Page 52 of Fragile Facade
“No.” He grits his teeth.
“Take it off.”
“No.”
I smack him again, making him stumble backwards. The hallway table slams against the wall, and when I smack him a third time, it breaks as his body hits it. He grabs my wrist so I can’t do it again. The lamp he flicked on crashes to the hardwood, but the bulb doesn’t shatter, illuminating us from a different vantage point.
“Take the fucking mask off,Killian, or you can’t have me.”
He snorts. “You think you get a say in this?”
I study him. Broken, bloody, almost panicked, but too powerful to give in to it. It clicks, and I tilt my head at him. “You don’t know how, do you?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’ve worn the masks and fake personas for so long that you don’t know how to take them all off.”
“Without a mask, I’mmorethan Death’s door. You sure you want to knock on me?”
I’ve never knocked harder. My laugh is vicious. Because I’m goading a devil, and masks or not, I’m still going to win.
“Knock fucking knock.”
19
DEATH’S DOOR
RIOT
Narcissists are so warped.It doesn’t matter that I won’t drop my final mask like he’s demanding, and it doesn’t matter that I’ll be the one fucking him harder than he’s ever been fucked before. Because Soren Sauder is the perfect narcissist. He has an uncanny ability to convincehimselfthat, no matter the outcome or how much he has to suffer to get it, he wins. It doesn’t matter that I’m the clear victor. That I’m taking control. That I’m the one who is going to put him on his back and use him like a sex toy. He'll still convince himself he’s won because he got me to kill Brady.
Fortunately, my god complex rivals his narcissism, and I don’t need to convince myself I’m winning. I’ve already won, and I’m done fucking around.
He opens his mouth to spit more venom, but I have no more patience to listen to him. I push off the broken table, grab him by his swallowing throat, and spin him. His face cracks off the wall, and his feet crunch the table and Brady’s forearm.
“You never know when to shut your mouth, sweetheart.” I rip his open shirt off, discarding it like I want to discard my masks. I wish they were as easy to rip off. Soren fights me, but I’m too volatile to be moved now, so I pin him in place and spit on his ass crack. “Need me to gag you?”
When he bucks his ass back, trying to break free, it makes my cock hit his hole, sliding that spit all over his rim. “You’d miss my mouth as soon as you?—”
Reaching around his neck, I shove my fingers between his lips, pressing down on his tongue until he gags around them. “Better get ‘em wet if you don’t want to bleed. I’m over this stalling bullshit. You’re finally begging.”
“Like fuck!”
I gag him harder, pressing them all the way back to his throat. He slobbers all over my fingers, his body fighting mine at every turn. The sound he makes while he gags is better than his violin. My body bristles with need, eager and willing to take everything I can get from him now that we’re at a crossroads in our game. He’s no longer taunting the curse; he’s taunting me, just like I knew he would.
Ripping my fingers free, he coughs and starts to mouth me off. It switches to a harsh gasp when I shove two fingers in his ass with no warning. I don’t care if he bleeds. Iwanthim to bleed. I need the evidence that I’ve ruined him, marked him, made him mine. I pump them hard, making him hiss and writhe in my grip.
His gasp turns into a disgusting laugh, and I love it even more than his gag. When he laughs, that’s when he’s most deranged, and a fucked-up Soren Sauder is my favourite kind of prize. “Ah, fuck you! Prep? I thought you wanted my hole bloody?”
My smile isn’t controllable. It’s messed up and distorted because, fuck yeah, I love it when he calls me out. No one matches my level of depravity like Soren does. When he laughs harder, I pull my fingers free, spread bloody spit all over my cock, and grip his hips so he can’t turn around. I don’t want him seeing whatever mask I’m wearing right now.
“Who knew Killian Hallows was a fucking pu?—”
I thrust once. Hard. Abrupt. All the way inside his tight hole. He spasms around me as his laugh temporarily dies off to make way for a pained groan. Power swells in my chest, travelling all the way down to my toes. It mingles with pleasure and a horrible satisfaction I don’t want to get used to.
“Where’d your laugh go?” I press in harder without ever having pulled out, the pressure on my cock so tight I crave the constriction. His body crumples forward, and my hands on his hips and his on the wall are all that hold him up. His legs shake, his forehead thumps forward, and he breathes through his teeth.
Time to bring him back to life.
