Page 67 of Devious Delusions

My body is jolted in his hold and the rubber clings to my hair as he whispers darkly, “Keep fighting me. I like it.”

I force my body to go limp as he pulls me up the length of his body. He’s not as hard as he has been previously. And I’m fucked in the head for wanting to demand why that’s changed. It shouldn’t feel insulting that the creepy stalker isn’t stabbing me in the back with his dick, but it is. I can’t help it. I also can’t help my fucked-up brain questioning whether he’s stalking anyone else and I even voice it like an even bigger fucking idiot.

“Do you do this with other people?”

His steps falter. “Do what?”

“Say half a shitty knock-knock joke and hide your ugly-ass face from them?” I snap.

Turning rigid at my back, he crosses his arms over my waist and squeezes to the point of pain. His biceps are fully pressed against mine and he straightens his spine, so I’m hauled up his body. The familiarity comes back again as though we’ve been in this position before, but there’s no taunt as he repeats the movement.

“Show me who you are,” I manage to croak despite how he’s compressing my lungs.

He slowly sets me on my feet, and I turn as his arms loosen around me, then he takes a step back. The new mask is so lifelike that I wouldn’t notice it’s not his face if I wasn’t close to him. It must be why it looked like he wasn’t wearing a mask through the window. There’s no hole between the lips that are set in a small,friendly smile, and the eyes are the same so I don’t know how he can see.

This is the first time he’s shown himself in the daylight, which makes it less frightening, and I don’t run. I’m slowly accepting that I make stupid decisions. It’s why I repeat myself, expecting honesty.

“Show me, please. I’m good with faces. I’ll remember you.”

He takes two large steps backwards in the direction of the door and shakes his head. The mask doesn’t cover his hair and the dark strands curl over the top of it.

“You know the rules,” he says, taking another step back.

My frustration rises and heats my blood as I glare back at him and cross my arms over my chest to hide the lingering residual fear.

“We’ve established that I have an issue with remembering things, so remind me of them.” I clench my jaw and dig my fingers into my biceps as he just watches me. “While you’re at it, add how you know me too.”

He stiffly nods once and leans his head forward. “The first rule is that you do not fuck that prick. When you’re desperate and on the verge of tears because you need to be filled, you tell me.”

“I don’t know you and you’re not in my marriage to try and give me some stupid fucking rules about how I interact with my own husband.”

His breathing shallows and the air shifts, turning arctic. Everything is thicker—the air, the light, and my fear.

“You tell me,” he takes a step closer and I take one back, “by walking around naked.” Another step. “Then, you bend over and fucking wait for me.” I flinch as he raises his hand and grabs my throat, pulling me closer. “Just like the last time.”

Pressing my hands flat against his chest, I lean into him and refuse to accept his bullshit.

“I can fuck my husband wherever and whenever I want. I’ll scream his name, and fucking beg for his dick because nothing looks better on me than him.”

His fingers flex around my throat and his breathing escalates. I’ve found the thread of his crazy and I tug on it as I smile smugly.

“You hate that, don’t you?”

He lets out a harsh breath and his entire body is tense.

“You do, you hate that no one wants you. That you’re just a sad, pathetic little freak who has to run around in masks because if anyone saw you—really saw you—they would see all your ugly parts. They’d see just how fucking warped you are inside.”

I push too hard, and he loses his restraint as he shouts, “You fucking did this!” His fingers tighten around my neck and the other joins in. He chokes me with both hands as he continues to rage. “I was me before you!”

I slap at him and try to kick but he walks me backwards and nearly stands on my feet.

“You stole my fucking life.”

The heel of my palm hits his jaw and I croak, “I don’t know you.”

With his hands still wrapped around my throat, he shakes me, but they loosen enough for me to breathe. Not any more than that, so I know the threat remains.

One hand leaves my neck, and he strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles. The eyes of the mask don’t move, but I can feel him watching the movement as his voice lowers to a plea.

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