Page 87 of Deviant

We burn.

I know I’m creating chaos. I know that some of the people we murder may be innocent, or at least, not Esau, and yet, it makes no difference. Every innocent simply adds to the pandemonium, adds to the carnage.

And revel in it, I love it, I lose myself in the knowledge that for this limited time, another part of me is set loose.

By the time I’m done, enough great names have been destroyed to create a ripple through our world.

Those who assassinated Turner probably thought that they’d control us all, moving forward, but I’ve ensured that they too arelooking over their shoulders, they too know that there’s a target on their backs.

And when the job is done, when enough blood has been spilt to turn the very rivers red with it, I head home. I head back. And I let my mind focus once more on my little pet.

Has she missed me? Has she missed sleeping in my bed? Is she as desperate for my touch as I am now for her?

Ihear the footsteps, hear the lock click, but it all happens at once and I barely have time to react.

For what feels like forever, I’ve just laid here, barely moving, barely eating, barely functioning.

The light bursts in. I throw my hands up to shield my face from it but as my eyes adjust, I see him.

He’s stood, staring at me from the threshold like I’m some sort of apparition.

My heart reacts. It fully flips in my chest.

He’s back. He’s returned.

I know I shouldn’t feel joy at seeing him, that I shouldn’t have anything but hate in my heart for this man, but that’s the complete opposite to the swirl ofemotions inside me.

I throw myself on my knees, arching my body over in that show of obedience he’s demanded from me too many times to count. A show that up until now I’ve refused to give him.

As he takes one loud step and then another, I can feel myself trembling but it’s not from fear. It’s not from panic. No, it’s from want. From need.

I’ve been so starved, so desolate, that now any show of human contact has me literally salivating.

His hand comes down, lightly touching my hair, and the gasp I let out is far too close to a moan.

“Have you missed me, pet?” he asks. His voice that usual gruff, condescending tone.

I nod quickly. “Yes, Master,” it’s all I can whisper because I’ve spent the entire week either in silence, or screaming, and my vocal cords don’t seem to want to cooperate anymore.

He lets out a grunt and I hear the ring of his belt as he undoes it.

My eyes look up, I connect with his and though there’s nothing but that deadly look in those dark irises, I know what he wants. I can feel it in my bones.

I crawl forward, closing the tiny distance between us, and I reach up, without the need for him to command me. Without the need for him to speak.

As I pull his cock out, I rub my thighs together, trying to hold back that need that’s there, that’s so achingly desperate.

He watches me without blinking. Like he’s half expecting me to take hold of his cock and bite it off.

I open my mouth, suck him in so greedily while I get to work.

The laugh that rumbles from his chest heats my face with shame. I’m a whore. I’m everything he wanted me to be.

“Maybe I should go away more often,” he taunts, taking hold of my head so roughly I feel a few of the fragile strands of my hair snap.

I look up, hold his gaze and, for a second, for that moment, as his cock is sliding down my throat, as I can feel the full girth of him almost suffocating the very life out of me, I silently plead, I beg, I try to convey with that one look alone, that I don’t want that. That I never want that. That I can’t bear the thought of more absence, more loneliness.

He growls, a sound as close to anger as it is to pleasure, and my skin erupts into goosebumps.

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