Burn with me temptangels.., p.1
Burn With Me (Temptangels Book 1), page 1
Copyright © 2023 by D.L. Darby
Identifiers: Print - 979-8-9869973-6-0
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, organizations, or events is purely coincidence.
Edited by Virginia Carey
Cover created by Rachel McEwan
Created with Vellum
Contents
Content Warning
Help is Available
1. Prologue
2. Jackson
3. Ginny
4. Jackson
5. Ginny
6. Jackson
7. Ginny
8. Jackson
9. Ginny
10. Jackson
11. Ginny
12. Jackson
13. Ginny
14. Jackson
15. Ginny
16. Jackson
17. Ginny
18. Jackson
19. Ginny
20. Jackson
21. Ginny
22. Jackson
23. Ginny
24. Jackson
25. Ginny
26. Jackson
27. Ginny
28. Jackson
29. Ginny
30. Jackson
31. Ginny
32. Jackson
33. Ginny
34. Jackson
35. Ginny
36. Jackson
37. Ginny
38. Jackson
39. Ginny
40. Epilogue
Jackson
41. Meanwhile in Prison
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by D.L. Darby
Content Warning
This book contains the following:
SA of a minor by a minor, emotional abuse, attempted SA, CNC, edging, assault, gun violence, death from cancer (off-page), and homicide.
If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out.
Please read responsibly.
Help is Available
If you or anyone you know is in trouble and suffering from abuse, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is open 24/7
800-799-7233
https://www.thehotline.org/
For the readers who dream about being railed by a man in a mask.
From the moment we met, your passion consumed me. A slow lick of blue flame set aglow the recesses of my dark mind. Setting my skin ablaze. Twining around my limbs to leave scorch marks on my soul. And when that scalding blue met the innocent glimmer in my chest, it sparked until we were bathed in an incandescent heat that burned down the world around us. My light. My love. My searing blue flame. My heart will forever beat for yours. And all I ask in return is that yours continues to burn only ever for mine.
D.L. DARBY
Prologue
GINNY
Age 10
I’ve always hated my appearance.
Deep copper hair. Sky blue eyes. Ivory skin with a distinct dusting of freckles across my nose and cheeks.
People have always looked.
No one has ever made me feel the way Christopher Calloway is making me feel right now.
Like I’m dog poo on the bottom of his shoe that he just stepped on when he came inside his house and found his parents with the social worker and me. As if it was my fault his parents signed up to be foster parents. My fault my mother died last night after losing her battle with cancer, and now I need to be placed somewhere.
The rage on his face is poorly concealed, but his parents and Mrs. Trech aren’t paying attention to him. His eyes flit up to his mother as he pushes off the wall before making his way over to me. Gripping my backpack tightly, I try to make myself smaller as he comes closer until he’s towering over me. He glances back at his parents once more before looking me over with his lip curled in distaste.
“I don’t want you here,” he says between clenched teeth, voice low so his parents won’t hear him.
Shrugging slightly, I peek up at him and respond, “I don’t want to be here.”
Letting out a soft snort, he reaches out and grabs a lock of my hair, tugging it hard enough to make me wince. “Don’t fuck with me.”
His words are lost on me. From what I’ve gathered in the short amount of time I’ve been in the Calloway’s home, I’ve learned that Mr. Calloway is a very successful surgeon, and Mrs. Calloway stays at home. Christopher is four years older than I am and is their pride and joy. But Mrs. Calloway has always wanted a daughter, and I suspect Christopher isn’t too happy about having to share his parents’ attention.
“If you try anything, I’ll make your life a living hell,” Christopher sneers quietly, just before his parents and Mrs. Trech appear behind him.
“Christopher, are you welcoming Guinevere to our home? We’re so sorry to hear about your mother, dear. Come, I’ll show you to your new room.” Mrs. Calloway holds her hand out for me to take as her son beams up at her like he’s the poster boy for the welcoming committee.
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I don’t take the offered hand but take a step closer to her to show her I’m ready to go.
I can feel Christopher’s eyes burning a hole into my back as I walk away.
Age 12
There are shadows outside my bedroom door.
Ones I’ve come to expect at least once a week.
They belong to Christopher and will remain there for a few minutes before he pushes the door open softly, so it doesn’t creak and alert his parents.
My chest tightens as I pull the blankets beneath my chin and turn toward the wall, pretending to be asleep.
Just like I always do when he comes in late at night.
There’s a scratch in the pink wallpaper. I stare at it, letting my mind wander to anywhere other than here, as I hear the soft sounds of his footsteps while he crosses the room.
“Ginny? You awake?” His voice is soft and quiet. Sometimes, I think he knows I am, but it’s easier for us both to pretend I’m not.
My mind roams to other places. Happier places. Places where my imaginary friend shows up and distracts me from Christopher’s shallow breaths and the wet sound of skin on skin as he touches himself.
Christopher’s view of me went from angry and annoyed, to angry and obsessed in the first year I lived with the Calloways. He was always picking on me, pinching my skin, or tugging my hair. And I dare not say anything because, as far as foster homes went, I had won the golden ticket. What was dealing with a bit of bullying?
But then, as we got older, his friends started to notice me. They’d make comments about my appearance, like boys their age do, and all of a sudden, Christopher’s attention turned from bullying to possessive.
A few months ago, he started coming to my room, asking if I was awake. I’ve always pretended to be asleep, and sometimes I wonder what he would do if I met him with a wide-eyed stare and said, “Yes, I’m awake. Why are you in my bedroom?”
So, I started to make up places in my mind. And since I didn’t really have any friends, I made up one of those, too. My imaginary friend is a boy because I think it’s easier to cope that way. He’s taller than me, with golden brown eyes, milk chocolate hair, and an English accent.
When he visits me, I can imagine I’m somewhere far away. In another part of the world where what’s happening to me can’t happen there.
Sometimes, we’ll play on a playground or run through the sand on a beach. Once, we went on an Arctic expedition and played with some penguins. But for all the months I’ve been imagining him, I’ve never given him a name. And he’s never offered me one.
He’s just…my stranger.
Age 14
“God, your sister is fucking hot, dude,” Richard Barnes says as he openly stares at me from where he and Chris are throwing a football back and forth in the pool.
It’s the end of summer, and the sun is scorching. Mr. and Mrs. Calloway are hosting a pool party barbeque, so I’m in a bathing suit, reading a book in a chair as I dry off from a swim.
“She’s not my fucking sister. Don’t call her that,” Chris snaps back at him before turning his dark eyes to my figure.
I’m wearing sunglasses, so they can’t tell that I’m watching them. But somehow, I think Chris knows anyway.
“If you don’t think of her as a sister, then why’d you tell the whole football team that if anyone goes near her next year, you’ll kill them? Screams big bro energy to me, dude.”
Hearing what Richard says doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. It isn’t because he thinks of me as a little sister. It’s because he thinks of me as his.
Every night, his shadow shows up at my door, and I curl in on myself, wondering if it will be the night he finally takes what he thinks belongs to him. He’s about to head off to New York for his first year of college in a few days, and he’s warned off every boy in school from ever pursuing me romantically.
Everyone thinks he’s just being a protective big brother.
But big brothers aren’t supposed to put their hands on you.
They aren’t supposed to sneak into your room and peel off your blanket.
All I do is stare at a spot on the ceiling and imagine that it’s my stranger touching me instead. Because no matter how unwelcome Chris’ touch is, my body reacts to it, so he thinks I like it. It’s confusing for us both, I guess. He’s started to say dirty things while he touches me. Things that make my body feel tingly all over. I don’t like it. But it makes my body feel good.
I’m ashamed of it.
It’s disgusting, and wrong, and I hate him for it.
But his parents treat me like I’m their own even though they won’t adopt me because Chris asked them not to.
Because in his fucked up brain, he thinks if they do, it will solidify that what he’s doing is wrong. That as long as we don’t share a last name, it validates his actions.
Chris sends me a look that tells me to expect his presence tonight. “None of those fuckwads even know what to do with their dicks. The last thing my parents need is a teenage pregnancy scandal. They don’t need to take care of another stray.”
His words send ire through my veins. I clench my teeth and flip a page to make it look like I’m not paying attention.
Tonight, this stray is going to bite back.
I’m sitting on my bed when Chris walks in around midnight. My bedside lamp is on, casting a glow over the room as I read, and I look up to see him freeze for a moment before silently shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What are you doing?” I challenge, turning my attention back to my book.
Powerful would be the way to describe how I feel right now, but when I glance at him, that feeling turns to lead in my stomach. His lips turn up in a grin as he runs a hand through his dark hair and continues to walk closer to my bed.
Swallowing, I place my bookmark in the book and set it on my nightstand before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and fixing him with a mean glare. “Go away, Chris.”
Faster than I can blink, he knocks me back, covering my mouth with one hand while the other holds my wrists. He’s straddling my waist, and as I start to struggle, I can feel that it’s making him hard.
“Do you think just because I’m leaving for school, that means you’re going to be rid of me, Ginny?” He leans down so that his lips rest against my ear. “Maybe I should give you something to think about until I come back at winter break.”
His hips press into mine, and tears prick my eyes as he starts to rub against me. Shouting against his hand, I begin to thrash my body against his, trying to throw him off me, but he’s much stronger than I am. Chris laughs as his hips keep rolling against me, his penis rubbing between my legs and causing a sensation that I fight against with every fiber of my being.
“Just fucking lay there and take it, Gin. Too bad you’re not old enough for me to fuck yet. Or I’d ruin your hairy snatch before I leave,” he grunts into my ear.
He’s careful not to go too fast so the bed doesn’t squeak. And his hand is pressed so hard over my mouth and nose that I struggle to breathe. His other hand grips my wrists so tightly that I’m sure there will be bruises I’ll have to hide.
Shutting my eyes tightly, I imagine a different body above me. A different boy whose name I don’t know and whose face is always blurry in my mind. A gentler touch–more experienced. The pressure between my legs grows, and with each passing second, the line blurs between what I know shouldn’t feel good and what does.
Maybe this will be the last straw, and I’ll finally tell Chris’ parents what he’s been doing to me for the last two and a half years.
Chris buries his face in my hair and grunts as his hips start to slow. The ache between my legs dies as he pushes up off of me and looks down at my face. For a split second, he looks alarmed. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and the straps to my night camisole have slipped down my shaking shoulders. My pajama pants have a wet spot on them that matches the one on his gray sweats, and I almost open my mouth to scream.
But I don’t.
Because soon he’ll be gone, and I’ll be free.
Age 17
For the first time since I stepped foot into the Calloway home, I’m witnessing Chris try desperately not to cry.
Tears line his eyes as he grips my jaw roughly, though not hard enough to leave bruises. His other hand wraps around my neck, forehead pressed hard against mine, pushing me into the wall as I claw at his hands.
“You fucking bitch. You stupid fucking bitch. How could you do this to me?!”
His breath reeks of alcohol. It’s winter break of my senior year, and Chris’ parents are out of town because his dad has a conference to attend in Boston. I didn’t think Chris would come back this year because he hasn’t spent much time at home since he left for college.
Ever since that night in my room three years ago, he hasn’t touched me or touched himself in front of me. Part of me has always wondered what made him stop, but I never wanted to dwell on it. The fact that he stopped was all that mattered.
Imagine my surprise when he walked in the door five minutes ago. Drunk and very much not supposed to be here.
He’d distanced himself from us–typical college boy behavior, according to his mother. Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. It took some time, but I started to come out of my shell with him gone.
I have friends now. Kids at school have stopped thinking of me as his weird little foster sister. The boys have started to pay attention to me.
And suddenly, it hits me why Chris is so angry.
“It was supposed to be mine, Guinevere. MINE! And you went and gave it away like a dumb fucking whore!”
“Stop it! You’re hurting me! Let go of me, Chris!” My voice is shrill as my nails scratch at his flesh. But it doesn’t even phase him.
“How’d you let him do it, huh? Did you let him fuck you in the back seat of his truck? Or did he bring you to his house when his parents weren’t home and take his time with you in his bed?”
His grip tightens, and I whimper in pain, digging my nails into his hands. The air in my throat is cut off, blood rushing to my head as I struggle to breathe.
“Did you let him fuck you in the ass like a dirty little slut? Was it worth it? Did he make it good for you?” He slurs his words as he nuzzles my neck before speaking against my cheek. “Because you’ll never know what it’s like to be fucked again. Do you hear me? I am going to make sure no one ever so much as thinks they can fuck you. And if you think I’m going to touch your filthy, tainted cunt now, you’re wrong. So tell me, was it worth it?”
Pushing off me, he drops his hands away from my body, and I crumple to the ground, gasping for air. One hand braces my weight on the floor as the other reaches up to gingerly touch my neck. My eyes raise, and I watch him from beneath my lashes as he paces the length of my bedroom, gripping his hair tightly.
“FUUUUUCK!” he shouts, causing me to jump.
Seconds later, his fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back as he shouts in my face, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?!”
Find out that I gave my virginity to Timmy Rhodes. A sweet boy who doesn’t have a lot of friends and who I don’t find attractive. A boy who stumbled his way through the act and didn’t mind that my eyes were closed the whole time as I imagined that it was my stranger I was giving my innocence away to.
So that Chris couldn’t steal the only shred of it I had left.
“Let go of me!” My watery screams match his as I wonder how I let it get this far. There’s something sick and twisted in his mind, and any other foster home would have been better than letting this depraved man in front of me think he owns me.
His tears dry up as he looks down at me, and his lips twist in a grin. “You know, I probably would have lost interest once I fucked you.”
His hands pull my hair harder, contorting my neck at an uncomfortable angle. “Now? Now, I’m going to make your life a living hell, just like I promised I would when you walked into this house seven years ago. You’re a sickness, Ginny. A sickness that only I can cure. But now? Now, I’m going to enjoy watching you rot.”
A cry escapes my lips as he tosses me away from him like a rag doll. A toy he’s done playing with. All I can think of as I watch him walk out of my room and slam the door is how I can’t wait to graduate and get as far away from him as I fucking can.
