Page 129 of Primal

Derek’s laugh crawls into my ear. “Look at you. Playing gentle.”

I stroke, slow and clinical, like I’m tending ruin.

“Attaboy. Make her cry pretty, and maybe I’ll let Leatherface keep his tongue.”

Payton’s muscles lock. A razor-thin inhale.

I use what little slick I can find, smear it over myself. A coward’s mercy.

“Sorry.” The mask eats the word.

She doesn’t react. Why would she?

I push in.

She gasps. Her fists clench.

And I split down the middle—

The man who wants her.

The monster who’s got her.

My breath saws through the mask. Each motion feels like punishment.

Payton doesn’t make a sound. Just endures. And somehow that’s worse.

Behind me, Josh chokes back another sob. Kristy might be praying, or cursing, or both.

All I see is her.

All I feel is her going quiet under my hands.

Derek murmurs, “Look at that. I think she’s starting to like it.”

My rhythm falters. My hands almost slip on her hips.

Every thrust echoes off the marble, obscene in the hush.

A candle gutters out with a hiss.

Her fingers curl over the altar’s edge, gripping nothing.

Keep going.

Her body jolts under me, but she stays quiet.

And I hope to fuck she’s somewhere else now.

“Beautiful,” Derek purrs. “Even the dead are blushing.”

Candles burn around her in flickering halos. Wax pools. Shadows stretch long across the chapel walls.

It should look holy.

It looks like hell.

She takes me like a wound—hers, mine, ours.