Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [53]
And he did. Breathing heavily, rubbing himself on her, he said, “I can’t wait any longer.”
“I know.”
She felt his knees push hers aside. “Oh, baby,” he whispered, his hunger evident in his voice, his first thrust so painful she cried out. But he didn’t stop. Just kept moving inside her, creating friction, making heat, so damned much heat. She heard herself moan over his grunts and rapid, shallow breaths. She clung to him as the world spun out of control.
“You like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low, guttural. He thrust harder. Faster. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, oooohh.” The pain was still there, a burning deep inside, but there was pleasure, too, an ache being salved.
She couldn’t think, could barely catch her breath.
The world centered on his hard, nearly vicious thrusts.
Closing her eyes, Nona moved with him, ignoring the pain, losing herself in the moment.
She felt him stiffen and cry out. In ecstasy?
From the floor below, one of the horses nickered nervously, then stomped a hoof.
“What was that?” he asked breathlessly, turning his head, his body suddenly still. “What the fu—”
Clunk!
What?
Something cracked and Nona blinked beneath him, trying to see. She called out his name as he fell against her. “Ooof,” he moaned, slumping forward, pinning her, a dead weight.
“Hey!” she cried, her face pressed against his neck. “Are you okay?” She reached up to cradle his head, her fingers threading through his hair and coming away wet and warm and sticky.
Blood?
What?
Her insides crawled. She attempted to push him off her. Tried to scream, but suddenly hands were at her throat. Squeezing. Cutting off her air.
What was this?
Panic jettisoned through her. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. But even as denial swept over her, she was fighting. Kicking. Clawing. What the hell…Oh, God, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t draw a damned breath.
How? Why? Questions piled with sheer, dark terror assailed her.
She was trapped. Her boyfriend was unmoving. She tried to roll away, squeeze out from under him. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the person whose hands circled her neck, cutting off her air.
Squeezing!
Tighter and tighter!
No!
Thumbs dug deep into the hollow of her throat. Pressing. The world spun, the smells of horses, dust, and dung deep in her nostrils, the fear of death clawing at her brain.
Using all her strength, Nona arched her spine. Tried to roll away.
Her boyfriend slid off of her, or was kicked aside; she didn’t know which, couldn’t think. Her head was exploding, darkness rising before her eyes.
Fight, Nona! Save yourself! Oh, Jesus!
She scrabbled, trying to dig at her attacker’s wrists, force him off her, gain a little room so that she could drag in a breath. Just one. Anything!
But it was no use. The horrid hands tightened.
Help me. Please, someone help me.
Her lungs were on fire. Silently shrieking for air.
No! No! No!
Nona tried to yell, to scream, but no sound escaped, the air in her airway trapped and burning like all hell. She needed to breathe! To gasp. To cough! Anything!
If only someone would hear her, but the noises coming from her throat were only sick, frightening gurgles.
She writhed, frantically trying to buck the maniac off her, the sleeping bag bunching beneath her, bits of hay clinging to her hair. But the more she struggled, the stronger and more determined were the fingers at her throat.
“Die, bitch!” The words, a low growl, reverberated through the hayloft.
Oh, God.
No!
Blackness swam before her eyes. Pain ripped mercilessly through her body.
No! No! Oh, dear God, no!
She clawed desperately. Wildly.
Help! she silently cried, kicking, writhing. Oh, sweet Jesus, someone please, please help me!
Pain rocketed through her. Light splintered behind her eyes. Bursts of horrid, brilliant color. Her lungs were so damned tight, and she couldn’t think, could barely flail.
Please…
But it was too late.
She felt her life