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Maybe she was right. Actually, she was definitely right. I’m jealous of them and the affection she gives them. I can feel it inside me, like a slow spreading disease. It’s a warmth I can’t explain any other way. It was stupid of me to think she wouldn’t worm into my heart when she wormed into theirs. We share the same fucking organ.
Unable to cope with my widening range of emotions, I drop the corpse-sicle beside the hole in the ground, and then I do what I do best. I make shit uncomfortable.
“Do me a favor, dropout. Lie in that grave.”
She sighs and climbs inside, but she doesn’t lie down. Instead, she resumes digging.
“Did I fucking stutter?” I ask. “The hole is plenty deep enough, and you made it more than wide enough, so there’s no need to keep digging. Lie. Down.”
Call it a trust exercise, but I want to see if she’ll obey.
And she does. She sighs, tosses the shovel onto the level ground, and drops to her knees before lying back in the soil.
“Play dead,” I say.
“What?”
“Did all that rain clog your ears? I hate repeating myself. Just do as I say.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy Kane.”
When she says my name like that, it does something to me. Something it definitely should not fucking do, and not just because it’s uncomfortable for me. She doesn’t realize she’s playing with matches in a tinderbox.
Her eyes fixate and she lets her head loll to the side. Seeing her like that takes the discomfort to another level. I just wanted to fuck with her, but I’ve ended up torturing myself. I have to do something to stop this boulder from picking up speed and hurtling off a cliff.
I pick up the shovel, gather a clump of muddy soil on the blade, and throw it onto her face. She sputters and sits up. Her hands fly to her face as she tries to dislodge the grit from her mouth and eyes.
“Fucking dick!” she screams, spitting out soil as she sits up on her knees again. She stays that way, filthy and angry, and the sight of her in that position hardens me.
How is she having such an effect on me?
Pain knocks behind my eyes. It’s Tobin. It has to be. I don’t want to relinquish this time to him, but maybe it’s best. It’s the only way I can keep her safe.
For now.
* * *
Tobin
I rise to the surface and eye the beautiful sight before me. Aurora is bent over, spitting and cursing as she tries to clean dirt from her face. I look at the scene around my feet—a massive grave, a body, a shovel—and put two and two together.
“A little dirty, eighty?”
“Oh god, not you,” she says before spitting more dirt from her lips.
I hop into the grave and lean over her. “That’s not a very nice welcome. Would you rather I let Kane play with you? His version of play is much less fun and a lot more murdery.”
“You guys are fucking assholes.”
“I never claimed to be anything else. Now turn around so I can bury your face in the dirt as I fuck you.”
Her body tenses as I rip open my belt and unzip my jeans. There’s a fire in her eyes, and I almost expect her to argue, but she doesn’t. She nibbles her lip, thinking about the prospect of fucking in a grave beside a corpse, then turns around and looks at me over her shoulder as she positions herself on her hands and knees.
That’s all the invitation I need. I drop to my knees and lower her leggings. I gather spit beneath my tongue and drip it onto the curve of her ass. A fistful of soil follows, and I spread the wet, gritty dirt along her skin.
“Such a dirty girl, eighty,” I groan.
My hands race along her body, dipping beneath her shirt to grab her tits. Her nipples press against my palms, begging to be played with, but I have other plans first. I leave a trail of grit behind as my hand travels toward her hair. After lacing my fingers through the strands, I push her face into the soil. Her hands rake my thighs as I hold her against the ground, but she doesn’t fight me.
