Page 9 of Man On

Pressure builds up behind my eyes, but the heat of my body evaporates any tears before they fall. Or at least that's how I imagine it happening. I refuse to let anyone see me cry, much less him. Especially him. I refuse to let him know he affects me.

"Need some help?" he taunts. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"No!" The flush of heat that overtakes my already feverish body is concerning. My boxers strain to keep me inside as my erection grows impossibly harder.

"Do it, or I'll do it for you," he says, his voice barely above a growl.

My throat struggles to swallow the saliva that has built up in my mouth. Trembling, my hand slips into the front of my boxers, fisting my erection. My abs contract with the contact, drawing Noah's attention. His gaze runs the length of my body before he raises his eyes back to mine with an impatient expression.

He's not going to give in. He's like a dog with a new squeaky toy. He's going to hold me in his jaws and shake me until he's punctured me and torn me apart. Until there's nothing left.

I should get up, push him out of my way, and leave. I'm bigger than him. Physically, I’m stronger. I could beat him up easily.

But I won't, and he knows it. Because I'd have to explain to someone, somewhere, why I can't sleep in my own cabin. Because I'd have to stand up in front of him, get closer to the flame.

…Because I don't really want to stop, and telling myself I don’t have a choice feels like the safest way to satiate the curiosity inside me.

He traps me under the weight of his searing glare. I can't look away from him. Part of me wants to look away and pretend this isn't happening. Another part of me—the broken, vile, tainted part of me—is exhilarated by his attention. How much hotter would my skin burn if his eyes left mine, and he turned his heated stare on my body, watching me as I comply with his demands.

The broken part of me wins. I let the devil overtake my better sense, and give into temptation. Visions of Noah doing exactly what he threatened flood my brain. It’s so vivid I'm left with no doubts that he is truly the devil's tool.

"Stroke it," he whispers.

My eyes flutter as I do what he says. Seconds or minutes or hours pass. It feels like I've been here forever and yet it all happens so fast. Once I've started, I don't need his coaxing to keep going. Shivers of pleasure race up my spine, and my breath catches. I stare so intently back at Noah that the pools of darkness in his eyes feel fathomless, and I am drowning in their depths. My vision blurs with pleasure as release builds, and the darkness seems to overtake the whites of his eyes.

"You're the devil," I mutter breathlessly. Noah's tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

My body explodes with a force I can't comprehend. I've done it before. Masturbated. I know it's wrong, and I hate myself more every time I let temptation get the better of me. Recently I've thought about it more often than not. He's always here. Too close. Crowding me with the way he smells and the way he makes my brain feel so overstimulated.

Sometimes I feel like I have no other choice, and I chastise myself when I realize I've fallen for the trick of temptation again.

But it's never felt like this. Never have I doubled my efforts and moaned out loud from the force of the pleasure that nearly tears me in half.

And never once have I looked into the eyes of a demon while I did it.

But I can't stop. I can't look away.

When the climax finally recedes, I'm left feeling like a deflated balloon. I slump back against my pillow, breathing as heavily as I do after running drills all day. Sweat drips down my brow, and my skin prickles with gooseflesh.

My vision is hazy as I stare up at the beams that run across the ceiling, waiting until Noah's menacing shadow retreats to his own bed. I don't need to look at him to see his wicked grin of victory, or have mind powers to know that he'll use this to make my life hell. When I hear his bed creak under his weight, I let out a silent breath and turn to face the wall. Reaching for my balled-up t-shirt, I wipe away the evidence of my shame. I'm too embarrassed to get up and walk across the room to pick up my sheet, or go to the bathroom to clean myself properly, or to even breathe too loudly. I’m too exhausted to move anyway.

My eyes finally fall closed, and I surrender to the heaviness of sleep.

I dream of a shadowy, demonic figure with piercing dark eyes that lull me into a hypnotic state. It holds me down and does things to me with a long, red tongue that slithers wetly along my skin, burning me alive with the heat of its touch. My prayers to God to make it stop become cries for more, until the lashing of the monster's tongue becomes the lashes of my grandfather's belt.

"You're a sinner and you must repent. Use the pain. Use the pain," he repeats until I'm sucked down through my bed and the wooden floor, into the ground where the dirt and roots and rock suffocate me, and then I’m falling, dropped into a lake of hellfire.

I sleep later than I have in a long time, not waking until my alarm goes off. When I shoot out of my bed, still sweaty and panting from the fear in my nightmare, my boxers are wet and Noah's bed is empty.

CHAPTER 3

NOAH

ONE YEAR LATER

"Love you too, babe. Talk to you later."

The scoff that leaves me is intentionally obnoxious. Lane pockets his phone and glares at me. A small shiver of delight skitters up my spine, fueling my desperate desire to challenge him. My smirk alone is enough to get his hackles up, and that's enough. For now.

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