Page 26 of Iblis' Affliction
Talha clenched his teeth, glaring at the ripper. Slater’s face was red, lips parted, and his chest rose and fell in a rugged, heavy rhythm.
“I said, look at her!” Slumping forward, he rested his belly on top of Talha’s.
An evil palm smacked his ear. Forcing Talha’s face to the side, it imprinted his right cheek into the grainy floor. The heel of Slater’s palm, pressed on the tender spot of Talha’s jaw hinge, intensified the soul-shredding feeling of powerlessness. “You did it to her.”
Why is he doing this? He’s never tortured anyone for days before. If he is this pissed, why am I still alive. What’s holding him back?
Peering into the dead eyes, Talha wondered why Slater had snapped to begin with?
If I didn’t know Slater, I’d think he was jealous, but that’s not possible. He is a pureblooded psychopath. He isn’t capable of any complex emotions. And all of his ex-masters had lovers or wives. He never killed any of them. Why did my relationship with her bug him this much if it wasn’t jealousy? What did Camilla do to provoke such strong hatred? Unless she said that he belonged to her.
Talha squeezed his eyes, resting them for a minute.
This must be why he snapped. This is why he said I submitted to a pussy. He thinks I gave him to her so he is pissed.
Talha had made Slater angry so many times. He’d teased him to the breaking point but never before had he pushed Slater too far. Always knowing that he shared his bed with a cold-hearted murderer, he still failed to see who Slater truly was. Annoying, exhausting, bratty, spoiled, perverted, rude, troublesome, needy, yet cute, funny, entertaining, different, selfish—Slater was many things, but only now Talha realized, that he had long forgotten what it was like to fear Slater. Despite Slater slaughtering his bodyguard and the woman he’d intended to marry; despite the kidnapping and rape, something in Talha’s mind refused to believe that Slater could truly harm him. Until now.
Staring into Camilla’s dead eyes, Talha stopped fighting.
“YES, LIKE THIS…”Slater clenched his teeth and guided Camilla’s hand down Talha’s crotch. Her icy fingers touched his soft cock, making him shudder in revulsion, but Talha never attempted to avert his face from hers again. A red bruise, marring his cheek puffed, and for some reason, Slater hated that it wasn’t his hand that had tainted Master’s face, but hers.
A pang of jealousy shot through Slater’s chest, and he forced the dead hand between Talha’s legs, rubbing the bluish, icy digits against his balls and cock.
“How does it feel, Master?” His voice trembled, as the mental turmoil grew stronger. “Nice?”
Rougher, faster, he worked the dead hand up and down Talha’s groin, but the act only tightened his chest with anger. Talha’s muscles and veins strained under his skin. Slater darted a worried glance down, fearing to see if Master got hard, yet wanting it. Left by Camilla’s long nails, reddening scratches hatched Talha’s soft skin.
This woman…Even after death, even without her body, she still managed to irritate Slater. She still managed to stay special to Master. Hatred clenched his heart, as Slater couldn’t tear his focus away from yet another mark that this woman left on Master’s body. Unable to contain his mixed feelings, he howled, drew back, and tossed the dead arm away. He never looked back, but heard a dull sound and then one more, as the limb hit the wall, before falling onto the floor.
No one can touch Master. The hand doesn’t belong. Master belongs to Slater. Master should learn it.
With a cruel hand, he undid his belt, snapped the button on his pants open, then pulled out his cock. Giving it a few strokes, he felt a familiar blood rush, streaming to his groin along with searing heat.
Only Slater can have Master. Master can never escape.
Spitting on his palm, he smeared the saliva all over his length, shoved one fist under the small of Talha’s back to lift his hips, then forced his way into Talha’s body.
BLOOD BOILED AND ROARED IN SLATER’S EARS,flooding everything with the loud drumming of his heart, except the fast, slapping sounds of flesh hitting wet flesh. Streams of sweat rushed down his cheeks. Gathering at the edges of his face, the cooling drops dripped down and crashed against Talha’s red, pained face.
Watching the tossing head and the agony clouding Talha’s dilated pupils, Slater hung torn between contradictory desires: to hurt Talha more, so the man would never be able to forget him, or untie him and lick the blood off his wrists and ankles.
The acrid mix of his saliva and sweat proved a poor substitute for a lube. Talha’s body resisted the intrusion, but eventually loosened up, engulfing him in blissful heat.
The more Slater stared at Talha, the more he understood: there was no road back.If Slater doesn’t kill Master, Master will kill Slater.The thought shifted something in his core. With every second, the suction in the depth of his stomach became stronger, as if all of his organs, one by one, had been swallowed by a small black hole, leaving only the itching vacuum behind.
Slater slowed down, then stopped. Bringing his chin to his left shoulder, he listened to the spreading pain in his chest. Acrid, burning, yet dull and throbbing, this was the pain of sickness, not pleasure. Seeking for answers, he peered up.
The tossing of Talha’s head stopped. His right cheek pressed to the ground, eyes immobile, as he stared into Camilla’s bluish face, like Slater had wanted. Like Slater hated.
No…Watching a weird, somberness wandering up Talha’s face, Slater bit his lip. The pain on the man’s face gave way to a thoughtful, yet tender expression. He searched her face with the same look of concern he had always searched Slater’s. “Don’t look at her like this…”
Master ignored.
Slater’s toes curled, muscles jumped under his skin as arctic frost seized his stomach.
“I said, don’t look at her!” He pulled back, then lurched forward, crushing his fists against the floor at either side of Talha’s face. The impact reverberated up his elbows and unsettled every one of his nerves. An unfamiliar bitter need wrenched his heart out of his chest, immersing him into agonizing emotional anguish. He didn’t know what he wanted to achieve here, except for Master to look at him again.
His eyes burned; he grabbed Camilla’s hair and, pouring all his hatred into the gesture, he hurled her head away.
