Page 72 of Devious Delusions

“You walked into me and promised to change my life.” I smile.

The blood on my fingers flakes off against her thighs, and my thumb brushes the scar on the inside of her knee. I don’t know how she got it, and I look down, unprepared for the sight of my bare hand touching her, of my blood streaking her thighs, and the dry pieces clinging to her skin like confetti.

“Fuck, my blood is on you,” I groan as my dick hardens further. There’s going to be an imprint of my zipper against my shaft, and I need relief. I need to feel more of her. I need more of me on her.

I slowly move her hand down to my crotch and let go of her wrist. My voice is rough and eager as I order, “Make me come.”

She tortures me and time slows down as she slowly lowers my zipper. The teeth part one by one and there’s excitement glimmering in her blue eyes as I take the knife from my pocket. She freezes as I bring the sparkling blade to her face to trace her features, her skin barely denting from the force, and I watch the fear make her even more beautiful.

“It would be easy to cut you,” I muse aloud while carelessly pressing the flat of the knife to her jaw. “To peel back your skin and see whoyoureally are underyourmask.”

Her eyes widen and she squeezes her thighs together as she slips her hand into my jeans.

“Just because yours is pretty and perfect doesn’t make it any less dangerous,” I say.

She pauses with her hand on my dick—my boxers stop her from fully touching me—and her brows slowly pull together. Her lips part and I slowly drag the tip of the knife to the corner as she whispers, “We all wear masks. A different one for a different setting.”

They’re not her words. She’s repeating something that has been said to her, and I have no time for her bullshit or her thinking about anything from her past, not when all of her energy belongs to me. Her life belongs to me.

I sit taller and rest my elbow on the edge of the dining table as my anger steels my voice.

“I don’t give a fuck. Use your mouth or your hand, but you will make me come.”

She presses the heel of her palm over my dick and her eyes harden. It’s intoxicating seeing that stubborn streak, especially since I’m going to break it. The fear is still there but she speaks through it and manages to hide it.

“You are nothing to me, and I don’t have to do shit.”

Delilah ends on a gasp as I roughly grab her wrist and pull my thigh out from under her. The satisfying thud of her kneeshitting the floor only makes me harder. Everything she does has that effect on me, and her fight is there. She pushes against me as she shouts, “Get the fuck off me, you crazy bastard!”

I knock my knee into her chest as punishment for the distraction. There’s not enough force behind the movement for her to fly backwards, but she stumbles, and I lock her bicep between my thighs as I tug on her wrist. Her other hand is still free, and she punches my leg as I bring the tip of the knife to her blood- soaked palm.

My dick throbs at the sight of my blood on her skin and a groan breaks free as I cut a line from below her middle finger to the heel of her palm. Delilah’s blood is fresh, wetting the dried edges of my own. The cut isn’t deep enough to pour down and cover us both, unfortunately, but our blood mixes together.

She moans and I lose the last thread of my control.

The mask isn’t fully removed as I push her hand under the beak and it blocks me from being able to see through the sepia lenses, but all of my senses are lost as I seal my lips over her wrist and fucking taste her. My tongue races after each droplet and the blood that escapes clings to the ski mask.

I’m snapped back into reality when she strokes my thighs and moans, her face inching closer below the mask. The sneaky little thing is trying to see me. I drop her hand and right my mask to fully cover my features.

But her sad whisper floats up. “I want to see you.”

The tips of my fingers slap against her cheek as I make her focus on her task. “You haven’t earned the right.”

My thighs widen as she softly presses her hands to the inside of my knees and sits up fully. Her head is below my chin but even on her knees she’s powerful. It’s in her voice, her eyes, just everything she possesses exudes it. Her voice is husky and dripping in lust as she bats her lashes, attempting to entice mewhen I’m already obsessed with her. “What if I said I want to kiss you?”

Bile rises in the back of my throat and burns the roof of my mouth at the thought of putting my lips on anything, anyone. I can’t. Even if it’s someone as sweetly toxic as Delilah. The burning sensation roughens my voice, and the words scrape against my throat as I say, “So wrap your poisonous lips around me. My dick is the only thing I’ll allow you to kiss.”

I lift my hips to free my dick without exposing any more of my body. If I’m naked, it’s vulnerability, and I won’t be able to withstand the torture of her presence without some form of armor.

She doesn’t fight as I hold the back of her hand and guide it to my dick. I squeeze so her blood drips down over the tip. Each drop clings to me and I thread my fingers through her hair before pulling her forward.

“Taste our life together, koukla mou,” I say softly.

Her pupils are fully dilated. She loves this shit, the twisted wrongness and the high it gives her. It’s why she can’t tear her eyes off my dick and there’s no force required from me as she licks her lips and wraps her hand around my length.

My head drops back as she strokes me from base to tip. Each inch is coated in red. Blood, Delilah’s blood, streaks my skin and she lightly punches my abs to get my attention. My fingers tighten in her hair, the strands wrapping around my digits, and she gasps. Air brushes the tip of my dick as I look down and watch her fightforme.

She hisses as she strokes me harder, and it applies more pressure to the small cut on her palm. It will heal without leaving a scar, but she has to be fucking dramatic about everything.

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