Coming closer to me, her aqua eyes latch onto mine, determination in her gaze. She throws herself at me, lips crashing onto mine, before she mumbles against my mouth, “Fuck me, Trey.”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice. Ripping her sweater over her head, I toss it to the floor before peeling her leggings down. She watches with eyes glazed with lust. My girl gets turned on by the blood. Fuck, yes.
Pulling my jeans off, I push her back into the wall with my hand around her throat. My lips brush lightly over hers, my beard tickling her chin. “Need my cock to fill you up?” I murmur, licking the delicate skin behind her ear.
“Please,” she whines back, thrusting her hips into me, searching for relief. Moving my hands to her legs, I lift her up and she wraps them around me. Thrusting my tongue into her mouth, I slide into her, moaning at the heated wetness that surrounds me.
“I don’t want gentle,” she pants at me, and I take her at her word. Slamming her back into the wall, I hold tightly to her legs, pumping in and out of her with furious strokes. Pushing her further up, I latch on to her breast, sucking a nipple into my mouth, laving it with my tongue. Her hands tighten on my head as she cries out, “Harder!”
I bite down, then soothe it with my tongue before kissing my way up to her neck. Pulling out of her I spin her around, pulling her bun out and twisting the length around my hand. Slamming back into her, she screams, her walls fluttering around me as her release pours over her.
Gritting my teeth, I don’t let up; thrusting, pounding, the need to come deep inside her and marking her as mine making me crazed. Letting go of her hair, I grab her breasts, squeezing and pinching them. Her head rests on my shoulder, little moans spilling from her lips as her legs stiffen again.
“Fuck, yes!” she calls out as another orgasm rips through her, setting off my own. I come with a roar, ropes of cum spilling into her. She turns in my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck as our harsh breaths mingle, our hearts hammering as one.
There’s no point denying it anymore. I love this woman.
Chapter 21
Rebecca
Sometimes it feels like there are three separate parts to me. One, a broken and damaged woman that wants nothing more than to cling on to the man lying beside her. She wants to run away, hide from the memories, build a new life where nothing bad happens. She still has hope, however slim, in true love and all things beautiful. She recoils from death and destruction, wanting only peace. But she is also haunted by the fragments of memories that leak out from the locked box from where they are stored. She often lives in the darkness, desperately wanting to reach for the light.
The second part is almost crazy, feral even. She is strong and powerful, lusts for bloodshed and sex. My so-called monster. Her need for vengeance is so great, it sometimes feels like she will tear herself from our body and become her own separate being. Her demands are high, her need for justice all-consuming. She remembers. She doesn’t want memories to be locked in a box; she wants to stand high on a mountain, shouting them out for all to hear. To condemn the sinners and watch them burn.
Reconciling the two and forcing them to coexist is almost an impossible task. How can two such incompatible beings possibly exist side-by-side without one destroying the other? I don’t want to disappear into the shadows, drowning in melancholy. Conversely, I also don’t want to become nothing but a vehicle of revenge. I love dipping into the crazy, ripping apart the men that hurt me and my sisters, and countless other girls.
But I don’t want to live there permanently. Walking on a knife’s edge—that’s me. Trying to keep myself from plunging into a black pool of depression, which calls to me so sweetly. While at the same time, trying not to lose myself completely to the bloodlust. The third part of me is the rational one that holds all the parts together in a desperate bid to be whole.
Strong arms tighten around me, warm breath fluttering over my head as Trey sleeps soundly, holding me in his arms. Unaware of the turmoil swirling through me, a tsunami of fear and hope, destruction and restoration.
My heart expands as my gaze rakes over him. He may not be a traditionally handsome man, but he holds an aura about him that intrigues me, pulls me to him like a moth to a flame. It astounds me that he goes so unnoticed that he named himself an Unseen. How do people not see the power that radiates from him? Not notice how he carries himself, much as a predatory cat would? His chest is broad, thickly corded with muscle, and my fingertips lightly trace down his stomach, delighting in the feel of him. When open, his eyes are reminiscent of melted dark chocolate, and when he is pounding into me, they almost seem to glow with the depth of his emotions.
Unseen? Maybe to others. Perhaps that is a good thing. The thought of other women seeing him as I do makes the feral part of me hiss in displeasure. As the days go past, I am finding myself wrapped tighter in the web he weaves around me. Knowing that he is slowly but surely dismantling the walls I have built around myself. That soon, maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but not too far in the future, he will blast it open—leaving me naked and vulnerable, shaking in the cold. That hidden part inside that we all have, that we protect in any way possible. Some might call it our souls.
I can only hope that he will protect and cherish it, for once it is out in the open, it will be too easily destroyed.
***
The Mom and Pop diner we pull up to is one of those last gasp kinds of places, the ones that hark back to an earlier time before the big chain restaurants came in and obliterated everything in their path.
It’s shabby but clean, the worn and faded seatbacks and Formica tables reminiscent of a 1950s diner. There’s even a jukebox in the corner, sitting patiently, waiting to be fed quarters in exchange for tunes.
Trey leads me to a table towards the rear, his hand possessively spanning across my lower back. He takes a seat with the wall at his back, keeping a watchful eye on the rest of the room and the exits. Handing me a laminated menu, he turns his attention to the day’s specials, which I must admit, do look good.
A waitress comes by with a coffee pot, brows raised in question. She pours us both one at our nods, then bustles over to another table to take their order. Trey glances over at me, his eyes warming as they often do. “Have you decided?”
“Yep. Eggs and bacon with a side of pancakes. What are you having?”
Placing the menu on the table, he offers a smile as he replies. “I think I’ll have the same.” Raising an arm, he summons the waitress over and places our order. When she’s gone, Trey lowers his voice, and I scoot closer to him in the booth. “We need to talk about what you want to happen next,” he says, the deep timbre of his voice sending a thrill of lust through me.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Okay. Look, I know that it’s impossible to take them all out. There’s no way to even know who they all are. But I have a list of a few that I do know, ones that were especially cruel.” My voice tapers off towards the end, unwanted memories swirling around me.
Trey takes my hand, running his thumb over mine. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs before rising from the table. When he returns, he has a couple of napkins and a pen that he filched from the hostess station. Sitting down across from me, he hands me the items. “Here, note down the names.”
Taking them from him, I think for a moment, my eyes unfocusing as I briefly allow myself to dip into the memories. Trey is silent, a dark angel waiting for me to provide him with the names of the men we will kill. My darker half pushes forward, eager and excited, metaphorical fangs salivating.
When I come back to myself, names are etched onto the napkin in front of me.
