Page 163 of Under the Bed

We’re alone.

The glass door leading out of the building withstands the rain. The howling wind. The darkness.

I could head outside. Go home. Do what’s right by Shiloh.

Fuck her senseless there, alone. Risk-free.

She’d be calmer for it.

Happier.

Less satisfied.

As will I.

The sign to the bathroom is to my left. I don’t think twice before going inside.

I check under the stalls.

Empty.

I stand here waiting for her, my arms folded across my chest.

The seconds it takes her to barge into the bathroom are the longest of my life.

My cock throbs. Hurts. All my blood has gone down there, fueled by the filthy scenario I planted in Shiloh’s head. By our role play.

“You.” The door shuts behind her.

She slams it, and I pounce on her. Fast.

My large body forces her backward. As her back hits the wall, she lets out a terrified, sweet gasp. Eyes fixed on my mask, wide and a little manic. Panicked and wanting. The light blue skies in them transform, darkening.

She’s still somewhat startled, and I use it to my advantage.

One hand curls around her delicate throat.

Defeat flashes in her eyes. “You just can’t let me win, can you?”

“It was never about winning.” My other hand goes to my hoodie pocket where the white face paint tube I bought rests. “It was about fighting, and you’ve done so well.”

I flick the cap open.

The noise grabs her attention. “What’s that?”

Again, I could dothe right thing here. I could turn this into a harmless sex game instead of torture.

Where’s the fun in that?

I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I can’t kill her for the heck of it. That as soon as she’s dead, it’s game over. I’ll be devastated. I’ll jump right into hell after her.

Torturing her, though?

She’ll live.

Then she’ll crawl to me day and night, begging for more.

I tilt my head. Take a closer look closer at her.

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