Page 7 of No Way Back
He jokes that just kissing me keeps him hard all day, but the memory of his cock makes me clench my thighs with need. It’s here, right now, in front of me. I stretch my mouth open, covering what I can of my teeth. It’s impossible; he’s so goddamn thick, my mouth is never ready to rip open for him.
I try anyway, sucking him as far down my throat as my anatomy will allow. That’s when it gets tricky—that’s when I have to compromise breathing to make it work. It feels like science—or maybe math—trying to calculate just the rightmoments when I can inhale sips of oxygen. It’s impossible, though, because he doesn’t let me pull back. He holds my head there, one large hand cupping the base of my skull as he fucks my mouth without an ounce of mercy. I gag, choking on him and my own saliva, my fingers gripping the fabric of his pants as I coat him in my spit.
“Your mouth, fuck,” he moans.
He’s close, and I might die. I move my tongue as much as I can, but with no control over my head, I’m at his mercy. Colorful dots fill my vision in the darkness as my brain struggles from lack of oxygen, my head swimming.I might die.
He’s worth it.
Rest in peace, bitch.
Here lies Camila. She died sucking giant soda can-sized dick.
But instead, I lift my hand, placing it on his chest like we’ve previously communicated so he knows what I need.
He holds me against him for just an extra second before pulling back.
I gasp, filling my lungs with air in a rushed burst, and just as I do, ropes of cum land on my cheeks, my lips, my hair. With a single finger, I wipe it from my skin, sticking the digit in my mouth and licking it clean.
Demetri still has a hold on my head, he uses it to clutch my hair and pull me to stand. His kiss is wild, demanding, and full of need. “I love you,” he whispers.
When my breathing slows, I finally speak. “If we get caught…” I warn him, unsure if this is a road he wants to go down.
“We won’t,” he assures me, always prioritizing my anxiety over everything.
“But if we do, if we get caught, we’re not gonna be leaving here.” I let out an exhale that feels like I’m trying to break a spell, break the curse of my own words coming to fruition before they can tear through whatever barrier keeps them from actualizing.
4
A fucking Catcher in the Rye reference?
Harkins
“This overthinking isn’t like you.” I don’t mean to call her out, but if she’s worried, I’m worried, and I don’t like her being the voice of reason between the two of us.
It’s unnerving.
She grabs at the collar of my shirt, her knee grazing my cock over the fabric of my pants like she’s unhappy I put it away. “Ijust worry that I’m gonna make you do something you’ll regret. Make you go somewhere you can’t come back from.”
Her voice is small, her tone unsure. There’s something in it that breaks a piece of my heart, a lack of confidence that’s nothing like her. Every day for the last year with Camila has been like a defibrillator to the chest, keeping me going when I thought nothing could.
She doesn’t get it. I don’t know if there’s any way I can make her see it. All I can do is try to get her to feel what I feel. She is the moon, my compass, my guide. I was the pathetic professor with an unhealthy obsession with his student. Not even thirty, and I was already burned out from the education system—too young to be taken seriously by any of my colleagues in academia, so when my obvious desire for a student became public, it cost me the respect of every educator in the college.
Still, she was worth the price, and she, unbothered, held her head high the very next semester on that same campus when she became faculty herself. She silenced the whispers with singular looks, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so weak anymore.
Camila teaches me that the things that set you free can sometimes feel like a prison at first. It just depends on what you do with the key.
Before her, I was lost. Before her, everything was a dull, Ohio gray. Before her, I was Holden Caulfield walking around that damn pond wondering where the fucking ducks go when it freezes over. Except I’m too old to still be relating to the self-hating rambling of an insufferable teenager, too old to still be drowning in my own cynical thoughts.
I’mstillHolden. I hate the worldbecauseI hate myself.
She softens that somehow, in moments like this, when she makes it seem like I’m the only thing that matters. I don’t have the courage to tell her just how lost I was when I found her, thatI’ll go wherever she tugs the lead around my neck, just as long as she keeps pulling.
I place my phone on a shelf, reaching for her face with both hands. “I will follow you to the edge of madness, Darkling. Just tell me when it’s time to leap.”
A wicked smile stretches over her face. “Let’s fuck shit up.” She’s looking at me like she might be finally realizing how much power she holds just by loving me.
“Put her mask on.” I shove the body her way before I begin undressing the other guy. Aside from a few clowns and the token zombie, even the haunt actors wear inmate orange, just not as faded as the other ones.
