Haunt

Chapter 7

7

The first thought to go through my mind is that he has the knife.

The second is that I’m absolutely screwed and still stuck to the shelf behind me. I stand in place, frozen, the closet barely big enough for both of us. Even with me pressed back against the shelves as hard as I can be, I can still feel the heat radiating from his body only centimeters in front of me.

But I can’t say anything. I can’t seem to find the words, and I worry that if I’m the first to break the silence in this small, dark place, somehow this will be real. Somehow, it’ll be worse.

A touch on my cheek makes me flinch, and a low whine bubbles from my lips as leather-gloved fingers stroke my along my jaw. When I start moving, trying to writhe against him, I hear a soft murmur from behind the mask, though it’s barely there and almost inaudible.

“W-what?” I gasp, head jerking up to search the darkness for his mask. But it really is so dark in here, and all I can see from the light under the door is a vague silhouette.

But he doesn’t speak again, nor bother to repeat himself as he leans in close. I hear the shift of something above me, and I can feel the brush of his arm against my hair as he settles forward to lean against the shelves behind me. Which, of course, presses the length of his body to mine, an unyielding wall between me and escape.

“Stop,” I whisper, jerking on my hoodie to try to free myself. “ Stop, ” I say again, stronger this time, and shove against his chest.

Harrow only chuckles. It’s a low, soft sound from behind his mask, and he leans forward until the plastic of his mask brushes my cheek. “But I haven’t even done anything to you yet,” he murmurs in my ear; the words are so soft it feels like he’s telling me some kind of clandestine secret. His voice is deeper than Ravage’s, though I can’t tell much else about it. His hand on my jaw moves, blindly pushing my hair back behind my ear softly, gently.

Like he fucking cares.

My soft growl of protest only makes him huff a soft chuckle. Without warning, he presses his palm over my mouth, gripping both sides of my jaw and pushing my head back against the shelf behind me. Again I feel the brush of his mask against my face, and I close my eyes at the fearful anticipation that has my stomach twisting with panic and…something I refuse to name.

“I’m not like Rav,” he murmurs. “I don’t get off on you fighting me and making me hurt. In fact”—his fingers flex in warning, tightening painfully on my jaw—“I suggest you do what I say, little girl. I won’t hesitate to discipline you if you need to be convinced to behave.”

Fuck. A shudder goes through me that’s not quite from fear, and I whine behind his hand as he pulls back. Again, I jerk against the shelf, ready to wiggle out of my hoodie if that’s what it’ll take to get free. Even though I’m fully aware that my hoodie being stuck is no longer my biggest problem.

Harrow is.

His fingers slide down my jaw, stroking over my neck and causing me to shudder with the memory of how it felt to come with Ravage’s grip so tight I couldn’t breathe. That makes him chuckle, as if he knows what I’m thinking, but his hand doesn’t stop. Instead, it disappears, and he leans against me as his hands stroke up my back, dragging my hoodie up with him.

For some reason, I’m more terrified of him than I was of Ravage. He’s just so quiet, and not nearly so playful. This feels more serious , somehow. Even though this whole damn thing is the epitome of serious and terrifying.

“N-no,” I breathe as his hands move to my front to continue pushing my hoodie up and up. I grip his wrists blindly in the dark, gazing up at where I think his eyes might be behind his mask. “Don’t—” He grabs my sides in a bruising grip, pulling a yelp from my throat, which has him huffing a soft sound of amusement.

When I say nothing else, his grip loosens. All I can bring myself to do is writhe as he drags my hoodie up further, easily tugging it over my head and arms until I’m left in my bra and leggings in the cold closet. Shivering, I flinch when I feel his hands back on my body. He cups my jaw in one hand while the gloved fingers of the other skim the bottom of my bra, tracing the line of it under my breasts.

Trembling, I reach up to grip his wrist at my jaw, somehow less afraid to touch this hand than the other one. “Wait.” The word is out of my mouth before I can help it. “Please, I just—” One handed, he unhooks the clasp of my bra nestled between my cleavage, causing the material to fall to either side before he smoothly pushes it off of my arms to fall to the floor.

The moment I move to cover myself, he shifts to grip my wrists in one hand and pushes them up above my head. The hold is so tight, it feels like my bones are grinding together in his grip as my hands press almost painfully against the shelves.

He doesn’t seem to mind that it’s dark. The fact doesn’t deter him from cupping my breasts in his hand, the slide of leather smooth against my skin. My back arches instinctively, a whine escaping from my lips when his thumb brushes over my nipple.

“I don’t—” His fingers tighten around my wrist, and his hand moves to knead my breast almost painfully. The warning is clear, and I close my eyes hard in the darkness, as if that will change any of this somehow.

He takes his fucking time teasing me. Exploring my bare upper body with his fingers and his palm until I’m quite literally shaking against the shelves, tremors going through my body no matter how much I try to keep myself still. My breathing is the only sound in the darkness of the closet, and I’m glad he can’t see my face.

I’m not sure I’m keeping it together well, and that probably shows very clearly in my expression. At least in the dark I can deny it, and he can’t see how?—

My gasp of surprise is loud in the small space as Harrow shoves me to my knees, his hands on my shoulders to keep me there. Instinctively, I reach up, one hand pressed to his thigh and the other on his wrist like I’m going to dig my nails into his skin. But the moment I even brush my nails against him, he lets out a long, low sigh that is very clear.

Especially when his grip on my shoulder tightens to the point of pain. It’s enough to make me let him go, and I drop my hand like his skin is scalding.

His hands leave my shoulders, but I’m not exactly left confused about what he’s doing. Not when I hear the clink of his belt buckle and the sound of a zipper being pulled down. My stomach twists with dread and I jerk back, as if I can go anywhere at all when I’m basically straddling his boots on my sore knees. The floor under me is hard and unforgiving, and the cold from the concrete is stealing the warmth of my skin, making me shudder.

I flinch when his fingers smooth over my hair, stroking my head like I’m his favorite pet. He’s so relaxed and unhurried in his motions, which somehow makes this worse. At least with Ravage, I had some idea of what he was doing, and tried to use his impatience to my advantage.

It had gone pretty well, if I do say so myself.

But Harrow is different. He’s terrifying in a different way, and I’m so fucking scared of him that I can’t even bring myself to consider hurting him in the ways I’d hurt Ravage.

His fingers twining through my hair pulls me back to the present. Instead of petting me again, he grips my hair, not quite hard enough to hurt as long as I don’t try to yank away. “Please…” I murmur, part of me wishing I could see his face in the dark. At least his eyes behind the mask, but all I can really see from the scant light from the hallway are the outlines of his boots and legs.

Harrow doesn’t acknowledge my pleas. He guides my face closer to him until I feel the tip of his cock slide against my lower lip. I inhale sharply, jerking in his grip, but he holds me completely still with just his hand in my hair, fingers tightening in warning.

At his urging, I open my mouth, lips parted, but he continues to tease me. He presses himself between my lips, just enough for me to feel him on my tongue, before pulling out and letting his cock rest against my lip. My breaths come in anticipatory huffs from my open mouth, and he shudders at the feeling, though his grip doesn’t waver in my hair. He doesn’t pull back whatsoever, and instead slowly thrusts into my mouth once more, until I have to relax my jaw in order to keep my teeth off of him.

I’m pretty sure that would get me in a world of trouble, even without him saying so. He pulls back again, his movements slow and steady and a little teasing. All I can do is wait until he presses back in, deeper this time.

My hand comes up, my fingers hooking over his belt with a soft sound of protest. He doesn’t do anything to retaliate. He doesn’t even seem to mind, so I grip his belt more confidently, a whine building between my lips as he continues to push deeper.

God, he’s fucking big. My protesting whine is loud in the darkness as he keeps going, his fingers in my hair are still tight enough I can’t go anywhere or do anything except take it. “Relax,” I hear him murmur when he feels my jolt from his cock brushing the back of my tongue. “Just relax, little girl.” His words are comforting murmurs, but they do nothing to stop the trembling in my thighs or the way I grasp desperately to his belt.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, my nose presses to his skin, his entire length between my lips as he just holds me there like he enjoys the feeling of this. Just this, without anything else.

And with his soft exhale, maybe he does. Instinctively, I try to swallow, but the action just makes me jerk in discomfort while I try not to choke.

“Better not,” he warns. But he doesn’t follow it up with anything as he holds me there, his cock heavy and warm between my lips and on my tongue.

Finally he pulls his hips back a little, only to press them forward quickly, burying himself in my throat again amidst my sounds of protest. He does it again, and again; each movement is faster and a little more forceful than the last until he’s fucking my mouth with thrusts that have me shuddering.

My eyes water from the strain, and whines of discomfort sound around his cock whenever I have the breath for it. My throat already burns from Ravage choking me, and this certainly isn’t doing me any favors.

I can’t even swallow, so with a groan of frustration, I swipe away the saliva trickling down my chin with my free hand I can’t seem to decide what to do with. God, I wish I had the nerve to bite him. But I don’t even have the guts to hit him or sink my nails into his skin. There’s no way I can do something arguably worse.

Not to mention he’s so hard to read. He does nothing except fuck my mouth at his leisure, seeming unhurried and unbothered by anything else. Surely he has to consider that I could bite him, that I could absolutely sink my teeth into his cock and make this a really bad night for him as well.

It seems stupid to trust me when I’m definitely here against my will.

He pulls himself free, using his tip to trace my lower lip again as his grip softens in my hair. “Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart,” he tells me almost kindly as I swallow around the burn in my throat.

“Wait—” His grip tightens again, making me squirm on my knees and shiver in the cold closet. It’s as much of a warning as I need, so I fall silent and pant in shaky, nervous breaths. He gives me a few seconds before repeating himself.

“Deep breath.” He strokes over my hair as he says it, before readjusting his grip so his glove scrapes against my scalp. I’m too afraid to not do what he says. So, I take a deep breath and he thrusts into my mouth, burying himself all the way until I choke, tears streaming down my face from my watering eyes.

But he doesn’t let go or pull away this time. He holds me against him, my nose pressed to his skin as I writhe and try not to panic.

“Breathe through your nose.” He still sounds so patient, so unworried. I can’t stand how casual he seems, even when I’m having a fit with my mouth on his cock.

I do what he says without him needing to repeat it, trembling as I kneel on the dirty floor of a warehouse closet with a masked man’s cock buried in my throat. The thought makes a nervous sound bubble up my throat, and I can’t help but think of how ridiculous this would sound if I were ever to tell anyone.

But first, I have to make it out of here alive.

He moves again, but not so nicely this time. He fucks my face with deliberate, measured strokes, his length sliding against my tongue over and over. I swear I hear his purred praises, soft behind his mask, but my ears are full of the rush of blood and lack of oxygen while I keep my mouth open wide enough for my jaw to ache.

It isn’t until his rhythm falters that I realize he’s close to coming. The thought has me jerking backward, but the sound of his quiet, cruel laugh is stark in the closet. “No, little girl. You’re going to swallow it like a good girl.” His fingers tighten in my hair, a blatant threat, and I close my eyes desperately, a whine of protest in my throat.

Harrow doesn’t seem to give a damn. He doesn’t care one bit as he continues to use my mouth how he wants. His movements become faster, more erratic, and my grip on his belt tightens in response until he slams into me one final time. Once again, I find my nose pressed to his skin, but this time he holds me there as his cock pulses against my tongue with his release.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t speak or make a sound as he comes with his hand in my hair and his length so far down my throat I have no real choice but to swallow. With a sigh, he pulls back, hand still in my hair, and gives my hair a quick, warning squeeze before he shifts backward to tuck himself into his black cargo pants. I can hear the sound of his zipper and the clink of his belt again, while my head spins and I focus more on breathing and calming myself down. The feel and taste of him is still heady on my tongue, and I wipe my wrist across my mouth with a frown I’m glad he can’t see.

His hands are back a few seconds later, cradling my face between them sweetly. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmurs with a heavy sigh that sends a flicker of dread up my spine. “My sweet, stupid little girl.”