Page 30 of Devious Delusions

A gasp leaves her as I abruptly pull the knife out of her lying mouth. My eyes are fixed between her legs. Legs that I have laidbetween for hours. Legs that I would massage because it helped her sleep.

My anger materializes and I drive the tip of the knife down. Delilah flinches and closes her eyes as it pierces the pillow beside her head. Some of her hair gets trapped in the edges, tangling with the feathers of the fluffy down stuffing. I don’t give a fuck about her.

No.

That’s a lie.

I do.

I give a fuck about hurting her, about making her feel as worthless and discarded as she did to me. As crazy and incensed that the world around her is unfamiliar like she did to me!

Grabbing her thigh, I pull her closer to me. Her hand is still on my dick. As much as she wants to pretend that she has memory loss, she knows it’s me. If she didn’t, she’d run. She’d fight like she used to.

But she doesn’t. She remains attached to me and twists her hand in the way that I love. Stroking me from base to tip, she traces the slit with her thumb, collecting my precum. I don’t allow her to taste it and wrap my hand over hers as my voice deepens.

“We need to clean you first, koukla mou.” Her breathing shallows and her thighs tense. “Do you remember me now?”

I press my thumb on her inner thigh and squeeze as I massage up her leg. Her brows slowly come together, and she continues stroking me. I reward her, and cup her deceitful cunt. The two layers of latex and leather don’t allow me to feel anything, feel her, but I can hear what it does to her.

Her voice is breathless, weak, and fucking perfect. “I know you?”

I nod and press my palm to her already abused clit. They fucked for hours, and she’s swollen. The excuse she gave herhusband of being sore and exhausted is nowhere in sight with me.

“You know me,” I repeat in agreement, “and I know you.”

She rolls her hand over the tip of my dick as she asks, “How do I know you?”

Fuck!

The better question is, how is she always the one in control? I’m the one at an advantage. She’s naked with a knife beside her head. But she doesn’t reach for it because that vicious tongue is capable of more damage than sharpened carbon or steel.

“Make me come, and I’ll tell you,” I counter.

She fills with vigor and challenge. I’m sure there’s even a smirk on her face as she lays there watching me and stroking my dick. Her hand twists, alternating the pressure, another fucking thing I love, and it’s like muscle memory. There’s no pause or questions, her determination is solely transfixed on me, on my release.

She works so hard too, not knowing that it’s a struggle since she left me. I thought it would be easier now. It’s not.

My mind is still alert, and it heightens the sound of my breathing in the mask wrapped around my face. The memories of Delilah have kept me company for too long and it’s the same when she’s in front of me.

She’s there, touching me, yet I can’t give myself to her fully. Not again. Because she needs to pay for the shit she’s done.

I roughly push two fingers into her. The leather gloves won’t make it comfortable, but she moans.

She.

Fucking.

Moans.

The sound is quickly trapped as she bites her lip, mumbling bullshit. “This is wrong.”

“So, tell me to stop,” I dare.

We both know she won’t. Delilah is the worst type of person. Not only is she a filthy cheating rat, but she makes herself out to be the innocent party. Even now, she doesn’t tell me to stop, but in her delusional Delilah bubble it’s okay because she voiced that it’s wrong. Her eyes remain on me instead of her fuckinghusbandbecause she’s a treacherous cunt.

I pull my fingers free from her before she can suck me in further and my hips move automatically as she tightens her hand around me. Pushing the wet leather covered digits into her mouth, I hold her hand firmer around my dick. I fuck her fist while she fights the urge to suck my fingers.

Pressing down on the middle of her tongue, I slide them back to hear her gag. I have the exact point memorized from when I never wanted to hurt her.

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