Page 6 of The Beak

A moan escaped me. Involuntarily, of course. Ah, hell, who was I kidding? This was fun. But only as long as he wouldn’t try to kill me. Then, I wouldn’t know what to do. Other than scream and hopefully get the attention of my neighbors. Maybe Wilson could come to my rescue if The Beak tried to take my life.

His fingers pinched my nipples again. They were hard, just like his dick. It was growing in his crotch and I felt it pressing against my belly. He said he wasn’t here for me, but his body sure was glad having mine underneath his.

“What are you going to do to me?” I didn’t mean to sound so seductive, and I wished I had kept my mouth shut. He wasn’t going to tell me what his plan was anyway. He didn’t speak.

His hands stopped moving and he stared down at me with those dark circles as eyes. That beak was long and thick, and while the mask wasn’t as scary as others, it was still intimidating.

He tilted his head and observed me, then he grabbed both my hands and lifted them up over my head. He made me grip the headboard, and without having to demand it, I knew not to take my hands away. I took a deep breath as he moved off my thighs to kneel between them. He parted my legs and lowered his head until his beak grazed my inner thighs. My legs twitched at the strange sensation of that leathery mask touching my skin.

Shit…this is kinda hot.

I needed serious help.

I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump that had grown in my throat. Had he done this to other women before? On TV they said that those women whose husbands were murdered never even saw The Beak. Maybe I was the only one this had happened to. Or maybe I was still asleep, and this was just a sick and twisted dream.

No, all of this felt way too real.

I looked down at him and watched as his beak pressed against my pussy. I knew he couldn’t feel it because, well, he wasn’t an actual bird with a beak, but I was starting to get wet down there. “What are you going to do to me?” I asked again, knowing damn well I was still not getting a response.

His head lifted and he stared at me again. I licked my lips and let my eyes wander all over his mask and along his beak. Could he…? No. Jesus fucking Christ, that’s sick. It was way too big. Too thick.

His beak caressed my inner thighs again, then it pressed against my folds and clit before he moved away from me and stood next to the bed.It’s over?

I kept my hands on the headboard and watched him staring down at me with his fists at his sides, and the hood of his cape falling over his mask. What he did next surprised me. He held out his hand, silently urging me to take it. I stared at it, taking in the black glove, and before he became impatient, I pushed myself up and reached for his hand. I slid mine into his, feeling a weird sensation growing deep inside of me. No, I wasn’t about to catch feelings for a damn serial killer.Ridiculous.

He held my hand as I got off the bed, and only then when I stood next to him did I notice just how tall this person was. I never considered myself small being five-five, but I also nevercame across a person who was over six-three. And this man definitely was.

Still without speaking a word through his mask, he pulled me toward the bedroom door and stopped right in front of it. He opened it but didn’t move into the living area of my apartment. He stood there with his back turned to me, and I tried to look past him but he was blocking the whole doorway. His hand squeezed mine, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Maybe he wanted to take me away from here. Kidnap me. No…that wouldn’t really work. Not with me still being able to cry for help. Then where were we going?

He moved moments later, letting go of my hand and stepping aside so I had a clear view of the living room. My eyes searched the room for only a second before I saw Ricky’s body lying on the floor, covered in blood. My knees gave in and the shocking sight and realization of Ricky being dead knocked the breath out of me. I sank to the floor as I gasped for air, my heart wrenching in my chest.This has to be a dream. Wake up!

I wanted to scream but my vocal cords were in knots. Everything hurt and I was scared, yet I had let my boyfriend’s killer play with me like a helpless lamb in the bedroom while Ricky’s deceased body was out here in the living room. And I was still there, crying about a man who had hurt me immensely for the past five years instead of running and asking for help.

***

The Beak stood there while I cried, unable to catch my breath properly. I was getting weaker with no hope of my body and mind ever recovering from this. But The Beak was unfazed. He moved closer to me and got down on one knee as he reached under his cape. He pulled out a note and held it to me, but I didn’t move or look at him.

He held it closer to me, urging for me to take it, and when I still refused, he grabbed my jaw with his other hand and tilted my head back until I was forced to look at him. The tears wouldn’t stop and my vision was blurred, and even with him holding the note close to my face, I had trouble reading it. I blinked and tried to read the words he wrote, but with all those tears blocking my vision, it was impossible.

“Stop!” I sobbed, pushing against his chest. “You killed him!”

As if that’s not what you’ve always hoped for!

His hand squeezed my jaw tighter, and as I tried to fight him, he pushed me back against the wall next to the bedroom door. The back of my head hit the wall, and he moved closer to keep me there, with his knee pressing against my chest.

He used his hand to wipe away my tears in a rather rough way, and when I opened my eyes again, he held the note close to my face again, waiting for me to read it.

Your suffering ends now.

I freed you from his abuse.

Call 911. I was never here.

He committed suicide.

He wanted me to tell the police that Ricky committed suicide. I shook my head. “They’ll never believe it!”

He wouldn’t respond, and I was about to lose my mind. Everything was twisting and turning, and no thought in my head made sense. The police would investigate further into this, and if they found out about Ricky treating me like shit for years, they would probably assume that I had killed him. Because why would they believe a woman who kept living with her abuser for years instead of calling the cops immediately?

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