Page 9 of Deviant Illusions

My tears fall. Again.

They’re not due to frustration now. They’re solely caused by the new reality I’m faced with after knowing he’d never speak tome again. I’d come to terms with that, but I never thought he’d want to ruin me. Or go to extreme lengths to achieve it.

“When—” I try to speak, and he presses his fingers harder against my tongue.

A frustrated, garbled moan leaves me as he pulls his hand from between my thighs. The previous feeling of being stretched is taken away too soon, and cold air replaces the warmth he provided to my naked body. I rock backwards as he uses his hold on my jaw to pull my head forward. My legs shake, and I tense to remain balanced as he slaps my cheek with two fingers. There’s not enough force behind them to turn my head, even if he wasn’t gripping my mouth, but his words hit harder as he spits, “You should have died with him.”

He lets go of my face, and I nearly slip off the table legs as I fall backwards. The hate mixes with pain as he pushes his fingers that were inside me into my gaping mouth. I gag from the intrusion, but he pushes further back and snarls, “See, even you know this cunt is poisonous.”

Kane pushes three fingers of each hand into my mouth and pulls until the sides of my lips are fully stretched open. There’s something wrong with me. I’m not only afraid of him, I want more. Worse still, I want him to be in a mask again.

I can’t hide it from him either. He knows the effect he’s having, and it adds to his hate. His teeth are vicious as he bites directly below my nipple. A scream travels up my throat, pushing my neck harder against the rough rope. But he doesn’t lessen the pressure. He increases it until I’m sure he’s broken through the skin. The burning pain adds to my euphoria and my thighs shake, wobbling my precarious perch on the table legs.

I’m crazier than he is, because I tell myself that he doesn’t actually want to kill me. This nutcase has put a noose around my neck, but I still lie to myself.

He pulls his spit-laden fingers out of my mouth and my head jolts from the force of the wet slap against my cheek. The rope tightens around my neck, but he doesn’t hit me hard enough for it to hurt. The sting grounds me, and I want more.

“What are you, koukla mou?” he asks.

I collect my spit and watch his eyes darken as I remain silent. He can fuck himself if he thinks I’m going to beg him for shit. I would have if he was the kind Kane. Whatever’s standing in front of me is something worse than I’ve ever experienced.

His fingers ping off my cheek as he repeats, “What the fuck are you?”

The noose tightens as I fling my head forward and my spit lands on his cheek. Directly under the eyes I once loved, the eyes that would always soften when he looked at me. Now they’re hard, menacing, and he lets out a dry laugh. “You want to play with bodily fluids? Alright, then.”

Dread weighs me down and I can feel my face physically drop as he takes a step back. He continues walking backwards without looking away from me, and takes something from his pocket. Metal glides along metal, pulling my attention to the object. Particularly the sharp blade in the hand of a man who has stalked me, humiliated me, kidnapped me, and now has me tied up with a noose around my neck.

The knife is one I recognize. I wouldn’t be able to forget the distinctive, decorative handle if I lived to be a thousand years old, considering my father always had it in the place of pride on the mantel. Our family insignia of a ram’s head is on the end of the bulbous handle and the ornate, scale etchings in the stone have been smoothed over time.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” I say, more to convince myself than dissuade him from whatever he’s planning.

He nods to himself as he twists the knife, so the edges catch the light. “You’re right.” Those pale green eyes flick up, theedges darkening along with his voice. “I’mnot going to hurt you. You’re going to do it to yourself.”

The table wobbles from the force of his booted steps as he storms towards me. I’m struggling to remain on my toes, and he snatches my jaw in a bruising grip. The pain doesn’t register when the only thing stopping me strangling myself is his hand. But I freeze as the cold edge of the blade caresses the side of my face. Kane’s lips softly ghost over my other cheek as he fits his lips by my ear.

“You’re going to take your last breath while you’re on my dick. Then, when your filthy little cunt is flowing with my cum, I’ll step back and watch you play for the crowd one final time. You’ll spin, like you’re dancing, and just like before, I’ll be there watching you, listening to the beautiful melodies you create to enrapture your audience.”

I whimper as I try to pull my head away from him, but he tightens his hold on my jaw.

“I’ve hated you for longer than I ever thought I loved you.”

His final blow is worse than everything else he’s done. It shatters me and a sob cracks through my already sore throat.

“Fuck you,” I spit, forcing the words out through my tears.

The smile on his face is sinister, adding more shadows and pausing the beat of my heart. There’s no warmth, making his eyes become soulless voids. So much darkness and anger staring at me, yet I can’t look away. I need to see his hate to mourn the kind boy I loved with every remnant of my heart. All those small pieces that allowed me to find comfort in him, that hadn’t turned cold under Asher’s violence or my parents’ control, die now. There’s nothing to breathe life into them now that the Kane I knew is dead.

He slowly trails the tip of the blade down my face. The sharp point barely dents my skin, but he removes all the pressure as he traces the noose around my neck. Not once does he look awayfrom me as he lets go of my jaw to pull his dick out. My body blocks the sight of his fingers wrapping around his length.

“You’re dripping, koukla mou.” His groans brush my cheek.

I tense as he slaps his dick between my thighs. The sound vibrates through the empty room, highlighting exactly what he said. A blush blooms from my chest to my face, contrasting against the cool steel of the knife’s edge as he moves further down. He presses the flat of the blade to my nipple and circles my clit with the tip of his dick. The difference in temperature makes me suck in a breath.

“Come for me,” he demands. “Just like this, so you can’t lie and pretend you’re a good girl anymore.”

A whimpered moan is forced out between my teeth as he strokes his dick through my slit. The dark voids in his eyes deepen and he presses the sharp edge of the knife to the side of my tit. The sting is small, but it mixes with my lust as his breathing escalates.

“One,” he counts before his warm mouth covers the cut, pressing the flat of his tongue against it, then gently sucking.

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