Page 12 of Deviant Illusions

Her eyes soften.Fake. And she tenderly begs, “Kane, please.”

Something snaps at the sight of her softening, becoming the person she was with me. My fingers dig into her skin as I hold her hips. There are going to be bruises in the shape of my hands, but she’s successfully snapped the last thread of my control. Pulling out until only the tip of my dick is left in, I thrust back in. Hard.

She rocks on the noose, her upper body falling backwards as small chips flake off from the beam with dust.

But Delilah’s beyond beauty, and I’m fucking weak.

My blood stains her skin, my marks litter her chest, and it will never be e-fucking-nough. There needs to be more. Something irreversible. A mark on her soul that claims it as my own.

Her pussy tightens around me, and her moans turn into small puffs of air. I move faster and bite into the swell of her chest. It’s hard enough for me to feel her muscles twinge and force a weak scream out of her strained throat.

I can’t come without the mask, with my face in view and everything on show. But I force her release as I pull her down, grinding my hips up. Pulling the knife out of her ass, I thread my fingers through her hair and pull her head back. The rope is pulled taut as she shudders and I lightly press the blade to it as I beg, “Tell me you love me.”

Just the thought of hearing those words on her lips has my balls tightening. She shakes on the rope and her thighs grip my hips. My bones are going to have Delilah-shaped dents from how hard she’s holding on to me. Yet it’s a small croak that makes everything combust.

“I love you,” she chokes and gasps as she comes on my dick, “Kane.”

I sway on my feet, the knife gliding through the rope and unravelling the cord, and I wrap one arm around her as I thrust up twice and fill her cunt with cum.

Light flashes behind my eyes, my ears ringing, and a phantom weight is removed from my chest as Delilah falls into me. Her full weight rests on me and pushes her head forward to seal her lips over mine. The act takes me by surprise, and I freeze.

She softly kisses me, coaxing my tongue to move with her own. My movements are clumsy as I hesitantly cup the back of her head with my palm flat against her hair. The burn of the strands rubbing into the cut on my palm grounds me, and I walk us forward.

Moaning into my mouth, she twists her hands and smiles against my lips. The kiss is everything we used to be. Innocent, soft, and filled with care. But she ruined it. I slam her against the cabin wall. The luxurious wood is soft against my knuckles as they take the brunt of the force from the back of her head. But she fuckingmoans.

My fingers tremble as I take out the syringe from my pocket, and all the brutality of the last decade clings to my back. The memories drag me to the in-between of life and death, where I’m in a constant limbo without anything solid on either side. It doesn’t lessen as I push the needle into her thigh, or when she gasps and tries to pull away to see what it is.

My eyes fucking burn and my throat thickens as her lips slowly stop moving. But I can’t move away.

Not even as she slumps against my face.

“I loved you,” I mumble against her unconscious lips. “And you killed me.”

Delilah doesn’t even give a fuck about what she’s done. She doesn’t care about the extent of the damage that she caused, and I can’t tell her the truth when she’s awake.

“I was going to let it go, move on with my life and try to pick up the pieces. But then I saw you again. You were laughing, smiling. I fucking hate you for that. I was dying and you were laughing. I loved you so fucking much. You were all I had left, and then you were laughing with some other prick while I was in hell.”

Wrapping both arms around her, I hug her and rest my forehead on her shoulder. For the first time in over ten fucking years, I wrap my arms around someone. I feel a warm body against mine and I’m not repulsed. There’s no bile burning up the back of my throat and I’m not so alone. For once, there’s someone in my life again.

OFFER

KANE, 30 YEARS OLD

Something smacks me in the face, but I can’t lift my head with the weight hanging off the back of my skull.

It happens again.

“Kid, you need to get the fuck up or I’m going to have to carry you like a baby.”

I vaguely recognize the voice. There’s another slap. It’s harder than the last two and it forces my eyes to open. Niko hovers above me. The edges of his face are blurred, but it’s him. Or at least, I think it is, from the blue-silvery eyes and tattoos stretching up through his collar, covering the full expanse of his neck then crawling down his arms.

“You going to get off the floor now?” he asks.

My jaw swings when I try to talk, only allowing an incoherent mumble. He doesn’t act on his threat to treat me like a baby. Instead, he lowers to sit beside me and stares up at the yellowed ceiling of my shitty apartment that an offender like me should be lucky to have. That’s what the parole officer said when he completed his inspection. No, his exact words were,“You must have a guardian angel watching over you to land on your feet like this.”As though I should be grateful for losing my entire life when I was innocent.

Just like the ceiling, my life was once clean, unmarred by the actions of the inconsiderate bastards who made a home out of me. I should be thankful that I’m not rotting away for the rest of my sentence. But it wasn’t supposed to bemysentence whenIdidn’t commit the fucking crime.

Everything I found enjoyment in has been tainted. I don’t know the fucking world anymore. Cars look different. So do phones. The world I left isn’t the world I’ve been released into. I’m like an animal that was kept in a zoo then put back out into the wild without any reference of my environment. How the fuck am I supposed to live, lead a life, when I’m twelve years behind everyone else?

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