Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

Digging in my heels and splashing through the puddles, I ran as hard as I could, up the sidewalk and through the grass, back to the cathedral.

My hair coated my face, and I didn’t look behind me, because I knew he wouldn’t leave the car to chase me, and he might suspect I went into the church, but he wouldn’t be able to find me.

I dashed into the church, slowing my steps to not bring attention, and made my way through the nave to the stairs again. I escaped up to the gallery, behind the door, up the steps, and back inside The Carfax Room, locking the door behind me.

Safe.

Hidden.

I walked to the trunks by the windows, found the dress, and pulled it out.

Emmy Scott was tired and sad.

But Reverie Cross was going to Homecoming.

Will

Present

My groin ached, and I flipped over in bed, my cock tenting the sheet.

I reached my hand underneath and fisted it, slowly stroking the hard muscle.

Fuck.

How did that girl always do this to me? She had me about ready to break and go ask her for it instead. I knew she wouldn’t come to my room last night after I’d left her in the drawing room. I knew that.

I just hoped I was wrong.

God, I wanted her. I could chalk it up to being without a woman for so long, but no…it was Emory Sophia Scott and how good her smiles felt.

All the frowns were worth the trouble for just one smile.

Or so I used to think.

The morning light streamed through my small attic window, warming my chest as everything tingled, and my dick swelled more.

I groaned, closing my eyes and wetting my palm with my tongue, diving back down and pumping my cock faster and tighter.

From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, everything about her turned me on and there wasn’t a single way I didn’t dream about fucking her. It was an obsession from the start.

But why?

She was moody, intolerant, judgmental…and while I knew exactly where her distrust and hard heart came from, she refused to warm toward me after all this time. If she hadn’t by now, she wouldn’t.

Loving a guarded girl, I had realized, was a pyrrhic victory. The rare moments of happiness came at too great a cost.

But there she was, always in my dreams—beautiful and bare—letting me ride her and lose myself in her lips and scent.

I stroked again and again, my cock hard and fully erect, the images of her buried in my sheets—soft and sweet—filling my head as my cock dripped for her.

And I went with it. Fuck it.

I tried to forget her with others. I went with women who looked nothing like her, so I could get her out of my system, but at the end of the day, it only hurt me more.

I tightened my stomach, feeling myself coming, and I envisioned myself inside her, going hard and making her moan.

Because maybe if I could screw her, I could leave, and it would be like someone flipped a switch where she no longer mattered.