Page 16 of Devious Delusions

I’m helpful and move the pointer to her other cheek.

Knock.

Knock.

She does the same with her other hand. Like a painting, she stands there with her hands on her face and I feel joy for the first time as I move the words to her forehead.

Knock.

Knock.

I take a step forward out of the shadows and there’s nothing but adrenaline and righteousness flowing through me. The modified balaclava doesn’t allow any part of my face to be seen and the carbon-fiber insert stops it molding to my features. All my beautiful Delilah, koukla mou, will see is what I allow her to.

The top of her head is in view as she drops down and grips the counter with the tips of her fingers, and I take another step. Another inch of her features are unveiled.

She’s playing with me. Always playing with me. It’s a game to her, I’m a game to her, and she wants me closer. Even when she’s supposed to be crazy, she knows the hold she has on me. It’s a shame it’s time to pay for her sins.

Her hair becomes a blur as she takes off running and I walk calmly, closing the ten feet of space between myself and the back deck to her house. The security lights don’t come on since I’ve cut the power to anything she can deem as safety. It would be cruel to allow her to think it would work.

The back portion of the house is made entirely of glass, and she can see me as I take the steps up to the deck. Each footstep is slow, and I catch sight of her as she stumbles into the wall in an attempt to run away. Her mouth opens but no sound leaves as I bring my hand up to hold one finger in front of my lips.

The fear on her face is intoxicating. It hardens my dick, knowing that between those pretty legs of hers, she’ll have the best treat waiting for me.

She freezes and a tremor overtakes her hand as she weakly lifts it to hit the light switch. All it does is surround her in the darkness and I pause on the deck. The only thing between usis the glass, but it doesn’t stop her wide eyes being in view as I slowly make a fist and tap my knuckles against the glass.

Knock.

Knock.

Koukla mou becomes luminescent—she’s that pale—and I tense my body to stop from laughing as she trips over her own feet in her haste to run away. She falls instantly. Her shoulder takes the brunt of the force as she slams into the wall without removing those pretty eyes from me. So, I do it again.

Knock.

Knock.

A pathetic little scream is muted by the glass, and I spread my fingers out as I press my palm to the pane, soaking up every little decibel.

Scream for me.

Only ever me.

8

DELILAH

He’s real.

The ghost is real and I’m not crazy.

I don’t look away from him despite the way my shoulder aches. Or as my knees turn weak, struggling to support my weight.

He’s there watching me with his palm pressed against the glass.

I continue walking backwards. My hip hits the side table, papers and keys fall from being disturbed, but I can’t look away. If I look away then it’s not real again.

The gloved hand doesn’t give anything away. Neither does the dark hood and the mask covering his face. But he is real. And I’m not crazy.

He is real, with a sharp jawline, and sharper cheekbones to match, protruding out of his mask.

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