Page 88 of Devious Delusions

Did.

I did love her. I loved the version of her that wasn’t a lying fucking bitch.

Delilah stretches out in the bed, and I have to force my hands not to move as I stand beside her with my knife in my hand while her fingers get closer to the body beside her.

That’s what the dead are called. They lose their names and become a body only. That’s what he—Asher—is all because of her and her brows twitch as her fingers inch closer to the wet spot on the sheets.

I’ve spent months in the dark without human interaction or a fucking meal, so this is nothing as the muted moonlight shines into her den of fucking lies.

The twitching increases as the liquid coats her hand and her lashes flutter. She turns, seeking that motherfucking cunt out. Her eyes don’t open fully straightaway, and she doesn’t notice me. But when they do, I smile. Her scream pierces the air, it vibrates around the room, and she pushes backward as she lies face to…

Well, not face because the fucker having his eternal sleep beside her doesn’t have one.

“Asher!” she cries and her back hits my thighs as she freezes and mumbles to herself, “It’s just a nightmare.”

There’s no need for me to be courteous and keep the lights off and my blood-soaked glove flips the switch on the clean wall. Delilah turns, still naked, and squints as the overhead lights blind her with her tears already free, and I hate that she still has control of my dick. I grab her face and lean over her as she whimpers.

“You. Fucked. Him,” I grit, getting closer until we’re nose to nose.

She pales as I turn her head to look at the prick. His nasal cavity is exposed, and I was nice enough to cover the fucker’s eyeballs with the flap of his remaining forehead that’s peeled away from the bone. She let him bury his face between her thighs, taste her, and fuck her after I told her she belongs to me. She fucking chosehimagain. There’s a long deep line from the pit of his neck to where his nasty dick was and I push two fingers between the parted flesh. Blood coats the black latex gloves and I use it to write what she is on her forehead.

M I N E

Her fight comes out around her cries as she punches my elbow. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Her nails are next as she tries to pry the ski mask off my face.

My fingers tighten around her jaw, and I push her into the headboard as a roar builds in my chest. “You are fucking mine. Mine. No one else’s. Look at you, you’re a fucking whore and you have dried cum on your thighs. You should be fucking happy I still want your used cunt.”

Sobs overtake her and her bottom lip wobbles as she stutters, “Y-you kil—killed him.”

Blood streaks her face as I grab her cheeks and mimic, “Y-you ki—killed him, boo-fucking-hoo.”

I still haven’t righted her wrong and death isn’t an issue or a turn off, it’s the opposite, making my dick harder with the smell of blood in the air.

I flip her on her stomach and her face smacks off the dead cunt’s ribs. She kicks back as she screams while swiping at her face. It only smudges the blood on her as more pools against the bed. White streaks are the first fucking thing I see as I pull her thighs apart. My palm slams against her ass hard enough to leave an imprint behind as I seethe, “Filthy fucking whore.”

I slap down again, this time aiming directly on her asshole as I muse, “Look at you, all loosened up and ready for me.”

Her foot flies backwards into my knees and I grab her hair to pull her up. Fitting the tip of the bloodied knife to her neck, I give her a warning she doesn’t deserve.

“Be fucking good or I’ll slit your throat and fuck that hole instead.”

She shakes in my hold and I’m kind enough to use the lube on the nightstand instead of going in dry. The plug has been washed and rests beside it, but she’s already been opened up, so I leave it where it is.

Delilah doesn’t try to fight me again as I let her drop and undo my zipper. She keeps fucking crying and rests her hand flat against the dead fuck’s chest as she apologizes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorr?—”

I cut her off and push my hand flat against the back of her head. Her cheek is pressed just above the incision I made, and she sobs. It’s fucking inconsiderate because it forces me to do everything one-handed as I coat my dick in a mix of lube and blood that’s already staining my hand as I wrap my fingers around my length, and I groan.

I line up at her ass and she clenches. Her hands are still on the dead when I’m a-fucking-live physically. Mentally, I died a long time ago, but I’m the one with a working dick, so I have everything she fucking needs. The sobs are infuriating when they’re not for me and I pull her back onto my dick.

She screams and lies, “Get off me, please.”

Lies.

Lies.

Lies.

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