Page 64 of Petrify

I lead her to bed. The door to her room hangs open. The chair she uses to jam it closed is off to the side.

She falls onto the sheets, her fingers digging into her palms. Her dark eyes point to the ceiling. Her chest jerks with her jagged inhalations.

I crawl over her. I wish she could see me. I wish she knew I was here.

“Mallary. It’s alright.”

Her spine arches as her fingers find my chest.

She’s so receptive when our bodies touch. In the daylight, in her waking hours, she fights it—not hard, because even she can’t deny how well we fit together. But I know I torment her. She fights this, she fights herself.

Underneath me, this midnight version of herself, she writhes, clutching at me, tight muscles finding their rhythm. She spreads her legs wide, and I nestle myself inside.

Chapter 33

The Pianist

It’sthe middle of the night, pitch-dark, when a firm touch between my thighs rouses me from sleep.

My eyes shoot open before a hand comes to cover my mouth. Panic winds through me. I don’t know what’s happening, only that there’s someone pinning me down.

Someone settled between my legs.

And then I realize Bastien’s rubbing his cock against me, my legs spread open, my panties thrown elsewhere onto the bed. It’s dark and I can’t see him, and I’m already wet, because he’s been touching me for a while it seems, coaxing me awake so I’m already burning for him.

“Was wondering if I’d have to start fucking you for you to wake up,” he murmurs, staring down at his cock gliding between my thighs.

A haze has fallen over my mind. I blink against the pitch-dark, try to move away?—

He presses against my entrance. My breath hitches at the intrusion. But then he retreats, grabbing himself and rubbing from my clit to my pussy, spreading the wetness that’s gathered.

“Wait—” I try to sit up.

“Shh-shh-shh.” He clamps his hand down harder over my mouth, sealing it shut, while he slides himself inside. “Just let me…” In one slow thrust he’s impaling me all the way, his hips flush against mine, my center screaming at the burn, clenching as he forces himself in.

I moan against his hand.

“Breathe, Mallary,” he says, his voice soft behind his mask. “Just let me give you what you need.”

Just his words spark a flame inside my chest, the low rumble of his voice, dripping in barely-contained pleasure. The fit is too good, too perfect, even when I’m sore from every other night he’s been inside me. This twinge of pain, because he’s decided my cunt is his. He doesn’t even need to say it.

My back arches off the plush sheets as he pulls out, just enough to see how his cock glistens with my arousal, his hand moving away as I suck in air. “Baz,please.”

“Already begging,” he chides. He pushes my thighs back against my stomach, watching as my pussy greedily takes him in. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s too much—I can’t?—”

I can’t grasp on to a single thought, my fingers twisting in the sheets, searching for him, to push back against his hips, but I can’t reach, and as he pulls out again, I feel every ridge, the slide of his cock against my walls too delicious, too sweet.

“You can.” He leans closer, folding my legs back even more. His eyes are half-closed in pleasure. “Just let me do this for you.”

Tears brim at my lashes. I hate him. Icravehim so fucking much.

“I think about you and your cunt all day,” he whispers. Each slow thrust in deeper, in my fucking stomach. “Do you think about me?”

I nod, because it’s the truth, every thought always,alwaysspiraling towards whatever this is unfolding between us.

“Even when you’re with him?”