CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Sweet love…” - Hades

A few weeks back.

 

 

 

      The woman had tended to the man’s open wound for five days as he drifted in and out of consciousness. She cleaned it with peroxide and packed it with cotton. She wanted to use her two-way radio to call for help.

      He needed a doctor quite badly for his injury, the gaping hole was infected. Way past her capabilities of first aid.

      He'd begged her not to before she'd helped him to her cabin. His voice rough with sincerity telling her bad men were following him, he just needed time.

      He promised he wasn't a criminal. Wrong place wrong time.

      She didn't know why she believed him. Maybe she was stupid.

      Her yearly hiking retreat was proving to be different. God, she’d needed this vacation more than ever. It was going to be a long tough year ahead. She’d needed this trip.

      She treated him with the antibiotics she carried with her.

      Watched over him.

      Chased away his fever with cold compresses and bed baths.

      Tried not to look at his all over tattooed body or how large he was. She did body art once upon a time long ago, she admired the work.

      All over.

      She was human. She looked.

      And on days when he roused from his fever, she fed him broth, watched his deep-set gray eyes watching her silently.

      His wound became serious, she again told him he needed help.

      It was in that moment when he bared his teeth, growled low issuing to never call any authority that she began to suspect she may be in danger from him.

      He would leave as soon as he could walk, he told her.

      The fifth night his fever became critical she paced the small cabin she rented every year with money she shouldn’t be spending, the fire blazing in the hearth, she couldn't build it higher, or fear burning the place to the ground and her deposit wouldn't cover it. Not like she could afford to lose it.

      Instead, an idea came to her, she'd seen it on a Christmas movie once. The useless information became beneficial.

      She stripped her clothes, and crawled beneath the pile of covers she had over the man.

      He was trembling hard though he slept deeply, sweat beading on his forehead.

      His face masked by a beard.

      Handsome. She'd thought. What trouble was he in and with who?

      Naked skin.

      After an hour of rubbing his back, soothing his shivers, he quietened. She worried he was dead at first, he inhaled and never let it out. A dead body, that would be the cherry on her shitty year.

       The man rolled suddenly, pinning her heavily under him.

        Air left her lungs.

       Shock and heat encased her.

       Huge and powerful. She was all too aware of him.

       Fear. He was hard and grinding against her bare core.

       It was worthless fighting him, though he seemed to be still deeply asleep, no matter what she said to wake him, or how she pushed at his shoulders, the man was far too heavy for her to move him.

      The tip of his cock nudged as if seeking.

      Oh fuck no. This was not happening. She screamed for him to move.

      This couldn't be happening. Not to her. She'd taken five anti-rape self-defence classes because of her job. She thought she knew how to protect herself.

      She tasted the horror in her throat as he sought out her private place.

      Wake up, she implored. He weighed a ton crushing her chest.

      Though he made grunting raw noises, nothing stirred the man.

      He was monstrously large poking between her legs, seeking.

      And when the tip of him thrust in, her heart stopped.

      No. No. No. No. No.

      He didn't stop. He didn't stop. He’s not stopping! He’s not waking!

      Went in and in and in.

      Her body stretched against her will. Her mind splitting off from her body.

      Her mind screamed. This was wrong. Stop!

      Survival instincts roared to the surface.

      She was damp. Under his grunts, she heard the wet slap. Deeper, deeper, hard.

      The out of body experience went on for a long time. He was lustful and driving vigorously. Pinning her arms down. A churning unmoveable mountain.

      Was it rape, she asked no one in particular, if she was going to come?

      This was wrong. Stop. Please.

      Left panting for air, with the hardness still inside her, his eyes blinked open, the man finally awoke.

      No good deed goes unpunished her Uncle Silas would say. He was a born again Christian and believed in hell damnation.

     "Did you like that, sweet love?"

      She blinked. His smile was dazzling. Unnatural and normal.

     "Who are you?" Her throat constricted with fear.

      He'd already began to shove inside her again. Grunting sexual noises.

      She went away in her mind, her body failed to listen. Stretching supple to accept him.

      Surviving. Let him do what he wants so I can get the fuck out of here. He was relentless shoving into her.

      Already the orgasm forced upon her once more against her will and screaming mind.

      Wrong wrong wrong. Stop. I don’t want this.

      She never made a sound.

      But she heard him rasp "Kyle."

      Kyle. A normal name for a devil.

      A day or nightmare. The woman didn't know anymore.

      But she knew he’d been sent from Hell.

      She just hoped she survived long enough to get out of there.