Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller
25
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Like a broken record, the single word loops on an uneven beat, wrapping around my brain like a cast.
I didn’t realize until twenty minutes ago how much the almost attack had affected me. Thought going down to the lake might do me some good, especially since I wasn’t allowed at the party, and Nate finally let me out of his sight long enough that I could escape.
I’m having trouble remembering if it was always so suffocating to be around him or if this is part of the new “vengeful” personality he’s developed. It’s likely the latter, although it’s also possible I simply ignored the red flags before in favor of what I thought was a cookie-cutter romance.
Turns out, just because he respects your boundaries for a while and seems nice on the outside doesn’t really mean much. He’s really just planning to murder you.
Now, I can’t breathe, but for entirely different reasons.
I thought something seemed off at the shore, could feel the air shift with something sinister. The hackles on the back of my neck rose, and I searched the pitch-black night for proof. Still, I wanted to be sure I wasn’t just hearing things.
When a twig snapped in half, heavy with the even weight of a large shoe, I knew. Heart racing, I took my father’s call, keeping my eyes peeled for the first sign of movement.
I barely registered anything he said as I listened, my body tight and tense with apprehension. Something about needing the money last week and how he was disappointed that I hadn’t already helped him out. Like every phone call before, he ended it with a promise to one day pay me back, and then the line went dead.
Dread filled me, and I bolted. The second my feet started toward the house, the telltale sound of fast, intent footfalls pounded on the ground behind me, and I panicked.
Took the first left that opened up past the barn and went straight into the sunflower field.
It’s wildly overgrown, the petals looming several feet above me and facing away from the house, having turned, chasing the sun throughout the day. The perfect place to hide—or get lost trying.
My mouth is dry from excessive panting, and my ankles scream in protest as I run, shoving aside leaves and stalks. I’ve never paid attention to how large the field is, but when I’ve been pushing through for a solid five minutes, concern notches along my sternum at the vastness.
Finally coming to a stop, I crouch down and listen. No footsteps fall around, and the rustling of the flowers has paused with me.
I press my palm to my mouth as a sudden wave of nausea racks through me. Imaginary gravel scrapes down my throat when I swallow, and with shaky fingers, I slip Elena’s knife from my bra and flip it open.
I’ve never wielded a weapon before. Aside from the rock, I guess. My mom doesn’t like them, and she pretty much had me conditioned to pacifism at birth.
“Jesus would want you to turn the other cheek, my sweet sunflower. Violence doesn’t solve anything. It only creates more problems.”
But it could solve several of my problems right now. In fact, I can’t even think of any way it would exacerbate them.
Sweat beads across my forehead, and I struggle to even out my breathing. The moon overhead casts a white glow, enough light to see directly in front of me and not much else.
Leaves whisper somewhere in the field, distant but close, all at the same time. It’s likely the sound catches on a breeze and carries to me, but my heartbeat skyrockets anyway. My fingers curl tight around the handle of the knife, holding the blade out and away from me.
I pull my knees back, trying to shrink into myself even though I know it won’t work. The field is massive, but if my assailant gets even remotely close, he’ll hear my staccato breaths. Smell the sweat coating my skin. See me sitting here, waiting. Hoping.
I’m even tempted to send up a little prayer. Just to see if it works this time.
I don’t, instead rotating my gaze so I’m aware of all the possible angles they might come from.
Another shifting of leaves, this time accompanied by shuffling from a different direction. My throat constricts, fear blurring the corners of my vision. I blink rapidly, trying to clear it enough to see, but the tunnel only grows.
My grip on the knife slips, and I sit forward, redoubling my hold until my fingers ache.
It grows eerily quiet. So quiet that all I can hear are my harsh breaths and the erratic beat of my heart. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thu—
A startled squeal twists from my windpipe as a figure suddenly appears before me. My arm whips out almost blindly, slashing with a savagery I didn’t think I was capable of.
Fight-or-flight instinct takes over. The blade slices through the air, and I don’t stop to see where it hits the target. I just wave it, registering the hiss of pain once, twice, then a third time before the blade is knocked away.
All I see before they grab my shoulder and shove me face-first into the ground is a dark cloak and the leather mask.
My grunt is muffled when my mouth smacks into the earth. The taste of copper floods my tongue as my tooth bites into my bottom lip, a sting spreading quickly across the surface. I struggle, thrashing, even as the attacker mounts me, bending one of my arms so it’s crooked behind me, pinned to my ass.
Something—sweat maybe—drips down my neck.
The dress has risen up, exposing the entire length of my right thigh. Right up to the lacy black panties I have on. Cool air brushes my skin, tasting what’s been newly revealed to the night air, and I shiver in spite of everything.
When they don’t let up their hold on me, the fight flees my body, and I sag into the ground like a limp noodle. Saliva glazes my chin, picking up loose dirt as I turn my head and try to get a look at the person above me.
A large, almost-familiar hand clamps down on the back of my skull, preventing me from looking further. I kick my legs, but to no avail. It’s impossible to move with their massive weight straddling me.
Another hand falls to my thigh, gliding slowly between the slit. The tips of their fingers slip beneath the fabric, teasing, their calluses rough against my smooth skin.
I suck my lip into my mouth, running my tongue over the little cut there. It doesn’t stop the bleeding immediately, but it gives me something to cling to. Especially when they skim the hem of my panties, just barely applying enough pressure to let me know their intentions.
Flashes of Nate doing similar things rush back to me, and my panic renews itself. I squirm, digging my elbows into the dirt in an attempt to gain traction. Nothing happens, and instead, the person leans down, driving their pelvis into my ass and dragging their tongue up the center of my neck.
When they shift, I feel it. The evidence of their arousal and the proof that this situation will only end in one way.
I press my hand into the ground, trying to hide the weapon as they—he begins grinding.
He paws at my hip, lifting my thigh slightly to shove his fingers into my panties, and then he’s toying with me. We both hear it—the proof of my arousal—and shame washes over me at the same time.
I’ve felt this shame before though. I’m no stranger to it. So, instead of pushing him off like I would have with Nate or feeling disgusted, I give myself over to it. Let it wash over me until shame morphs into something a little closer to excitement. Adrenaline.
God, I’m wet. He swirls two fingers against my clit, the friction of those calluses making my arms tingle, and the lewd noises fill the air alongside his heavy breathing.
When he bites down on the soft spot between my shoulder and neck, he pulls his hand from me, and it’s a loss I feel down to my toes. It doesn’t last though because in the next second, he’s lifting off and rolling me onto my back.
The mask looms close. My chest heaves, still struggling to catch up with the insanity around me.
He grips my dress in both hands. A tearing sound rips through the air, and I glance down to see he’s torn the slit, revealing my stomach and the panties and the undersides of my breasts. Another tug, and the fabric shreds completely in half.
My arms are still cocked to the side when he grips my thighs, prying them apart to fit himself between them. One hand plants itself by my head, and the other unbuttons his dress pants, fishing his dick from the fly.
I can’t get a good look at it, but I know from what I felt before that it’s big. Fear and exhilaration mix in my stomach, pooling in the form of moisture between my legs. The night air nips at my skin, raising goose bumps like the dead, and I use my free arm to cover my breasts.
He shoves my hand away, then grabs them both in just one of his hands. The squeeze is rough, his fingers digging into a nipple, but I find I don’t mind the bite of pain. It isn’t enough to draw away from everything else that’s happening, even as my mind spins to keep up.
After a brief pause, he rolls his hips against me. Heat from his cock sears into me through the lace, applying pressure on my clit that makes me gasp. I see stars past the ones dotting the sky above. My abs contract as a single spasm shoots from my pussy into my hips, like a sensual firework.
“Wait,” I try when I feel the thick head prod at me, seeking entry.
My hands go down, trying to bar access, and he takes one, forcing it to circle his shaft.
I pause for further instruction, but he doesn’t say anything. Embarrassment claws at my throat. It takes me several seconds to make my wrist move, though I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. I stare up at him, wishing for a beat that the mask wasn’t there so I could gauge whether I’m doing it right or not.
He doesn’t remove it though, so I opt for slow, airtight pumps. His skin is smooth, the shaft unbelievably hard, and I try not to focus too much on the heavy weight of it in my palm. Try not to wonder whether or not it will fit.
Tilting his head back slightly, he seems to rock into my motions. Then, he grunts, smacking me away before taking my wrist and yanking it to his shoulder. He presses my palm into the cloak, and I note a tear in the fabric; he shoves my fingers into the gap, and horror strikes me like a bolt of lightning when I meet something warm and wet.
My hips shift, my body acting on instinct again when I realize I’m touching an open wound. Bile scorches up my stomach, burning the back of my throat as it threatens to expel itself.
I try to pull away, but he tightens his hold. My fingers are coated, and as my eyes finally adjust to the darkness, I watch his mouth curve into a sadistic smile.
He laughs. The sound is like a broken melody, haunted yet genuine in its pleasure. “What’s wrong, Little Echo? Can’t take what you’ve dished out?”
“Grayson,” I breathe, my voice thick with relief. Even though I suspected it was him, the very real possibility of it being his brother or someone else entirely was there.
I’m not totally out of the clear with him though. He still thinks I’m dating his brother, that I was fucking around on him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he thought I had been on Nate’s side the entire time, working against him to take him down.
That notion doesn’t bode well for me.
“Fuck, it’s sick how much I love the sound of my name on your lips.” He shakes his head, disgust lacing his tone.
A slight shift pushes my hand higher, slipping from the cloak, only to find another hole. Another cut.
“You got me good. Didn’t think you had it in you, but I’m bleeding in three different places, thanks to you.”
Oh shit.“I didn’t mean to—”
Sitting back, he moves my hand away from his chest. “Yes, you did. Nobody carries an open knife like that without the intention of doing harm.”
“I thought you were trying to catch me.”
Silence. Then, “Were you frightened?”
I blink. Swallow. My wrist is starting to ache a bit. “Yes.”
No response. His breathing hitches, growing louder and more labored as he brings my hand to his cock, wrapping my sticky, wet fingers around his length. A strange sound comes from low in my chest, but he doesn’t stop, lubricating the head and shaft with his own blood.
He slips his free hand between my legs again, and then he’s touching me, drawing lazy circles over my clit. “Tighter,” he demands. “Get me good and hard for you, dirty girl. You remember what I told you would happen if I caught you, right?”
Powerless to do anything other than obey, I curl my fingers and match the rhythm of his strokes with short, twisted pumps of my own. “You keep me.”
I’m so sensitive down there from neglect that I can feel an orgasm building rapidly; my pulse quickens, and my breaths become deeper, shallower, blurring my vision like a vignette filter.
“Yes,” he hisses, moving faster against me. “Except I don’t just want to keep you now. I’m going to fuck you, and send you back to the house with my blood and cum on your thighs.”
The visual stokes the fire kindling in my stomach, its flames spreading to my chest, and when he slips a finger inside me, I fall right over the edge.
Tremors take hold of my body, and I bow to their fury, my back arching as euphoria crashes like a ship hitting the shore. I keep my eyes open though, letting Grayson’s hot emerald gaze take me through to the other side.
I suck in a deep, gulping breath as I come down. My lungs burn, struggling to accommodate my needs. I swear, I feel him tremble against me, though the hard set of his face reveals no emotion, other than the absolute necessity of what’s happening now.
He reaches up, touching the underside of his jaw. Blood coats his index and middle fingers, and I’m momentarily alarmed by the fact that he seems to be losing so much. He takes both fingers and slides them over the angry, reddish-purple head of his cock, smearing it like lube. Then, before I can protest, he glides the same fingers down my stomach and over my belly button and slides them into me.
I gasp at the intrusion, somehow so different from the way he invaded me moments ago. This is all so wrong, so depraved, but I can’t seem to make any of it stop.
Maybe I’m way more fucked up than I ever realized.
The mask stays on as he notches against me, his bulbous crown hot where it parts me. “Gonna call out for God this time? Think he might be able to hear out here?”
I flatten my palms at my sides, nails digging into the dirt. “I don’t believe in God.”
His masked face inches closer to mine. A chill sweeps over my wet flesh, bared for his viewing pleasure. “You will.”
One second, he’s gliding his length through my arousal, spreading his blood and collecting me on him. A distant part of me wonders if there’s ever been this much fluid exchanged during sex in the history of it, but that thought quickly dissipates when I feel him move forward.
“Relax,” he murmurs, keeping those green eyes on mine. His hands come to my knees, holding them open as he begins to inch his way inside. “Relax and let me in, dirty girl. I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”
When I don’t move, he grunts. “You want that A, Miss Artinos? Show me you deserve it. Let’s see how snug my cock fits in you, see if this sweet little pussy is worth her merit. If you can do what your little cock sleeve is supposed to and milk my dick, I’ll give you an A. Hell, I’ll tattoo gold stars right on your perfect tits. That way, you always know how well you did.”
“Shit,” I mutter, clenching my fists as he slowly—so fucking slowly—stretches me. “You’re too big. How did you ever fit before?”
He doesn’t comment, instead tilting his chin down to focus. I feel his fingers on my clit again, and a steady hum starts in my veins, making me release an ounce of tension from my body.
“Goddamn. You’re so wet.”
“Probably the blood,” I joke through slightly gritted teeth.
Huffing, he shifts again, pulling the tip out. “I might blow before I’ve even gotten in.”
He bumps up against me once more, and this time, I don’t even have a chance to let out a noise when he shoves all the way in.
