Where's Molly, page 6
A testament to the horrors she survived.
She won't look at me as she picks up the severed head and stomps over to the pen with one monstrous pig inside and nearly launches it in.
The pig wastes no time cracking open the skull. I’m standing right beside its pen, so I shift a few feet away to avoid the spray of blood while Molly angrily marches back toward the table. I watch her silently as she repeats the process with the torso and both legs.
I’ve lost my patience by the time she snatches one of the arms from the nearly empty table, then stomps back toward me, preparing to throw it in one of the pens. I grab onto her bicep before she does. Whether it's instinct or because she likes to beat people with spare limbs when she's pissed, her arm whips out, and the bloody arm comes careening toward my head.
I duck out of the way, though I'm not spared from blood spattering across my face. I grab onto her wrist, meeting her searing glare.
“Did I say something to piss you off, my little ghost?” I ask wickedly.
She snarls and tugs on her arm, failing to tear it out of my grip.
She looks like she wants to run again, peering at me like an animal backed into a corner. Her flight mode is activated, and I have no fucking qualms with hunting her down.
“You have no right!” she shouts, panting heavily as she seethes at me. “You don't get to come back into my life and start demanding things from me. The only thing you get to do is bring me pig food, and then you leave.”
The fire in her green eyes is captivating. Fuck, I'm so enthralled.
“You're breathtaking,” I murmur.
She blinks at me, taken aback and speechless for several moments.
“W-what? Why would you say that?”
Because staring into her eyes is the only thing I needed, to convince myself she's everything I'll ever want for as long as oxygen invades my lungs. I knew it deep in my bones the day I met her. Even back then, my soul immediately recognized hers as its other half.
“Because I'd tell you anything,” I answer. “There's not a single thing I'd be able to keep from you. Especially when you look so goddamn beautiful.”
Her hand slackens, shock colored on every inch of her ethereal face.
I take advantage and slide the severed arm out of her hold. Then, I toss it across the barn and into one of the pigpens.
She glances to the side, seemingly trying to gather herself.
“You're going to find every drop of blood that went past the plastic and clean it up. This is an active crime scene that can never look like one when they're done eating.”
I grin, and her stare latches onto my mouth, her own lips parting subconsciously.
“That must mean I'm not allowed to leave yet,” I drawl lazily.
She wrinkles her nose in distaste at my comment, then attempts to extract her wrist from my grip again. I don't release her—won't release her. Holding her is too addictive, and I haven't had nearly enough.
“Let me go, Cage,” she demands breathlessly, tugging her arm more insistently.
“I've already done that once,” I say, tugging her into my chest roughly. Her gasp feathers across my chest, setting the muscle inside aflame. I lower my mouth to her ear, evoking a shiver that overtakes the entirety of her body. “I'm not doing it again.”
“Cage,” she squeaks out, even as my lips are already tracing the soft outer shell of her ear, where a dainty gold ring is pierced. Her skin is spotless from blood here, and I intend to take advantage of that. I flick my tongue against the metal, and another helpless sound emits from her throat.
And that's what makes her so goddamn exciting. She's not helpless, but I sure as fuck like it when she plays the part.
“We can't do this,” she insists, her words airy and lacking conviction.
“Not this, either?” I query before catching the piercing between my teeth and sucking it gently.
Her other hand flies to my chest, her bloody glove covering my shirt in crimson.
I retreat just far enough to whisper, “Now we're going to need to burn that.”
She swallows thickly, the sound audible yet quiet.
It seems to take her a second to gather herself, and then she's croaking, “Then take it off.”
I assess her closely to ensure she's not fucking with me, but she keeps her gaze locked onto the bloody handprint over my heart. She could be lying, planning to bolt the second I release her.
Deciding that I wouldn't mind the chase, I unlock my fingers from her wrist, one digit at a time.
Her chest heaves, and my cock strains against my zipper, imagining how hard her nipples must be beneath her suit. I intend to find out.
Watching her closely, I slowly remove my leather jacket, having enough foresight to throw it away from the blood. Then, I grab the back of my collar and pull the soft fabric over my head.
Immediately, her burning stare falls to my bare chest, then onto my stomach, tracing every muscle I've worked my ass off for. The industry I work in doesn't allow for weak muscles and little strength. Criminals are my clients, and, at any moment, I may have to defend myself. There have been plenty of times when I have had to.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip as she dissects every inch of my exposed flesh.
“I don't…” She licks her lips again, this time nervously. “I don't remember you having that many muscles before.”
I quirk a brow. “Baby, I was twenty-seven the last time you saw me shirtless. A lot has changed since then.”
“Right,” she mumbles, once more distracted by the view.
I close the space between us, biting my lip to contain my devilish smile as her breath stutters from her throat.
“I want you to show me what has changed with you, but I also want to see what’s the same.” Her next swallow is audible. “Does that spot between your tits still get red when you come?”
I crowd into her, instigating by bumping my chest against hers and inhaling her sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent. It mingles with the unmistakable smell of copper, which only serves to make her more enticing.
Molly is painted in blood, and I want her to cover me in it, too.
She stumbles, a small whimper reaching my ears. It isn't born of fear or weakness but of a woman overcome with her emotions.
Before she can overthink all the reasons this is a bad idea, I grab the zipper at the hollow of her neck and pull down, the teeth breaking apart the only backdrop to her uneven breathing.
The material parts to reveal heaving breasts covered by a thin, white tank top. She shrugs out of it, the oversized gloves effortlessly falling off with the yellow suit. Then, it falls down her legs completely, revealing tiny black shorts and toned, long legs.
She’s tall, at least five-ten, and has the most delicious curves. She’s fucking perfect for me. Every little facet of her was designed just for me.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she steps out of the suit, along with her black rubber boots, and kicks them to the side.
Barefoot and defenseless, yet she stands like a trained killer, and I know her most valuable weapons are her hands.
She’s fucking beautiful.
A loud bang from the pens disturbs the tense silence, causing Molly to startle. The pigs are demanding to be fed again.
“We're all hungry, baby. Who are you going to feed first?” I ask wickedly before gliding my tongue across my bottom lip.
I'm fucking starving.
She doesn't remove her challenging gaze as she deliberately steps away and toward the metal table. I can sense how predatory my own stare is, but the red flush crawling up to her cheeks indicates she doesn't mind being my prey.
She grabs the last remaining body part from the table—another arm. Then, she walks it over to one of the pens where two pigs eagerly await the last of their meal. The others are still working their way through the torso and legs.
Maintaining eye contact, she holds out the arm and drops it in, blood spraying across the hay as they tear it apart.
I stride toward her, my own blood heating as she worries her bottom lip and her hands begin to fidget.
“You know, your pets would tear you apart in seconds with all that nervous energy,” I comment, amusement coloring my tone.
She narrows her eyes. “Then it's so fortunate for me that I know how to defend myself.”
I grin, the act as devilish as my intentions.
I round her, sliding my chest against her back as I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You must be frightening.”
“I am,” she insists, though her voice is breathless, and another tremor is working its way down her spine.
I hum, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.
Again, she shivers.
“Then show me, my little ghost.”
Molly
Present
2022
I have tunnel vision.
There's only a sliver of light, the small orb blurring as I process his challenging words.
Then show me.
Show him years upon years of practice that I never utilized because I refused to put myself in a situation where I'd have to. Yet here I am.
A dangerous man at my back demanding to see what I'm made of. The honest answer is trauma, sadness, and scars that I can't bear to look at. But I still feel them.
Just as I do the predator breathing down my neck.
I wait a few moments, each second ticking in my pulse, and then I'm twisting at the waist and sending my elbow flying toward his mouth.
He jerks back, and I only manage to clip him, but that was only a distraction. Before he can prepare for anything else, my heel smashes into his foot, causing him to stumble. Then, I'm advancing on him, keeping light on my feet as I strategically strike him in succession, meant to both keep his attention on my hands and lull him into a pattern.
I send my fists flying toward his head, which he blocks, but my foot is already hooked around his ankle, and the next second, his legs are in the air as he slams flat on his back.
I'm straddling him before he can process it, and a grunt bursts from his mouth. But he recovers quickly, flipping me onto the plastic covering before I can blink.
A breath escapes me, and I kick up my legs until my tailbone is lifted, wrapping my legs around his head to keep him at arm’s length.
I squeeze my thighs tightly, and he curls his lips into a salacious smile.
“Can’t say I’m mad about this development,” he rasps.
Before I can respond, he grabs my sides and squeezes, hitting a ticklish spot that causes me to jump and loosen my thighs. He makes quick work of slipping his head free and flipping me onto my stomach.
I manage to make it to my knees before he bars his arm across my throat and holds my back against his front tightly. His other hand sensually glides up my stomach, stopping short of my breasts. Though it doesn’t stop my pussy from tightening in anticipation, searching for something to fill it.
“You’re wound so tight, baby. Need me to help loosen you up?” he instigates, his deep voice wicked and rough, sending a tsunami of chills down my spine.
Panting, I still, my brain circulating over the different moves I could make. His hard cock is pressed against my backside, showing me just how much he’s enjoying the fight.
Snarling, I send the back of my head flying into his nose, eliciting another grunt. His arm relaxes just enough for me to slip out from beneath it, spin, and tackle his ass, straddling him for a second time.
A bead of crimson trails out of his nose, yet somehow, it only makes me more ravenous. Just like my pigs, the sight of his blood makes me feral.
His hands grip either side of my hips, and he pulls me down against him as he grinds his cock against my clit, sending a shock wave of pleasure shooting up my body.
A quiet moan leaves his throat, a sound that I'm instantly swallowing as I crash my lips against his.
I know the breath was knocked out of his lungs, and I don't intend to allow him to have it back.
A growl builds in his throat and reverberates beyond my teeth, followed by a sharp nip to my bottom lip. It only makes me kiss him harder, in which he returns with tenfold the passion. His hands are plunging into my curls, fisting them tightly, using his grip on them to anchor my head and move his lips over mine however he pleases. Before I know it, he’s taken over completely, and I’m helpless to stop him.
I’ve worked hard to defend myself against a man’s touch, but one kiss from Cage is fucking paralyzing.
Just like he swore, he acts as if he’s starving, devouring me as he plunges his tongue into my mouth and curls it sinfully against mine.
I’m entirely lost to him as he tears at the white tank top, ripping the fabric in half and roughly pushing it off my body. My sports bra is next to fall victim to his fiery touch, pulling it over my head and flinging it into the unknown.
Instantly, his hands are cupping my breasts, gnashing his teeth against mine.
“Let me taste,” he demands roughly, his voice sounding as if his soul has been possessed by the king of hell.
I crawl up his body just enough for him to wrap his hot mouth around a nipple, his tongue swirling around the tightened bud before his teeth bite into the soft flesh.
My back bows while my hand flies into the short strands atop his head, crying out as the sting worsens.
Just when it becomes too much, he releases me only to suck my abused nipple back into his mouth, easing the pain with long, thorough licks.
The sounds coming from my throat are raspy and broken with pleasure. If my body was a kingdom, he'd be waging a celestial war against me where I'd easily crumble beneath his forces. The gods within have grown tired, and it's a relief to succumb to an inferno the devil created just for me.
Cage retreats again, and just when he begins to dish out another command, blood splatters across my face, neck, and side, and across his chest.
A startled scream leaves my throat, and I look over to see Chili tearing into the thigh of the butchered woman.
Mouth open in shock, I turn back to Cage, only to find him peering up at me with an emotion I don't know how to name. But what I do know is that it's powerful, unrestrained, and unlike anything I've seen before.
“You're fucking incredible,” he says, his tone hushed.
Instinctively, I peer down at myself, where trails of blood paint my breasts, the valley between them, and my stomach.
I should be horrified, yet when I lift my stare back to Cage, I feel anything but. My clit throbs and arousal gathers deep in my core. The urge to grind against his cock is overwhelming, but I refrain for now.
Something wet splatters onto my face, then trails down my cheek before a crimson bead drips off my jaw and lands on my breast, all of which Cage watches intently.
His hands cup my hips, and he squeezes tightly. Feeling invigorated, I brush a black-painted nail across my nipple, my mouth parting in wonder as his stare drops to my chest. His eyes darken like a forest fire within, blackening with a hunger as potent as the flames. I’ve never been so ready to walk into a wildfire.
Teasingly, I smear the crimson over the swell and down to my ribs, where a macabre bird with its wings wired onto its body is tattooed.
The black-and-gray artwork snags his attention for a moment, but inevitably, he refocuses on my finger once it reaches the waistband of my shorts.
“Stand up,” he rasps, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. He doesn't seem inclined to stand with me. Instead, he props up on his elbows and reclines back on them. He stares up at me with a reverence that can only be captured by the human eye. Nothing—not even our own hands—could recreate that image and do it any justice.
I do as he says, though my knees tremble and threaten to crumble as tragically as if they were an ancient monument.
“Take it all off, baby. I need to see everything,” he commands hoarsely.
My heart pounds in my chest as I hook my thumbs beneath the fabric of my shorts and panties and slide them down my thighs. I kick them to the side where the rest of my clothes lay.
Insecurity and forced confidence battle for dominance. From his position, I know he can see the scar on my hip—a perfect imprint of teeth from when Dad bit me years ago. Sadly, it isn't the only bite mark forever marring my flesh. They're also on my biceps, stomach, thighs, and of course, my face.
He left them everywhere, sinking his teeth so far into me that I passed out from the pain. Most of the bite marks eventually faded, except the ones now on full display, crimson smeared over them.
“Jesus Christ,” Cage groans. “Sit on my fucking face, Molly.”
My stomach twists as I step over him, butterflies unleashing within as I crouch over his face, keeping my feet flat on the floor.
Cage was the last man I slept with, and something about that is utterly embarrassing. I’ve gotten intimate with plenty of vibrators throughout the years, though I could never muster the courage to let another man touch me again.
Nerves eat me alive, but the wet, hot slide of Cage’s tongue along my slit has me forgetting exactly what I was anxious about. And his unrestrained moan that follows has my stomach tightening.
My mouth falls open as bliss consumes me, beginning at my core and spreading out to the tips of my fingers and toes.
“Oh,” I breathe, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as his tongue spears inside me, circling around my inner walls.
A growl builds in his chest and his arms circle around my thighs, anchoring me onto his face. My legs tremble violently, once more threatening to give out on me. They’re fucking useless when it comes to him.
“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he groans against me, the vibrations sending another wave of bliss throughout me.
“Cage,” I moan just as his tongue flicks at my clit. The breath in my lungs gets lost somewhere on the way out, taking a wrong turn and depriving me of precious oxygen.
I need to breathe, but I need to come in Cage's mouth so much more.
Lips parted and brows pinched, I peer down at Cage to find his heated stare already locked on mine.
