him across the alley, and he lands inside a dumpster, the lid closing on top of him.
The silence that follows is deafening. Mastyx stands beside the dumpster, his eyes fixed on it. There’s a hesitation, like he doesn’t want to look at me, and it makes me feel ashamed.
His head pivots abnormally slow in my direction, and I immediately put my head down, afraid of what he may do to me—afraid he changed his mind about our agreement and decides to hurt me.
His footsteps echo around me, growing louder as they come closer. I sense him, hovering above me, but still, I keep my head down, remaining submissive.
Fingers glide across the back of my neck before wrapping under my chin, where he presses upward, tipping my face up to his. “Oh, my Little Sinner, what has he done to you?”
A sense of relief washes over me, and I sob, resting my face in his palm, my bloody head smearing across its surface. Hecatches a tear racing down my cheek with a hooked black claw and sucks my sadness off his fingertip before picking me up and carrying me down the alley.
I rest my heavy head against his hairy chest, nuzzling into him, my eyes barely able to stay open as we turn out of the alley and walk toward the dark, abandoned lot I parked in. When we reach my car, nearly concealed in darkness, he opens the back passenger door and places me inside.
I stare up at him. “What are you doing?”
“You called me here, so your loins must need me. That’s what you said. That was our agreement.”
My eyes widen. “But—”
He grips my jaw roughly. “This arrangement was your idea, Little Sinner, remember?”
I close my eyes as he pulls me toward him, spreading my legs when my ass is resting on the edge of the back seat—the chill of the night air, spreading goosebumps across my lower body. A whimper escapes me as he makes a slow entry and moves in and out of me quickly but not deeply.
His claws dig into my upper thighs, and he hoists me higher before thrusting hard into me.
I cry out, my legs and body screaming from the violent attack I just endured. Tears drain into my ears on both sides, muffling Mastyx’s moans of pleasure.
His body heats up, and my eyes widen as his cock, not ripping my insides to pieces or scorching my tender internal walls, glides in and out of me, massaging my walls with a warmth and tenderness that soothes me from the inside.
How can that even be possible?
He pulls me up to his chest before wrapping both arms tightly around me, holding me there as he stills, finding his release. The fluid inside me numbs the pain, and I find myself slowly forgetting about what I just went through in the alley.
His hand cups the back of my head, holding it softly against his chest, his heat smoothing the goosebumps on my skin.
He holds me at arm’s length before reaching between my legs, his warm fingers sliding gently inside my ass. I close my eyes and moan as a tingling sensation travels down my thighs, into my bottom, and through my spine, the tearing pain that was once there, dissipating in an instant.
A staggering breath escapes me as his thumb grazes over my clit, stroking it gently. All the pain I was feeling has been replaced by pure pleasure. Mastyx’s head drifts between my legs, and I grip the seat, my body instinctively sliding back as his long tongue extends from his lips and slides between mine, flickering inside me. My orgasm coats his tongue within seconds, and with my release, the last of my energy drains into his palate.
When I feel a sudden chill, I open my eyes, and Mastyx is gone. I crawl from the back seat and stand, swiping my forehead, checking for blood, but feel nothing. The pain throughout my body no longer exists.
I glance at my arms, turning them side to side, but they are clean. The driver’s side door groans open, and I sink behind the wheel, pulling the visor down and peering into the mirror. My face looks fine. I turn my head side to side, covering my mouth in disbelief. There’s no bruising, no blood, no signs that anything happened to me at all.
He healed me.
???
Over the last several days, I’ve barely slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see Brent’s fist coming at my face, forcing my eyes back open. Even though Mastyx healed my physical trauma, the mental and emotional effects linger, making day-to-day activities that I usually enjoy feel more like chores.
I gaze at the unfinished project on my desktop that I started before the incident with Brent. It takes everything in me to sit down and pick up my glue container, determined to finish what I started. Baby’s breath, moss and finger bones rest on either side of the plank, waiting for me to decide what to do with them.
After Mastyx left me healed in the abandoned lot, I went back and, using my switchblade, roughly cut off a few of Brent’s fingers in a fit of rage. At the time, I did it to take away the appendages he used to violate my body with. But the more I stared at the decomposing fingers, the more I realized I had a better use for them in my art.
A heavy sigh escapes me, blowing the dried flowers across the desk and over the edge onto the floor. I shake my head and set the glue back down. I’m not in the mood. My arms feel too heavy, too tired.
I stand, shuffle the short distance to the couch and flop down on the cushions, throwing my arm across my eyes. Maybe I’ll try again later.
Maybe.
