“Fuck!” He bucks into me, twisting his fingers through my hair, grasping, pulling. He’s afraid of something. I hear it in his voice. I feel it in how he trembles. His hand leaves my throat and plunges between my legs, pressing into the flesh that surrounds him as if he can stave off whatever I feel building there, gathering in intensity. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Too late. The pressure builds and then spills over. It’s like a dam breaking: unwelcome, consuming pleasure flooding every fucking pore, crashing through parts of me I kept safe from even Robert. Too much. Not enough. My head rears back against his shoulder as my eyes widen to a mocking view of the endless night sky. God, that’s how he feels.Endless.
Pain rips through my shoulder: his teeth sinking deep, even as he spits words out against my skin. “You goddamn bitch.”
He’s furious, but I don’t know why. He’snot the one boneless and senseless, held up only by the weight of his body crushing me to the van. He’s not the one with nerves so stimulated that ithurts.My nails scrape the window glass, desperate for leverage, but I find nothing. Just cold night air and the taste of a stranger’s musk on my tongue.
Still thrusting, he commands me in a twisted language of curses and grunts. “Prove you’re not his. Scream forme.”
I do. Long and loud, without a damn given for who might hear me. I scream until the sound breaks off and air just wheezes from my lungs. Only now does he come, howling his release into my hair. Biting me. Digging in with his nails. The pain keeps me grounded. It makes it harder to ignore what’s happening. Harder to forget. Harder to survive.
With one more jagged pass of his hips, hekillsme. Ellen Winthorp is no more, and there’s no one around to mourn her demise. Left behind is a hollow shell that falls to her knees in the dirt while her murderer looms above, wrestling his cock back into his pants.
Limp, I collapse against the cool earth, tears seeping from my eyes as my chest heaves. I’m sobbing in a way I haven’t…ever. Not after my mother died. Not after Robert made me his. Not after a madman mistook me for the sister who betrayed me.
Nothing has shattered me like this: his seed seeping out of me and his scent on my skin. Curled into myself, I howl, and I cry, and Ibleed.
“Get up.” He nudges me with his foot when I don’t move. “Get the fuck up!”
I don’t. So he lifts me himself, hefting me by my shoulders with my legs dragging over the ground. He doesn’t return me to my seat. Instead, he moves to the back of the van and opens the trunk. It’s connected to the back seat, with a view from the rear windshield. Hiding or terrifying me isn’t his goal by shoving me onto the ledge and slamming the lid over me.
This way, I’m out of his sight. Only my mewled, smothered cries give me away as he returns to the front seat and continues to drive.