Page 40 of Petrify

“I can’t wait,” he almost growls under his breath. His knees spread my thighs further apart. “I’ve waited long enough.”

And then he’s pressing into me, giving me no time to adjust to his size, before he’s bottomed out, his hips against mine, and I’m shaking with the overwhelm of being stretched to my limit, forced into with barely any preparation.

I cry out through clenched teeth. The burn is deliciously all-consuming, my thighs shaking around him.

I should push him away. I should scream at the top of my lungs. My fisted hands only drag him closer.

“Bas—”

He roughly covers my mouth, his other hand gripping my hip with punishing strength, pinning me to the bed as he drags his cock out.

“Don’t—” He’s breathless. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

I squirm, panting, wishing for some relief, before he’s thrusting in again, moaning into my neck. He sounds almost pained, perhaps just as overwhelmed by the feeling as I am.

He moves with an eagerness, groans like the pleasure is a shock. “Fuckingchrist, Mallary.”

And it’s—it’s—unhingedthat I’m not fighting him, that sparks of pleasure are already shooting from my spine, from letting a man I don’t know, a man who’s stalked me throughout this house, inside of me.

He stills, his cock pressed as deep as he can go, his breath hot against my throat. My release is waiting, held at the precipice, about to tip over, whether I like it or not.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I shouldn’t have entertained his curiosity tonight, because now he’s deep inside me and I know there’s no going back because it’s like something clicking into place, it’s toogood.

He moves again and I climax at his third harsh thrust, clenching against him, grinding my hips almost involuntarily, like my body’s been taken over by a spirit and I’m only a helpless spectator to my pleasure.

Possessed.

My nails bite into his chest as I come.

He wrings my release out of me with a few more thrusts, and then he’s jerking against me, spilling inside of me, each thrust shoving his cum deeper, and he doesn’t stop, slow and languid, as though he could keep going.

He came in me.

The lustful haze almost immediately fades, clarity drawing all that panic back, and I’m pushing against him. “Wait, I?—”

But he’s strong—stronger than I realized—and he doesn’t budge. His cock is still hard inside me, and he’s panting, each breath warm against my lips. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure through my sore center.

“Mallary.” He says my name, stern.

“Bastien.” I sneer.

He stares straight at me, whispering, “Breathe.”

Then I laugh, tears brimming my lashes. I shove against him again. “Getoff.”

“No.” I’m caged under him, and his cock is still hard between my slick thighs, with no sign of softening. He demands, “Why are you crying.”

“Because.” My throat constricts.

“Because?”

Because I shouldn’t have wanted this.

Because to become entangled with someone—even a ghost—means I am forgetting why I am here.

Because I don’t understand what is happening in this house and a part of me isscared.