Page 21 of Strangled
I’m hot all over—hyperventilating. I can barely see my hand in front of my face, but I chance a quick glance down and heave a sigh of relief when I see my arm is bare. Ignoring the cobwebs wrapped around me like a fucking vice, I slam my eyes closed.
My breath evens out after a few deep breaths. I hear a muted grunt followed by what I think is a moan, and I still, my eyes snapping open, darting around the vacant cavity. It’s empty, of course, but the sound carries on.
My eyebrows pinch, and I turn my head to the side, devouring every decibel of noise I can. I shuffle closer to the opposite wall and press close to the wooden slats. At the same dull tones, I inch further down, drawing nearer to what appears to be the end. A stream of light the size of a pin shoots across the path.
“Fuck,” a voice rings out. My feet lurch to a stop right before the beam of light, the voice beyond recognizable. My brows furrow deeper as I take the final step.
“There’s no way,” I murmur to myself, my hand reaching toward the hole. Some sick, deranged part of me worries it’shimin there with my best friend. But I shake the thought away as quickly as it appeared.
The hole is perfectly eye-level, and I’m able to peer directly into the room.
It’s dark, but the moonlight filtering in gives more than ample light. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of Cade on top of someone, their legs wrapped around the other person’s waist. Their hands are planted on the dude’s chest, fingers curled, nails biting into his flesh. Cade’s rocking their hips, bouncing on his dick with fervor with their head thrown back, their blonde hair damp with sweat, dripping down their spine.
It's not until I forcefully jerk my head away from the hole that I realize I’m panting, and my dick is so fucking hard, it’s leaking.
My face is hot with shame as I watch my best friend fucking another person. But, selfishly, it’s not really even about Cade—or who they’re fucking. It’s about the heat bubbling underneath the surface, the flush of sick shame that warps my sense of self-preservation as I press flush against the wall, my eye level with the hole as I awaithisarrival.
I’m only using my best friend and the noise they’re making.
He’ll hear it and come searching—only to find me, waiting in his walls, ready for… fuck…
Ready for anything.
TEN
My bare feet stop in their tracks, my once still heart hammering inside of my scarred chest as I take in my Lyken, mere feet from me—in my fucking walls.
I fist my hands at my sides before releasing the tension just as fast. I force a breath. My fingers tingle as I tug on the hem of my thin shirt, apprehension pricking my skin uncomfortably.
He fucking found it. He’s in my space—willingly.
That has to mean something.
Mine,my mind howls, the noise battering off my skull, nearly knocking me off balance from the force. My eyes roam over his shadowed body. It’s probably much darker for him than it is for me; I love the imbalance of it.
There are streaks in his face paint, giving me the smallest glimpse of his bare face underneath. His head and see-through shirt are covered in my friends’ silk, along with varying other substances clinging to his skin.
He’s filthy, disgusting—mine.
He’s pressed against the wall, his eye in one of my holes as he peers inside the room. The grunts and moans from the people inside flood my ears, maddening me to varying degrees. I want to be alone with my Lyken, to finally take him to my attic and let him see what I have done for us.
Finding him in my walls means he’s ready—thatIam.
But he’s here, watching two people fuck themselves, his dick hard forthemand not me.
My eyes narrow, and my body moves on instinct, slinking through the shadows. Then, I’m pinning my hips against his ass. His entire body stiffens, his hips accidentally arching back into me.
I press the left side of my face—the side that isn’t heavily scarred—against his and purse my lips. They brush his ear, and I swallow the pool of saliva on my tongue.
“Mine,” I growl. His body shivers violently. The vibrations travel through me, warming my gut.
“F-fuck,” he stammers, his body still stock-still. “It’s r-really you.”
“Hm,” I grunt. My arm raises, my fingers poised just above his nape, so fucking tempted to caress his skin, but then I catch sight of my mutilated flesh, and my arm drops.
“This is fucking real. You’re real.”
“Mm.”
