Page 73 of Devious Delusions

I wrap my hand around hers and add more pressure. Her breathing shallows and I pull her forward as she tenses her neck.It’s not to stop me because her mouth opens, eager to taste me, to taste us.

Her lips close around the tip and pressure builds inside of my skull. The loss of blood combined with feeling her tongue lap upourblood makes me lightheaded. I’m on the fucking edge of release when she hums and moans.

Pressing down on the back of her head, I force her to take more as I thrust up, adding her choking to the symphony of pleasure she creates. I have to physically bite my tongue to stop myself from singing her praise. The only way to have control is by taking hers, and I lift my leg over her shoulder. Her body sags as I make no attempt to keep my weight off her and bring my knee up, so she’s trapped.

I fuck her face with abandon. Her spit dilutes the sticky red and mixes with the blood on her palm. All I can hear, feel, see, fucking smell is Delilah.

I need more.

I need her fully, and I need to rewrite the memory of everything she’s done with her husband.

She gasps as I roughly pull her head back by her hair and my tone is cruel.

“Crawl up the stairs like a desperate little bitch in heat if you want my cum.”

Her cheeks are flushed and spit drips from her skin. The edges of her mouth are pink from the blood, and she just stares at me. If she refuses, I’m going to shove every toy in existence inside of her until she’s stretched so fucking wide, she’ll be able to be worn as a hat.

She sits up on her knees, defiance etched into her features, and her hands drop to the hem of her hoodie. Her eyes don’t leave mine as she lifts it and wipes her face.

32

DELILAH

Idon’t have time to examine what’s wrong with me. I’m too busy enjoying it as I watch Ghost’s eyes harden. He’s controlled and doesn’t touch me as I wipe the spit and blood off my face. It’s fucked up and wrong, but I love the sight of my blood on him. It’s the only color against his black outfit, and excitement kisses up my spine as his breathing deepens.

His chest rumbles and I quickly pull the hoodie over my head before he can do something violent. His hand loosens in my hair, and I fall forward, slapping my hands on the clean tile for emphasis. The blood on my palm stains the floor, leaving crimson smudges as I slowly crawl forward.

It’s not a deep cut and I push my hand harder against the floor as I stick my ass in the air and continue crawling while he remains in his seat. His boot lightly presses against my knee before he grabs my hair, forcing my back to arch as I look up at him. Ghost doesn’t turn in his seat to look at me head-on, he tilts his head to the side and looks down at me. Pulling his other arm back, he uses more force than he has previously to slap his bloody hand against my ass. I jolt forward with a gasp and thechair legs scrape against the floor as he stands with my hair wrapped around his fist like a leash.

The beak is nearly touching his chest as he tilts his head to get a better view. I’m helpful enough to widen my thighs as he lets go of my hair so I can crawl forward. The open space keeps me in his view as I remain on my hands and knees, crawling out of the kitchen. There’s something powerful about the fact he’s clearly dangerous but he can’t even stand as he roughly turns the chair and drops down to watch me with his elbows on his knees and his head tilted.

I break the rules when I reach the bottom of the stairs and jump up to my feet to see that he’s still seated, and I take off running, hoping he chases me. There’s no sound of boots thudding after me until I reach the middle of the staircase. Then the slow steps start.

My run is more eager, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I grip the handrail for support. I skip steps and keep running until I reach my bedroom. The window is locked, and I go into the closet to get the chair from the vanity to beat him at his own game, but as I’m dragging it through the room, the front door slams with a thud that echoes through the house.

Chair forgotten, I walk to the window to watch him leave and crane my neck in search of the shadowed figure on the driveway, but he’s already left.

No mask.

There’s no mask hiding in the trees.

The dark only shows my lonely reflection back to me and I slowly lower to the floor, bring my knees up, and hug myself, aware of just how exposed I am.

He fucking left. He turned up in my life when everything was already confusing then just fucking left after I stitched him up. My throat burns from how hard he was thrusting into my mouth, but he left me. Fucking prick.

There’s nothing else for me to do, so I ignore the sting on my palm as I lay on the bed, and I’m pathetic as fuck, watching the walkway for him to return. I won’t unlock it for him. He can stand there and watch me like the freak he is.

The thought turns my anger to lust and revenge. He’ll be watching me and he can see how replaceable he is. My fingers slowly trail down my stomach with my eyes unblinking as I search the shadows for him. My thighs drop open as though he’s there and he’s watching me again, but I can’t see his mask hiding against the other building.

But my phone vibrates on the nightstand before I can take the fantasy further. I snatch it up with eagerness of seeing an unknown number, but Asher’s name is there on the screen. All my anger and lust dissolve into shame and guilt. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m married. My husband is currently caring for his sick mother while I’m entertaining a weird freak that refuses to tell me his name or show me his face.

I answer as it reaches the last ring and his low voice filters through the speaker.

“Hey baby, I know it’s late.” I check the time and it must be at least 3 am for him, but his breathing is heavier as he continues. “I was thinking about you.”

More guilt. He was thinking about me, but I’d forgotten him.

“What were you thinking about?” I whisper back and turn my head to take away the temptation of the window.

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