Page 21 of Dark Wishes

He doesn’t take the bait; his voice is sleet on my naked skin. “I could make you beg for hours. I could drive you insane, I could destroy you, all without breaking a sweat.” He wraps his fingers on the base of my neck. “The last thing you’d ever say would be my name.”

This side of him is petrifying. Yet... as frightening as he is... he can’t cool the heat in my body. My clit is throbbing painfully; each stroke of his cock drags me nearer to coming. I’m there, right fucking there, and none of his cruelty will hold it at bay. “You said you wouldn’t kill me,” I remind him.

“Did I?” he whispers. His fingers grip harder. His other hand slinks under my hips, seeking my swollen clit, rubbing it expertly. I whimper, vibrating with a fresh gush of wetness. “We only haveonecontract, sweet Selena.” He rubs faster... pushingme to the peak. Sweat sticks to my throat under his choking hand. “I only obey that paper. Not your wishes.”

There’s a hard truth to what he says. In a better moment, I’d dissect it, find an argument, a way to counter. But right now, the only thing I can do is come.

“Fuck!” I sob, my toes curling from the blinding shock of my orgasm. My pussy flutters over his length, struggling to contain his cock as it jerks. He pulses through the condom, coming simultaneously with me.

The power in his grip increases—I can’t breathe. For a frightening moment my head goes stuffed and fuzzy. Violet walls close in around my eye sockets.I’m going unconscious...

Jamison releases me, as if the strength has left his bones. I rattle in a choking mouthful of air. He collapses on top of me, face in my hair, arms stretched over the pillow. He’s still twitching... still trembling... a man who’s touched a live wire and lived to tell the tale.

That’s wrong. I’m the one who barely survived, not him.

Yet, he’s the one breathing shakily, and I’m recovering quickly, refreshed, stronger than ever. Somehow, I took the life from him. The concept makes me surge with delusional giddiness.Me? Take him down? The great Silencer himself, brought to his knees by me.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He stirs, both inside and out. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Of course. I’m not made of glass.”

Chuckling dryly, Jamison withdraws his still firm cock with a grunt. I wince with the brief pulse of pleasure. Then he’s gone, leaving the bed. He’s moving away in the darkness, and I have no clue what he’s up to.

I roll onto my back in the sticky sweat we’ve created. There’s a ringing in my ears broken up only by the rustling of his movements. “What are you doing?” I call out.

“Cleaning up.”

A singular streak of light parts the black room; he’s entered his Master bathroom. Through the gap I hear something crinkling. Water runs for some seconds.Oh, he’s throwing out the condom.

The thought of something so normal makes me sit up. I search for my clothes, making out vague shapes on the bed thanks to the beam of light from the bathroom. My shorts and panties are in a tangled pile—I yank them over my legs, straightening my shirt over my belly.

Did we really have sex?

It’s weird, but I feel... uncomfortable. What we did in the dark could be associated with two different people. Thinking about the evidence—condom, sweat, sticky thighs, tossed clothes—has shame spiking up my back.

Pushing the covers to my throat I cover my face with a scowl.Oh my god, and I told him I wanted to be like him. Fuck. That’s humiliating.He’ll never let me live that down. It’s the worst blackmail I could come up with.

The bathroom door closes, draining away the fragment of light. My eyes don’t adjust to the void, but even if they did, I’d still see nothing. I don’t hear him approach, just feel the bed sink from his weight. I tense up, expecting him to reach for me.

He doesn’t.

There’s no hands... no lips... not a whisper. Even my worst encounters with past partners involved some conversation afterward. I remember wishing one guy would shut up and go to sleep. I didn’t want him to spend the night. I itched to be alone.

Jamison’s constant silence is far worse.

I crave the comfort of a light touch of our hands. Even a small insult would be better. As my body breaks down, exhaustion slipping into every crevice of my body, I drift off with a singular, but very certain, thought:

He regrets what we’ve done.

Chapter Seven

Jamison

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In shadow, good and evil share the same face.

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