Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I’m not scared anymore though, or I’m too drunk to care. I take my time to collect the irons. They’re heavier than you’d think. I make my way in the dark and head up the stairs. Thirteen. I’ve memorized them. I also know that the smell of earth will cling to my clothes and fill my nostrils for hours or days.
I walk back to the house, drop the irons on the table on the patio and sit down. I don’t take my eyes off them as I drink whiskey straight from the bottle.
I want tonight to be over.
Today to never have happened.
I want to erase it.
When I finally I get up, I knock my knee into the leg of the table. Muttering a curse, I go inside, climb up the stairs to Helena’s room.
“Helena.” I hear myself, hear how I sound.
She either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to and I’m going to bank on the latter. I hear the shower going in her bathroom.
She must want the stench of the mausoleum off. I do too.
I strip off my clothes and drop them on the floor. Without knocking, I go into the bathroom.
She’s surprised to see me, which I guess surprises me because by now, she’s got to know how I operate.
I push the shower door open and step inside, take the loofah out of her hands and toss it aside.
“Why did you run?”
“I don’t like that place.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not my favorite either.” I look at her, naked, her skin glistening as water glides over it. I cup her breast, weigh it. I can’t get enough of her.
“You want to do that to me?” she asks.
I look up at her face and admittedly, I’m way past anything resembling even remotely sober. My reactions are slow, to say the least.
I press her back to the wall and slide my hand down to cup her pussy.
“Do I want to brand my mark on you?”
I’m hard. My brother was right. The thought of branding her makes my dick hard.
Reaching behind her, I switch off the water and look at her as I rub her pussy. I dip my head down to take a nipple into my mouth.
“Do you?” she asks again when I don’t answer right away.
“I can’t get enough of you, Helena,” I say, kissing her. “I want all of you. I have never wanted anything or anyone as badly as I want you and I just…I can’t seem to get fucking close enough.”
She swallows, slides her hands over my arms, to my shoulders.
“Do you want to hurt me like that?”
“Hurting you gets me off. But it also gets you off.” I pinch her clit and she winces, but licks her lips, arches her back. “Point.”
I lift her in my arms to carry her into the bedroom. I lay her on the bed, climb on top of her.
“You said the Willows have a sickness, well, I think we Scafonis are just as sick.”
I slide into her pussy, watching her as I do. I like watching her face like this, seeing her take me when she’s stretched too tight.
I kiss her.
“What’s your sickness?” she asks.
“I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” I grip her hair, tug her head back. “You’re under my fucking skin and I’m destroying my family for you.”
She watches me, eyes huge, locked on mine like she’s holding her breath.
“Who ever thought it’d just be the Willows who suffer?” I shake my head, think about the ridiculousness of it all. Wonder if it’s always been this way between the Willow Girl and her Scafoni master. “I’m human. And I want you. I want you to want me. Fuck. Maybe I even love you in some sick, twisted way.”
Love.
I grip her hair and force her head back. I don’t want her to miss this next part.
“You should run like hell, Helena, because when I think about you, your back bared, ready to take my brand, it makes my dick hard.”
She shoves against me, obviously shocked by what I’ve just said. I grip her wrists, hold them both in one of my hands and thrust in hard.
“I told you, it’s sick. Twisted.”
“Sebastian, you’re drunk.”
I nod, thrust once more before sliding out, getting off the bed, stumbling backward.
I don’t want to fuck anymore. This is more than that. This night. This day. All of this.
“My brother’s right. Karma or God or something should deal me my punishment. God knows I deserve it for the things I’ve done.”
She sits up, takes a nightshirt from under her pillow and slips it over her head.
I look down at the pile of clothes on the floor. “That smell will never come out. We’ll have to burn them,” I say, walking to the door that connects our rooms. It takes two tries to get my hand on the doorknob, to push it open.