Page 60 of Make Me Pretty
With a sigh, I dip the pad of my finger into the well of his belly button, and with my other hand, press against the line of scabs exposed beneath my ridden boxers.
I wish I knew what was wrong with me.Why I feel the compulsion to rip people apart just to watch them shatter when they hit the ground. Why, when I finally see what’s laid bare, I lose all interest and turn my back, leaving them as alone as I have always been.
I’m all too aware of it. I like it, even. The fun and games, exposure of lies. Fucking people who deserve to be fucked.
But this… with Peris.
This isdangerous.
But unfortunately, Peris’s apparent instability is just the type of danger I crave. Poking and prodding at all his splintered pieces. He thinks it’s because he watched me—and it’s true, in a way. But he doesn’t know what I saw that night. What the flash of his eyes revealed.
A bone-deep, irresistible terror.
And now… it’s right in front of me. The glimpse into what’s at his core. A truly raw part of him—this nightmare. The sweat coupled with his trembling, rigid body. The whimpered pleas falling from his lips. His hard dick straining against the fabric of his briefs.
This is who he is. Someone as ugly as me. Just as rotten and ruined.
But there is oneverysharppolarity.
I’m a slut. And I fucking love it.
The power, thecontrol…It’s heady. And addictive. There wasn’t ever a point in questioning my… overactive proclivities. I want, so I take—because this is the one thingI can.
And I’m not ignorant to the fact that what I’ve been through has shaped who I am and what I like.How I take it.I could’ve been born this way. Maybe I was, but I was too young to figure that out for myself before it all started. So, the truth of it all is lost somewhere in the abyss of the past. My verity has been set in stone since the moment my mother decided drugs were better than keeping me, than loving me.
A sharp gasp pulls me from my musings, and I blink with a tender heaviness in my eyelids, skin flushed and fiery. The red glow of the clock bleeds over Peris’s skin, pink as it refracts off beads of perspiration. I’m drawn to it as I swing a leg over his waist, settling down on top of his groin. He shifts feverishly, features twisted into a grimace as his hard dick rubs against my ass cheek through the thin fabric of our damp underwear.
Gaze locked on his furrowed brows and pinched lips, I lean down on top of him. Placing my chin to his chest, crooked nose skimming his chin, I inhale every breath he exhales. Feel every rise and fall of his chest, the contraction of his abdominal wall against my thighs.
I wriggle a little, fascinated with his heavy sleeping. I would’ve woken up the second I heard the creak of the door. Maybe it’s my environment that has influenced that part of me, but I truly do not understand the depth in which people fall when they are unconscious.
“I know whatever you’re dreaming about hurts,” I whisper, pressing a fingertip against his throat to his pulse. “But it doesn’thave to. You can justbewho you are.It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”
I’ve gone about it the worst possible way—because it’s more fun—but the objective has always been for him to crack wide open. To shatter the “good guy” guise for the farce it is.
I never planned to go down with him, but right now, feeling the rush of wind against my face as we plummet into the depths of a hell we’ve always known… Well, I’m just glad I didn’t end up here alone.
“I can make the hurt feel better.” A truth I etch into his skin as my mouth finds his pec, tongue darting out to skim over his damp flesh. Salt and musk explode on my taste buds, and saliva floods my mouth. Dizzy, I make my way down his body, my tongue a wet drag. Catching the edge of his waistband, I lick the fabric—cotton and sweat and chemicals. I pull his briefs to his knees, stopping when they catch on the blanket entwined around his ankles, leaving his legs trapped furthermore.
The shadowed outline of his cock sits against his stomach, just as thick and perfect as I remember it. The taste of his cum stuck in the back of my throat. How pretty it looked,how right it felt,smeared across my skin.
With a trembling hand, I bring my fingers to my mouth and lave them in spit. It slips down each digit, between them, and down my palm. Sticky, I reach behind me to slide them down my crack, breath hitching when I graze the pucker of my hole.
The breach is tight, the sting powerful enough to steal my breath for a moment as I push through it. It hasn’t been too long since I was last stuffed, but that was with Peris’s body wash in the shower. Sanitary or relatively safe… not even close. But there was a perverted pleasure in knowing his scent was inside me.
And now, it’s gonna be his cum.
The stretch of my index finger loses its sting, so I pull out, spit some more, and add another. My head rolls onto myshoulder, each breath punctuated as I draw comfort from the heat of Peris’s body against mine.
My high melds into a warm, tingly buzz, drawing a smile. The third finger has my eyes rolling back and a low hum rumbling at the base of my throat. My larynx vibrates, sending gooseflesh rolling down my spine and outward along my arms.
Peris’s torso twists, legs curling up as he grunts. The crease between his brows deepens into a crater, his restlessness morphing into the first wakings of consciousness.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I pull my fingers from my body, biting back a whimper. Shaping my lips into an “O”, I hang my head and watch a thick line of spit drip right onto Peris’s dick. With a tentative hand, I loosely wrap my fingers around him to smear it around, repeating the process again and again until he’s soaked and it’s smeared across his groin, dripping down his balls and onto the sheets below.
The noises filling the room are obscene—eachshlickof flesh meeting flesh—but it’s the sounds coming from his throat that set my veins on fire. They’re tortured and needy. Broken. And I feel them because they’re mine, too.
I just hope he doesn’t actually kill me when he wakes up.
