Page 6 of Fragile Facade
Letting go of his dick, he grabs both of my wrists, holding them up above my chest. “Some guys sit on their hands to numb them so it feels like someone else is jerking them off.” He laughs, looking at my slack hands. “Righty or lefty?” he asks.
“You stalk me enough to know the answer.”
There is no way out of this—not until I get my control back. Whatever he has planned, I need to block it out and not let him invade my mind. Because I can take whatever he dishes out and not consider it a loss unless he gets in my head. He won’t. I won’t let him.
“True,” he admits, dropping my left wrist. He moves forward, and when he wraps my right hand and fingers around the length of his thick cock, I hate myself just like he knew I would—taunting me physically to fuck with my mind, like I thought. Because it’s not shame I’m feeling, it’s regret, and he somehow knows it.
Regret that I can’t feel him—can’t taunt him back. Can’t play the game because he’s momentarily bested me.
I refuse to look at him. I won’t let him see it in my eyes. Because there’s a reason he’s my biggest rival. My narcissism and his sociopathic personality aren’t supposed to get along, and we don’t, but fuck do we love goading one another. Taunting Riot is almost as alluring as taunting Death.
“Go ahead and try, Ghost. Try to block it out. But your mind is online and your body is at my mercy, and when your cock gets hard, I’ll let you know. You won’t be able to feel it, but your blood knows exactly where it wants to go.” He grins, tightening my fingers around him. “And tonight, with you dead in your grave, that’s what dictates winning. You won’t even have to admit it to me. Your dick will.”
Oh, fuck him. “Why not just rape me? Hallows family tradition and all.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d finally get fucked by me and be able to use paralysis as an excuse.” He slides my hand up and down, milking precum from his tip. “Nah, no excuses. I’ll fuck you when you ask for it.”
I laugh. “I never will.”
“Your lies are so pretty, sweetheart.” He leans down again, hair falling in front of his grey eyes now, shrouding him in something as sinister as this night. “Asphyxiation isn’t your kink,” he tells me, lips almost brushing mine while my dead hand jerks him off. “Restricted blood flow is. Don’t worry. I know just where to apply pressure to give you that blood buzz in your head when you’re ready.” He licks the corner of my mouth before sitting upright again.
And I just have to watch it. Watch myself jerk him off without experiencing any of the sensations of it—having my mind experience it on behalf of my body.
I swallow thickly, my throat still able to feel, but my mind unsure ofhowI’m feeling. How does he know about the restricted blood flow? How could he possibly know that I’m into that?
“Stalker,” I accuse.
“You already said that.” He looks down at the show. My hand, his cock, my fingers twitching the odd time, a glistening tip. I swallow again, trying to hide that some sensation is already coming back a little. His deep V peeks out the bottom of his jacket, a dusting of dark hair where his pants are opened, and tanned skin covering toned muscles. It all heats my face because I don’t appreciate finding him alluring. I don’t enjoy the fact that he’s winning and I find it hot. It’s a contradiction my mind should loathe. “Like what you see?”
I close my eyes to block it out.
But then he’s right there in front of me, breath fanning across my cheek. “What’re you gonna do when you finally find her, Ghost?”
“Who?”
“Death. What’re you gonna say to her?”
“I’m gonna laugh in her fucking face and turn my back on her.”
“Keep going,” he urges, his voice taking on a tone that brings tingly sensations back to my feet. Deep. Gravelly. Charged.
“I’m gonna spit in her face and tell her I’m better than she is!”
“More.”
My eyes open, peering into his, up for the way he’s enticing me. “I’m gonna tell her how fucking despicable I am, and despite it, she still failed to lure me into her trap.”
“Fuck,” he groans.
When he leans back, sitting on my lap, I feel myself shake. I’m gaining feeling back already, and fuck him for engaging my mind. Because my dick is hard. My eyes are glued to my hand, consciously trying to determine if he’s still the one controlling it or if I am now. I feel it. Vaguely. Hardly at all. But it’s there—his hot, hard flesh in my deadened grip, giving me a sense of control.
“You didn’t give me enough of the paralytic.”
He grins, the master manipulator in him rising to the surface. “I gave you exactly as much as I wanted you to have.”
Fuck, he knows I’m starting to feel. He planned it this way.
My heart picks up speed, gifting adrenaline to this dire experience. I’m dead, aren’t I? Paralyzed in my plot in Moros Cemetery, living the feeling of what it’ll be like when I’m put to rest here as an actual deceased man. But…
