Page 23 of Snatched By the Scarecrow

Chapter 9

I startle awake for the second time in two days, but this time, I’m not naked on my couch, I’m wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets on a bed.

I sit up, too quickly I might add. My head pounds, and there’s a split second I think that last night was all another dream. Gradually, all my senses come back online. The dull ache of my pussy makes itself known, along with the slight sting of the cuts on my thigh and the raw sensation of my skin against the blankets; no doubt sensitive from spending an evening fucking on the dirt.

Bright light shines through the windows of my bedroom. Without seeing a clock I know it has to be at least mid-morning. I drag a hand through my hair and find that it’s not messy or dirty as I expected. It’s even a little wet. I sniff it and find it smells of my shampoo.

I look around the room for signs of life, straining my hearing to see if I can note any movement in the farmhouse, but there’s nothing. I’m naked in my bed and there’s no signs another person—or scarecrow god—slept here with me.

Pulling back the covers, I notice my body is clean as well. But the already healing cuts on my thigh are there, along with marks from what I can only guess are his fingers on my thighs. My pussy clenches, remembering what every second with Silas felt like. The swelling of his knot, the searing heat of his cum, the texture of his cock.

I stand, heart hammering as I slip on my robe and go in search of him. I run down the staircase, the wood creaking with each step. Silas doesn’t greet me, and I dart to the window, looking out at the corn field to where he’s been watching every day since I arrived.

The wooden cross stands tall and empty. Relief floods my system at the same time as worry. Is he gone? Did he leave? Did I dream this whole thing and that cross has been empty the whole time? That can’t be true, the evidence of what we did is on my body.

Not caring about shoes, or the fact I’m in the thinnest and shortest silk robe known to man, I run out of the farmhouse and toward the field. There’s no breeze, and the air is warmer than it was yesterday. The sun is high in the sky, beating down on me as I push back the stalks of corn that look more alive and healthy than they did yesterday. I ignore that fact as the dirt digs into my sore feet, and the long leaves whack against my face and body.

Minutes later I enter the small clearing, but before I can reach the cross, I’m snatched around the waist. I scream out of instinct, and a hand presses over my mouth, stopping the guttural noise. Smoke and spice fill my nostrils and my body relaxes back against Silas’s unmistakable chest.

“Trying to run already, eager one?” he mutters against the column of my neck.

I smile beneath his gloved hand. The question is a silly one. If I was trying to run, I wouldn’t have come toward his resting place. He presses his growing bulge against my backside, and I grind myself back into him.

He chuckles, the sound filling my belly with deep and insatiable need for him.

“I see,” he runs his lips along my neck. “So desperate for your mate, you couldn’t wait to be filled with my cock again.”

Mate. He’s been calling me that. I should question it, just like I should be questioning everything that’s happened over the last two days, but that’s not what I want to do right now.

He removes his hand so I can speak.

“Silas,” I moan. “Please.”

“Please what?” He licks my skin, hands groping my breasts through the silk robe.

“Fuck me. Use me. Make me yours again.”

That same delirium that I felt last night overtakes me, and I’m putty in his hands. He bites my neck, pain skittering through my body. I have no doubt that it will leave a mark, which I’m positive was his intent.

“You’ve always been mine, Harper. And you will be forever.”

With quick movements Silas bends me over, exposing my ass and pussy to him. “Grab hold of the cross.”

I do what he asks, hearing the rustling of fabric against his body. A body I want to study in the daylight and imprint inside my mind.

Silas wastes no time, dragging this cockhead over my already dripping pussy.

“My seed is still leaking out of your sweet cunt,” he admires.

Silas plunges into me with no remorse, my sore pussy taking him in despite it being well used.

My hands grip the bottom of the cross, rough wood digging into my palms, and I let out a low keen from the stretch of him.

Silas groans, his already swelling knot rubbing against my entrance. I push my ass back, wanting it inside me to.

“Already a whore for me. Do you need me to breed you again? Shove my knot so deep it will leave a gaping space in your cunt that always needs to be filled?”

“Yes! Give me everything, Silas.”