Page 95 of Petrify

I’m barely listening, my fingers digging into the stone wall, sure my nails are chipping against the rough surface, my pussy quivering at his cock impaling me, needing him tomove. He seems so unaffected, speaking without any trouble.

“Perform?” I push the word out.

“Our piece.” His palm, above my heart, pushes my rib cage even tighter against his body. Like he wants to crush me against him, pull me into the safety of his bones, and never let me go.

“While you?—”

“Yes.”

I think he would crush my heart in his hands if he could.

“Say yes, Mallary.”

It’s an effort to form the word. A tear escapes my lashes. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I’ll—play your music.”

“I knew you would.” He releases my wrists, only to tighten his fist in my hair, angling my face toward him. I begin to go dizzy, like he’s sucked up all the oxygen. “What else?”

My mind is blank, struggling to focus on anything but the physical: his fist tangled in my hair, his cock still sheathed inside of me; the arc of pain in my neck at the angle, the stinging at my scalp, the ache in my thighs, the numbness of my fingers.

“What else?” he repeats.

Shaking my head, angling my hips again. Mindless to anything but the inferno in my veins, the promise of climax.

Hetsksbetween his teeth. “No. You haven’t learned yet.”

I have the fleeting thought that I like this—he could break me into pieces and I’d let him. He could snap my neck, crush my fingers so I could never play again, blind me, and I’d let him. I would say whatever he wanted, just so he would fuck me.

So I do.

“Teach me.” I mouth the words but they’re silent. “Make me perfect.”

“You are perfect,” he growls. His cock twitches inside me again. “You play perfectly. You lie perfectly. You sit there and take my cock so perfectly. You scream so perfectly.” Over and over, listing countless things.

His hips finally move against mine, just a nudge, and I almost weep with relief.

“You lie so well you hide the truth from yourself.”

“I—I don’t lie.” I insist. “I’m not lying.”

He hums, nuzzling his face into my neck. The plaster is warm. I want him to bite down. To tear my flesh. To drink my blood. Consume me wholly until there’s nothing left. Gnaw on my bones and sharpen them to blades.

“Case in point.” He leans back, releasing my hair, both hands falling to my hips. “What else?”

Another tear escapes, scorching a trail down my cheek. I’m not crying. But it feels like I am.

“I—” Blinking away the tears, trying tothinkaround the feel of his cock pressed as far into me as he can go. “I did something.”

“Yes?”

“Something bad.”

He withdraws, leaving me empty, save for the head of his cock, before he slowly pushes in again. I think I’ll come right then. All my muscles spasm, on the precipice, waiting for permission to break.

“Good,” he whispers. Every little hair on my body on end at his praise. “How does that feel?”