Page 76 of Unmasking Mayhem
The tenderness of his words juxtaposes the rawness of our actions, creating a beautiful chaos around us. I pull her headdown, capturing her mouth with mine once more, swallowing her moans as I thrust into her rhythmically. Our lips move together like they were made for this, sealing a promise that whispers through the air: we will protect her, cherish her, and give her everything she has ever dreamed of. The physical tension builds, pulsing through every nerve, leading us deeper into a state of rapture. The slapping of skin fills the empty spaces in the room, and I can feel the tautness of her body as her pleasure builds once again, another peak ready to send her spiraling.
“I’m close,” she warns, desperation tinging her voice as she clings to us.
“Just let go,” I encourage, pushing harder into her, reaching deeper with each thrust as her body begins to tremble. "Fucking soak me, Little Mischief."
The desperation in her gaze flickers, desperation turning into delight as desire takes over, engulfing her entirely in its embrace.
“I'm close to filling this ass,” Hawk muses, grabbing her ass and slapping it, and the determination in his voice matches the rhythm of our bodies, a promise intertwined with every ounce of love and lust we share for her.
With that, we focus on her, our movements synchronizing as the tension builds to an inevitable climax. Each thrust becomes more frantic, more passionate, as we push her closer to that edge. My balls tighten, feeling heavier with each thrust; I know I'm close. I cling to her, my hand wrapped around her throat with the other squeezing her breast and toying with her nipple ring. Hawk holds her hips tightly, viciously pounding into her and ripping loud, passionate moans from deep within her.
“Fuck!” I shout, feeling her body tense around me as shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her.
She lets out a cry of pure ecstasy, trembling violently between us as she succumbs to the climax. Her body pulses, and the tightness around my cock reaches a peak I have never felt before, drawing me further into the abyss of pleasure. In tandem, a wave of heat washes over me as my release collides with hers, and our voices join in a chorus of gasps and moans.
Hawk pumps his hips, thrusting into her ass as he comes, watching as it drips out of her while he fucks her, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. I grunt, my toes curling until my feet cramp, but as Whitney soaks my cock, I spill my cum into her pussy, my body shaking through each wave of bliss.
Finally, as we come down from our high, I brush a gentle kiss against Whitney's forehead, feeling her chest rise and fall against mine, a warm reassurance that in our brokenness, we have found something unbreakable—a love that carries us through the tempest, igniting flames of hope amidst the chaos.
“Whenever you’re ready, we’re right here,” Hawk murmurs, his tone softening, a promise that lingers in the air—the assurance that we will face the aftermath of everything together, hand in hand.
And for the first time in what feels like an age, as I hold both Whitney and Hawk close, I believe we might just survive this together.
twenty-four
saying sorry
a month later
Hawk (“Crow”)
Let You Down: NF
Inever thought I'd live to see another new year, but here I am, still fucking struggling, possibly more now than I ever have. I try to talk myself out of the darkness that keeps coming for me. I try to smile through the depression, even when it hits pretty fucking hard. And I try to smile through the pain and the sadness that keeps torturing me on a daily basis. Medication nolonger has an effect on me, so I stopped taking it, not wanting my last moments to be weighed down and full of despair. At least I've felt more like myself than I have in a while. But I'm still fucking struggling. I don't know how to fix it.
The club is buzzing tonight, every corner filled with masked men and women eager for a glimpse of the masked dancers taking over the stage. As D tries to rein in King's behavior from his excessive drinking, all activities for Masked Mayhem have come to a standstill, giving us a brief intermission for the new year—though it hardly matters to me.
I find my place in the front row—the best seat in the house—right in front of Whitney. Even beneath her mask, I can sense her smile fighting through the pain and heartbreak she’s trying to overcome. Healing takes time, but not everyone is granted the luxury of it. In her case, she’s still grappling with Carter’s murder, and she’s been relentless in punishing herself for it. It seems she’s managed to put the incident with Dustin behind her, never fully confiding in Raze or me about what happened those few troubling days.
I don’t need her to tell me; I know what happened.
As I swirl my drink, I keep my gaze fixed on Whitney as she dances, her eyes occasionally meeting mine. A sudden commotion from the office disrupts my concentration, but I find it easy to redirect my focus back to her. It’s always so easy. Just as Whitney steps off the stage and approaches me, all distractions fade away. She seductively glides her ass over my lap, the air between us crackling with passion.
As I breathe in, craving a taste of her scent, I catch a whiff of Raze as he joins us, settling into the newly vacant seat beside me, eager to catch the show like everyone else. A moment later, Red strolls over during a song transition and takes the seat on my other side, leaving me caught between the two of them. I can’t help but wonder how he's holding up with Carter’s lossas Red sits beside me, contemplating how he must feel in the wake of such violence. They were partners—close friends—and yet Red remains disturbingly... stoic, offering no window into his emotions. I can only imagine how devastating it must be to witness someone you care about being murdered, especially by the girl you’re fucking in love with.
My heart—what's left of it—aches for him, fraying further each day under the strain of loss, heartbreak, and trauma. Lately, I feel like a hollow shell of the person I used to be. Even the presence of Whitney, once a glimmer of light for me, feels diminished. Something has shifted inside me, and it doesn’t seem to have evolved for the better.
“Yo, you good?” Raze nudges my elbow, concern evident in his eyes despite the mask obscuring his features.
In a haze, my mind fogged as my eyes remained glued to the stage, and I nodded. “Yeah, I’m straight,” I lie, convincing neither him nor myself.
I lift my mask just enough to free my mouth and light a blunt I rolled for myself—no one else. As the music plays again—The Hills by The Weekend—Whitney makes her entrance once more, gliding gracefully across the stage, one hand gripping the pole above her head. She winds her body and slides down, teasingly spreading her legs as she drops to her knees, her hand brushing over her lacy purple thong while her eyes seductively flick between me and Raze.
Everything else fades away. The noise becomes hushed as I lose myself in her. I’m unsure if it’s the blunt or Whitney’s intoxicating performance that has me floating outside of my body, watching this chaotic train wreck unfold. Tears begin to gather in my eyes, my vision blurring. I clear my throat and discreetly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. Guilt crashes over me as our eyes lock, and it feels as if she's dancing justfor me. My throat tightens—whether from the emotions or the tainted smoke, I can’t quite tell.
“I love you.” Whitney lifts her mask just enough to mouth the words, accompanied by a playful wink, before she spins back around the pole.
When she faces me again after another twirl and dip, I mirror her silent confession. I can see something beautiful shimmering in her eyes, but it's only beautiful because of how dark it is. Our love is dark, one of the darkest things I've ever grown to love. Nothing about it is fucking butterflies and rainbows. Our love is raw and tempestuous; it's thunder and fire, a wild blend of passion and obsession that consumes everything in sight.
