Page 21 of Game of Hell
“The perfect little slut for me.” He mumbles and stands up to his full height. His shadow looms over me and his piercing dark eyes stare through me.
“You’re sick.” I spit and curl my legs up to my chest.
His vile words make me regret all that I've done with him. I’ll fight him either way—I won’t let him have my dignity too.
“I thought you would’ve got that through your pretty little head already, but yes—I am.” His voice is filled with triumph as he shuffles and leans over me.
“I mean look at you, how can I resist such a fiery little devil?” He hums. His hand brushes my strands off my cheeks and his thumb lingers on my bottom lip.
I don’t have time to respond before he pulls my face to his—his lips just inches away from mine. His body heat captivates me and I lean into his touch. His other hand creeps around my waist. His touch featherlike and leaving behind goosebumps in its wake. I feel hot all over and red darkens my cheeks.
“How badly do you want me to kiss you?” He mumbles, his breath fanning my face.
I shudder and sit up straighter.
“I don’t want anything from you.” I clench my fists in the sheets and hold his stare. Whatever fucking game he’s playing I can play too.
His head tilts as he watches me and a foreign look flashes in his eyes. His hand moves from my cheek to my neck and he grips the back of it—smashing his lips to mine. I try to wiggle free but his grip tightens and a strange mix of arousal and fear settles in my gut. I frantically push into his chest, my nails clawing into his naked skin. He bites my lower lip and I yelp—his tongue enters my mouth and the taste of my own blood fills my taste buds. Icringe, even though it's satisfying to feel him tear through the delicate skin. This is all too foreign to me.
He groans as I bite down on his tongue. My teeth slice through the thick flesh and his hand tightens on the side of my neck.
“What a fucking tease you are.” He moans into the kiss.
Our mouths fill with blood in a bitter, heated kiss. My eyes close and the ache between my thighs builds again. My pussy thrums in sync with my heart. I feel all of his piercings at once; his nipples, his tongue, his lips, his nose. They all push into my face, mouth, and hands leaving behind a resonating chill.
This feels wrong on so many levels but I don’t care. I feel like I have said that a million times being in this room with him. My brain leaves my head and the only thing left is fog that covers all my senses.
I’m losing it.
I’m losing to him.
“No matter how hard you fight me, you’ll always be mine. Today, tomorrow, everyday after today you're mine because you signed your pathetic little life over to me and I plan to keep it.” I break the kiss with a swift kick to his groin. He stumbles back and a sadistic laugh leaves his lips.
“You’re so fucked up.” I whisper and wipe the blood from my chin. I get up and walk around him over to the bathroom.
“Never said I wasn’t, Little Devil. We’re all a little fucked up, aren’t we?” His question causes chills to run down my arm, an unknown meaning hiding behind his words.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I mumble as I wash the blood from my hands and chin. My reflection in the mirror is horrifying, bruises litter my skin and my hair is a jumbled knotted mess on the top of my head. My freckles have dulled out because of lack of sunlight and my skin is close to ghostly pale.
“I’m just saying, take it as whatever you’d like.” I turn to him and he stands at the bathroom door with his mask back on.
His dark eyes and smug lips are hidden underneath it and all I want to do is rip it off. He doesn’t get to hide away once he’s done inflicting pain on me.
“Take this as whatever you’d like.” I throw him a middle finger and sprinkle water on my hair. I brush my fingers through the strands, trying my best to detangle it.
“I’m taking it as you want to fuck me, again.” He emphasises ‘again’ and his mask appears in my peripheral vision as he leans forward.
I ignore him and tie my hair in a bun over my head. I grab mouthwash and swish it around in my mouth to get rid of the putrid taste of blood on my tongue.
“If you’ll excuse me, we have a game to solve before god knows what happens.” I push him backward with my palm and he easily stumbles back, not caring. I step around him and ignore the tingle of his bare chest on my hand.
He makes it so easy to fall for him. The way he plays his tongue as he speaks is what terrifies me. His words can be utterly true but so fucked up you don’t want to listen to a damn thing he says and his looks don’t make the situation any better. His pants stick to his thick thighs enclosing his cock behind a thin layer of fabric that I’d love to rip off of his body—something I shouldn’t want. The mask he wears cascades him in a ridiculous amount of mystery that makes my legs open on their own. I shudder at that thought alone. It shouldn’t turn me on when he’s forcing his tongue in my pussy as I sleep, it shouldn’t when he’s nine inches down my throat—brusing and worshiping the area, or when I’m telling him no and he does it anyway. Especially the last part, isn’t that sexual assault, rape? To me it's none of the above because inside I scream to have his touch.
I want it.
I want him no matter how fucked up he becomes. I stop breathing at my own thoughts. What the fuck am I saying? I don’t even know the guy. I nervously laugh and glance over at him, my eyes quickly moving from him to the chair underneath him. Why'd I think that?
I brush it off and look at the note on top of the table. He must've found it while I was asleep. I walk over to it and unfold it.
