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He pulls out, and my muscles clamp around his girth, desperate to keep him in place. “So sweet. So wet. I’ve been waiting to fuck you like this for months.”
The thought of being taken on the final resting place of a stranger is even more freaky than climaxing to the video of Big Dick Johnson’s murder.
Xero grips my hips, delivering a hard thrust that has me seeing stars.
I raise my head and thrash my upper body, trying to move us to the empty spot at least three feet to the right. “Xero–”
He shoves my face into the dirt and fucks me hard and fast, like a rabid beast that’s been starved of sex. I flail my arms, clawing at the damp earth, trying to gain a semblance of control. He’s too heavy, too strong, and the pleasure he’s infusing into my body is too powerful to resist.
He growls into my ear. “How does it feel, being fucked on top of a stranger's grave? Knowing that the dead are watching us?”
I scream into the dirt, my heart slamming into its cage with the force of a pickaxe. Soil seeps into my nostrils, coating my lips and the inner membranes of my mouth.
“Tell me how good it feels,” Xero demands, increasing his pace as I moan into the soil.
Each time I catch my breath, Xero knocks it out of me with a brutal thrust.
“That's right,” Xero snarls. “Let it all out. Show these dead bastards what they’re missing.”
“Fuck,” I say with a gasp, my pussy tightening with an approaching orgasm.
This is a thousand times more intense than our phone sex when Xero would tell me what he wanted to do to me if he ever broke free from prison. One of his fantasies involved chasing me through a forest and fucking me in the mud.
His filthy words had gotten me aroused and wet beyond reason. Then he ordered me to pleasure myself with that dildo, and I came apart.
Xero continues his relentless pace, that long, thick cock driving into my core. He fucks me with no mercy, no restraint, as though unleashing every ounce of sexual frustration that built up during his time behind bars.
His grunts are raw and animalistic, matching the fury of his thrusts. The heat of his body presses down on my hips as he pounds me into the earth.
Without warning, he grabs the back of my hair and yanks my head off the ground. I open my eyes and take a noisy breath.
I gaze up at the memorial statue, where moonlight shines down on the angel of death and glints on the sharp blade of his scythe. The grinning skeleton stares down at us through hollow eyes devoid of compassion.
“Do you see him?” he asks.
“Who?” I ask through a haze of pleasure.
“Look around, Amethyst,” he growls, ramming into my pussy with a brutal thrust. “Who do you see?”
“N-nothing. No one.”
“Good girl.” He pushes my head back into the dirt.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember something he once said about chasing away my hallucinations. I never thought that was possible until now.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes as I’m struck with the realization. This is the first time I’ve been with a man where I haven’t seen Mr. Lawson.
I exhale a sob, wondering if any of this is really happening. This could be a fever dream. A compound hallucination brought to life. How many books have I read where the main character’smind was trapped in a delusion, only for the doctor to appear in the final chapter at the twist ending?
“You’re mine, little ghost,” Xero growls, his deep voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Mine until the end of time.”
Deluded people don’t conjure up liars who fake their own deaths, haunt innocent women, fuck them in graveyards, then give them annoying nicknames.
Don’t they?
Xero switches up his strokes, his Prince Albert piercing rubbing against a spot that ignites sparks of pleasure. They build in intensity, coursing through my system with volts of electricity.
My fingers curl into fists, gathering handfuls of graveyard dirt. I grind back into him, chasing the pleasure. He presses into me, his hot breath ghosting against my skin.
