Page 55 of Devious Delusions

Lemon curd is stuck in the grooves and I’m going to carry pieces of it until it manages to fall out. I look at the person who has caused all this shit and she’s cute as fuck as she drools on herself. My dick hardens at the sight of her bound for me when I’ve only just come.

Her spread legs give me an unobstructed view of her cunt, all soaked and needy. I miss sitting her on my face and how she’d pull my hair while riding my tongue with my thumb up her ass. She would always be so sweet for the promise of it, and she’d beg me to fuck her tits once I’d made her come.

Those memories stick with me, years of them, as I clean the floor again. The only thing that’s going to be on the shiny tile is her cum. Once it’s clean again, I collect the box of her things and sit opposite her, waiting for her lashes to flutter as I change my gloves for a clean pair.

That’s a lie. My eyes drop to between her thighs and my tongue hates me. The only thing sweet about Delilah is that cunt and I have to press the heel of my palm to my dick to get it to stop. I want her, madly, and it’ll never stop.

I’ve wanted her ever since she told me her name and promised I’d never forget her.

She groans groggily and rolls her chin against her chest. The plastic wrap crinkles as she slowly comes to awareness. There’s no tension this time. She wakes herself up and the first thing those puffy, swollen lips do is smile.

All the masks have significance and I think she’s pieced it together until she asks, “Can you tell me your name?”

Any pride I could feel at her hoarse voice showing how well her throat has been used is demolished because she keeps refusing to admit who I am. She has to know. I’m right in front of her with a literal fucking reminder. The gas mask, the plague doctor mask, the fucking clown mask I hate. They’re allreminders for her. The socks. Everything. How can she have forgotten?

I widen my thighs and ask, “What do you think it is, koukla mou?”

Delilah lifts one shoulder, and her eyes are brighter. “No idea. How do you know me?”

I ignore her question and open the box. Her eyes narrow as she recognizes the items. It’s filled with inanimate objects. Those she remembers, but not me. Not the person she ruined, never me.

Her tone hardens as she attempts to sit taller in her seat. “Take your mask off.”

I smile at the demand. It has so much authority in it as though she actually believes she’s in a position of power, when she can only move her head because the chair isn’t high-backed, and I couldn’t tie her neck to it. Circumstance and poor planning on my part are the only reasons that she has that much control, but she stares at me, waiting for me to obey.

Resting my forearms on my knees, I lean forward into the foot of space between us and agree. “Okay, if you do it for me.” Her eyes harden and I laugh to myself. “Oh wait, I forgot your hands are tied.”

The examining stare manages to find my eyes despite the mask, and she just watches me, so I return the favor. I’d watch her alone in a locked room because she is my singular focus in life. If my skull was cracked open, all that would be between the matter is one word: Delilah. She’s entwined herself into my DNA and cutting her out wouldn’t be possible when I would have to deconstruct each strand to remove her.

“Who are you?” she asks slowly, with a crease forming between her brows. Her eyes dip to the open box and she shakes her head. “What do you want from me?”

Everything. I want everything that she took from me. My life, my fucking sanity. I want to go back to the exact moment before I met her and punch that stupid fuck in the balls because it would be less painful than watching her live her life. Just knowing that she’s forgotten me, forgotten everything we had, is a brutality I’ve never experienced before when there’s nothing in my life left untainted by her.

I can’t fucking eat, sleep, work, fuck. Anything. Even breathing without her seeing me—really seeing me—and the monster that she’s created tears me apart.

She’s not innocent, yet that innocent fool who loved her is still there. He wants her to ask for forgiveness so thatwecan be. Every moment I’ve been plagued by her deceit forces it back and I stare at the reason I’m a shell.

But I can’t tell her that, or more like I refuse to. She doesn’t deserve the truth or care after her betrayal. So, I give a different truth.

“You’ve forgotten your promises, and you’ve broken all of them. So, I’m here to right your wrongs.”

“What promises?”

I’m done with the conversation and take out the wand vibrator she loves. That crease between her brows deepens when she sees the stain on the handle, slowly looking from it to me. She opens her mouth, but I know what she’s going to say, and become her mouthpiece.

“You were packing,” I say and watch her eyes bore into me. “You didn’t realize one of the bottles of your paint was undone and it leaked everywhere.”

She nods and her voice is a slow, haunted whisper. “It ruined all of my clothes, my?—”

“Favorite dress?” I finish for her.

Another nod and there’s so much confusion on her face, I just want to hold her.

Preferably by the neck.

With both hands.

Until her lips and eyes switch colors.

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